I saw a man walking barefooted through the trash-filled ditches, carefully picking through the rubbish, tucking plastic bottles safely away in his dusty down jacket, likely to exchange them for just a handful of shillings.
I saw a man crawling painfully over the dirt-packed sidestreets, his legs crumpled uselessly beneath him, holding his tin cup toward the hands of passersby and his eyes toward their unseeing ones.
I saw a man with a college degree roasting maize on the side of the road, selling it for just 20 shillings ($0.25) an ear.
I saw a man as he approached a fellow mzungu (white person) exiting the Tuskys supermarket, asking for "Just a few bob! Just a few bob!" and walked away empty-handed.
I saw a man peer out from his rusting corrugated tin home in the Kibera slums.
I saw a man look at me in pleading.
I looked away.
I must have a vision problem, for I only saw a man. I didn't see who that man was.
I saw Jesus walking barefooted through trash-filled ditches.
I saw Jesus begging on the dirt-packed streets.
I saw Jesus selling maize.
I saw Jesus asking for money.
I saw Jesus in the slum.
I saw Jesus' pleading gaze.
I saw a face the mirror, unsure if I saw Jesus in the eyes that looked away.
"'Whatever you [do] for one of my brothers or sisters, no matter how unimportant [they seem], you [do] for me.'" (Mt. 25:40)