The rainy season is here and with it chaos reign. Traffic
jams all over the place and a mad scramble for public transport vehicles. I
hate it. I hate that I have to dress like an Eskimo just to be comfortable and
that I have to use my muscles if I am to stand a chance of getting home early.
And even though I hate it, I am used to it. It becomes a way of life so that
you don’t even notice when you have to hassle so much to get a vehicle. Its
just part of the routine; all in a day’s schedule.
So last week I get to town after it had rained to find there were no vehicles.
At Kencom, I thought there was a crusade, the crowd there was big and there was
no KBS or City Hoppa in sight. I thought I’d have a coronary on the spot! I
knew it was going to be a long evening.
I weighed my options. I could look for somewhere in town to sit and wait it
out, or I could just join in and use my muscles to board a vehicle. Note that
the fare has been hiked. Where we normally paid 50 bob was now going
for 200 bob. Nevertheless, the crowd is so big you would be forgiven for
thinking fare had been halved.
I decided to use my muscles since I wanted to get home at a decent hour. I
positioned myself in such a way that I would be at the forefront when the next
bus came. We stood there listlessly for over one hour but there was no vehicle
forthcoming. Even then, no one gave up; everyone just stood there, others in
small groups talking in murmurs and other by themselves, cutting very lonely
figures.
There was a woman in a kitenge who had three kids with her, one on her back and
two little ones by her side. She also had a huge suitcase next to her and a chicken
that she tightly held on to with her left hand. That must have been her supper. She looked really exhausted
with a very sad look on her face. I
shuddered to think of how she was going to get her entire luggage plus her
children into a bus with all the scrambling that would take place.
There were also two young women who were busy munching on fries and chicken and
occasionally bursting into laughter. I guessed they had figured they might as well start in on their supper now that their getting home was no longer guaranteed. The
smell of fries wafted around the place and I am sure I heard a few stomachs
grumbling in protest.
After almost two hours, an old KBS came along, rumbling and spewing huge blows
of smoke. All hell broke loose. Everyone rushed towards the bus. Even before it
came to a stop, it was already half full. The door was jam packed and others
had resorted to using the windows to get in.
After all the psyche I had had to
fight and get in, I wasn’t even able to move. I remained where I was, rooted to
the spot watching the spectacle unfolding. It was hilarious and sad at the same
time. After two hours of impatient waiting, men and women had been reduced to a
mass of pushing and shoving beasts. I am
sure if it were possible, some of them would have sat on the roof.
I moved to a safer distance-I didn’t want to risk getting caught in a
stampede. The mass of pushing bodies was overwhelming. There were roars, yelps, grunts and the loud cackling of a hen – the kitenge woman was also in the
mix though I couldnt see her. her chances of making it inside were pretty slim and I disnt think she would. Within minutes, the bus was full
and the excess people were being urged to alight and wait for the next one.
I knew it was going to be a long evening so I looked for one of those
city council benches and sat down.
Before the bus rolled away, I happened to catch a glimpse of the kitenge lady through one of the bus windows. She was comfortably settled in, with
all her three children and the chicken on her lap. I didn’t know how she had
managed to get in, but she had. I wished I could go over and shake her hands in
congratulations. Instead I waved as the bus started moving away and one of the
little boys waved back.
