They show me vast expanse of virginal lands.
They tell me words like breathtaking and lush.
They gaze at dusty trees and sprawling sands.
They point and gasp and they hum and they hush.
They show me all of Uganda at once,
Holding the globe in their palm and their whim;
They capture it with their drones, blazing guns,
Riding jeeps that cut jungles to a trim.
Their mirrors shine brighter than all the suns
They show me with praise and awe to the brim.
They rant about how clean, and how unbound,
How pure, as they yell and laugh and drop their
Trash, but not their attitudes, to the ground.
They cut through grass and leave cracks in their wake.
They screen their footage and their findings on
Flat-screens and talk of wonder and splendour,
Five-stars in forests and lights blinding on,
Massacring on hot days in December.
People who don their hypocritical explorers' hats, and gush about new places while destroying them.
