The bus stop was almost 10km away but he was determined to catch the first bus out of that land of sorrows. He never owned a watch neither could he tell the time but he knew that it wouldn’t be long before the sun’s rays kissed the face of the earth. He quickened his gait which slowly turned into a trot as he felt time was no longer on his side. He moved with a slight hobble on his left leg due to an injury sustained in a scotch-cart accident a few years back.
The last bit of the journey went rather unnoticed as he fought back tears whilst scenes from his past life flashed across his mind. He never knew his parents. All he knew was that they had died in a car accident whilst he was but a baby. They called him Njuma but he only knew later as he grew a little older that this wasn’t his real name. Njuma was what they called a horn-less cow or bull and he always wondered why they had given him such a name. He really felt like a hornless bull. Nothing to defend him from the storms of life.
No sooner had he arrived at the bus stop did he hear the diesel sound of the bus as it lumbered up the Rozvi Hill. It would only be a matter of minutes before he would embark on a bus ride to the unknown. He could hardly comprehend how he felt as his excitement was caught in-between fear and anxiety. The bus roared up to the bus stop and a charcoal black conductor leaped off as he whistled childishly. Njuma stepped onto the bus with his eyes darting all over. He could literally feel the bus idling below his feet and chills ran up his spine as the driver revved up the old-faithful engine. This was his first bus ride, well the first as far as he could remember. He reeled to and fro as the bus took off leaving a cloud of dust behind. He literally fell into the first available sit he could find.
Before he could make himself comfortable the girl sitting next to him got up giving him that kind of look that reminded him of his aunt’s hate-filled fiery eyes. Everybody in the bus seemed to be staring at him and for the first time in his life he was conscious of the rags hanging on his wiry body. His hair was unkempt, his old jacket looked like it had its sagging pockets full of stones, an oversized trousers hung precariously on his waist propped up by an old neck tie he had salvaged from the rubbish pit and his shoes looked like they were almost ready to give up the ghost.
More people got in as they went on their journey but none wanted to sit next to him. The bus soon filled up and soon there were standing passengers but the seat next to him was empty. In a croaky sarcastic voice the conductor smirked at Nzuma, “Looks like we have to get you off the bus boy!” There was a unanimous echo from the passengers which degenerated into a commotion as passengers argued with the conductor. He hadn’t been really serious when he passed the comment and the repercussions of his statement had taken him aback. The passengers vowed to throw Nzuma out at the next bus stop. There was no way they were going to the city in the same bus with such.
Before the bus could come to a halt at the next bus stop Njuma felt strong unfriendly hands manhandle him from his seat and with him afloat the men rushed to the door like a raging river. They stopped dead in their tracks as an old man stood by the doorway. “Why do you want to throw Njuma out? Hasn’t he paid his fare?” There was something about this old man that left the all the people numb and speechless. “Young man, go back to your seat”, he commanded. The other passengers paved a way for him with the smiling old man following behind him. He was sure he had never seen this old man before and he wondered how he knew his name. And then there was something about this man’s eyes. There was a sparkle within his eyes, which exuded authority and grace. The old man gave him a reassuring pat on his left knee as he sat next to him. “Be of good courage young man. You are a big strong tree”, he remarked.
Watch out for Part 3
#Writer - #RansomeChimonyo
