The sun beats down on the Namuwongo ghetto like molten lead.
The afternoon air is filled with dust and choking smoke from burning plastics.
The dirty children wear tattered rags and run in the rain puddles.
Older children line up near the disused rail yard,
Begging for a few shillings on the filthy, narrow streets.
The fearful drivers quickly roll their windows,
To avoid their country's scam!

The mothers roast the millet brew on large, flat, and cut drums on slow fire.
They toil from dawn until dusk.
Their tired and hungry faces hide their pain.
Their hands are rough and calloused.
Their once beautiful bodies have become thin, frail, and worn.
For generations, these women have lived in this ghetto.
This is the only place...