A workers prayer


My eyes are sore. My head ‘spins’ all the time. I am weak and weary and always walk like drunken men after a night drinking spree.
You see, I toil day and night and all I get is a miserly monthly salary. Many a night I go without supper for I have to ‘save’ for tomorrow.
My kids go to the worst schools in the land as I can never afford the high fees charged by better schools. I have no one to turn to as my government, the leaders we chose to defend our interests, care not what I go through. I think that’s why they don’t want to pass the minimum wage law. Whenever I raise my voice, they hit me on the head, saying I should wait for the coming financial year that never comes. Country men and women, what must me do? I don’t have enough money to join the class of the privileged; those lucky enough to set their own salaries – the MPs.
As I saunter home this evening, I know not what my family will eat despite it being Christmas. I say, hear me you my prayers! Let me live as a respected civil servant not a pauper.
I rest my case.

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