He travels this path for food,

I’m hiking it for amusement.
But whose life is better?

He greets us with “Hakuna matata,”
While I clutch a bottle of anxiety pills.

He wears a Masai shawl and tattered rags,
I’m wearing an outfit plastered with brands.

He carries a walking stick he carved himself,
and I grasp an Iphone 6, snapping pictures.

He has hundreds of cattle following him,
I have hundreds of followers on Instagram.

He has an entire crater to himself,
I have one room, with four hollow walls.

He sleeps under the bright constellations,
I sleep in a plush bed, preferably with three pillows.

He is African,
I am American.
But whose life is better?