The Curse: Part Three
The Curse: Part Three
The passengers stare at you. They appear shocked.
“Please,” you ask in a softer voice. “Who said they didn’t want to die today?”
Silence.
Then a young man seated right behind you speaks. “Whoever it was spoke for me, too. I would rather not pass away today.”
You look at him and he stares right back at you.
“I did.” The voice comes from the last seat. Your eyes focus on a slender woman with long braids.
“Please take that back,” you plead.
“Why should I?”
“It is a curse where I come from.”
“Why should I care?”
She glares at you.
“You’ve just condemned me to die today. Please take it back.”
Snorts and laughter erupt from other passengers.
“You were driving as if you’re planning to expire today,” another passenger retorts.
“Yes,” adds another. “Is dying alone more terrifying than forcing others to come along with you?”
“What gives you the right to frighten passengers so callously?” The woman next to you turns her head to look at you. Her pupils seem to pulse to a drumbeat that echoes in your heart. You tear your gaze away and your hand moves to switch off the radio. You remember the set is quiet and heart in mouth you dare a side glance at the woman. She is still staring at you and her pupils look normal. You exhale.
The vocal bombardment continues from behind.
“The way you drive is a curse in itself. You curse us, you curse the road, you curse the environment, you curse everything.”
“You curse yourself first of all.”
“The volume of your radio is another curse,” says an elderly man.
“I like it,” a young woman seated in front of him pipes up. “If you don’t like it go and enter another matatu*.”
Her rudeness creates a moment of silence.
“I would have, my daughter,” answers the old man, “but the volume was low when I entered. I didn’t know it would become this bad.” His voice is low and polite. It seems to shame the young woman and she doesn’t reply.
“He conned us”, the woman next to the elderly gentleman says. “If he was planning to drive like a madman and play loud music he should have warned us before we entered the van. Then we would have known what we were paying for.”
“I wouldn’t have entered.”
“Neither would I.” Several voices agree.
“I would have,” the young woman asserts.
“You have a death-wish?” asks a young man seated next to her.
About to reply angrily, she looks at him and something about him makes her change her answer. “No, not really. It’s fun and it’s fast. We reach where we are going before most of the others. What is wrong with that?”
He shakes his head. “This is what is wrong with it.” He removes his jacket and unbuttons the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt. He pushes the sleeves back and removes the gloves covering his hands. The young woman gasps.
- a public service vehicle found on Kenya roads. Matatus range in size from 14-seater vans to minibuses. They are notorious for playing loud music and reckless driving.