Tuesday, September 23, 2008

The ride home

The sun beat down on my back like a heating pad scorching through my cotton t-shirt. I walked over to stand under the tree, close enough to the main road to make a run for the dala-dala when it came.
Farhad turned to catch a glimpse of the front of one that screeched to a halt, recklessly tilting off the road onto the sand where we were standing, sending clouds of dust into our faces and choking the four chickens in a cage sitting on a wooden table. The crowd stepped back and to the side in concert, without even looking at the dala-dala, some schoolchildren inches from the bus, quickly repositioning themselves for the next one. G'Mboto in green it read on the left side of bus face, Mwenge on the right in red.

What was it that the Pastor had said? Two horizontal lines across the side of the dala-dala signify the two cities it runs from? Which was the starting point - the top or the bottom?
Nevermind, it didnt read Muenge. Wasnt going home. The battery operated loudspeaker in the chicken cage went off again, a man's voice singing what was probably a call to buy the birds, followed by recorded chicken cluckings. The chickens themselves seemed quiet and pissed, resigned to a cramped existence until slaughter. A man in a polyester shirt sitting in the shade of the tin-roofed shops several yards behind us ambled up to the cage, assuming an interest on my part in purchasing a bird, but I had gone off into deep thought and upon realizing, quickly turned away and moved closer to Farhad and a teenager in school uniform. The man spat on the ground and walked back to the shop.
Farhad called out as another dala-dala came speeding at about 40 miles an hour and halted after a making a U-turn on the two lane road forcing a man pulling a cart of bananas to the side. The school children ran, the girls in blue skirts and white headscarves on the outer rim of the jostling crowd being shorter than the boys. The conductor hit the boys, and pushed one who tried to get a foot on the step.
Farhad grabbed my backpack and pushed me infront, the conductor seeing us, 2 adult tickets (not half fare like the school children), pushed the scrambling boys aside, one by shoving his entire hand on the boy's face and jerking him back. I grabbed the railing inside and pulled myself up, assisted by the conductor, arms and elbows grabbing and tearing at me unintentionally as the kids tried to jump on with me.
I tripped on the metal lining but caught myself in time to slide into one of the 2 seaters on the other side. Good, there was an open window and no wheel on the floor forcing me to sit with my knees crunched up for the next one and half hour. The conductor held on firmly, blocking the door and let 2 more men and Farhad on under his arm.
The bus jerked forward a couple of feet, deliberately to shake off the crowd. More adults were allowed on board, 350 shillings each way. The government allowed students to pay only 50 shillings, that wouldnt even buy a boiled egg.

Twenty eight seats, plus two on the engine and gear box next to the driver. By the time we left there were 46 people or perhaps even a few more because I couldn't see past bodies crammed into the center, a girl with her knees poking into Farhads sides, leaning forward as the mass of bodies swayed behind her, holding onto the back of the seat infront of us.
As the breeze blew into my face, my anxiety ebbed. I looked out and took a deep breath, the rolling hills and straw huts slowly disappearing to be replaced by urban shacks. The old burning plastic stench of perspiraton no longer detectable for a few seconds.
Only 2 hours to find a ride today. The man infront fell asleep immediately, head lolling side to side. The school girl must have been around 13 or 14, dressed in half sleeved cotton shirt an ivory white, nylon navy blue skirt that was knee lenght and frayed at the edges. Her purple black skin was shiny from sweat, the triangled scarf had pulled back exposing a little of her short afro. Throughout the ride, she carried a stoic expression, bloodshot eyes fixed on the corner of the torn yellow plastic seat. I couldnt spot a hint of sadness in her eyes, even though I was sure she was.
Quite strangely, her uncovered arms rested on the naked arm of the man infront, typical of the physical intimacy people displayed even off dala-dalas even when there was no lack of space. The men and women behind her were touching, chest to back, shoulder to face, arms and legs bent and twisted, to find room, just enough to stand.

California Video and games passed by, in a series of cement shops lining the street leading to the stop where we would get off. Next to it was Texas tyres, a shop the dimensions of a phone booth carrying bicycle tyres. Young men played pool on table laid out under trees.
Big Momma boutiqueu it said in curvy red, with a gigantic woman in traditional african garb, leaning in the front of the doorway. I quickly nudge Farhad to look, we laughed. It was too comical to be real.
"Five minutes more to go after our tyre shop" said Farhad, referring to the landmark booth.

We jumped over muddy puddles, missing half, and walked on the shady side of the road until the school.
"Thats a really good painting of Halle Berry " I said pointing to the sign above a women's hair salon.
"How come I never noticed?" asked Farhad and stopped to take out his camera, then paused, looking at me.
I shook my head, "Not a good idea, even though its still light."
A few people milled around infront of a juice shack, some walking home with briefcases or baskets on their heads.
I glanced towards 3 men idiling on a cement bench infront of the school where the young girl had been hit by a car yesterday, machetes swinging carelessly from their hands.
Farhad followed my gaze, quickly zipped his bag and we continued home, crossing the road before we passed them.

The guard clumisly unlocked the door in the white metal gate, and we stepped over the threshold to find Emu crawling towards us, under the clothesline on which hung my khakis and Mamma V's shirts.
"Cariboooooneeee" drawled Thomas. Must have been a boring morning if he had already started drinking, I thought, spotting his tin flask lying on ground next to his thin mattress.

"What do you think we're having for lunch?"

"Not wine I hope" said Farhad sarcastically.

Anything will do after the 3 inch banana I had for breakfast.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

satya your eyes to detail is incredible.

i could feel the sweat, the heat...wah!