The Dusty Plains of Mandihongola

A Poem From The Field

The dusty plains of Mandihongola stretch far and wide

A sea of dust, a landscape scarred with pride

Heavy trucks rumble by, a never-ending stream

Leaving behind a trail of dust, a toxic dream

The homesteads suffer, vegetation withers away

Grazing lands barren, biodiversity fades to gray

Livelihoods crumble, as the dust settles deep

A constant reminder of the price they keep

Women toil, doing laundry, drying clothes inside

A futile effort, as dust seeps in with each stride

Windows caked with grime, a permanent disguise

A health hazard looming, as the dust never dies

But who cares? Who listens to their plight?

The dust devils dance, as the trucks rumble through the night

The plains of Mandihongola, a sacrifice zone

A story untold, of lives forever sown

The earth cries out, as the dust rises high

A cry for help, in a world passing by

The dusty plains of Mandihongola, a tale of woe

A reminder of the cost, of progress, "the resource curse!"