THERE is nothing as irritating as someone who undervalues your character and does not consider your contribution in the society to be worth much. I have always said and I will repeat it, if need be, that I am a man with deep philosophy in me and I have my own principles which have been a guiding factor which has made me the man I am today, the father of three beautiful kids (except one!).
For those of you who are my avid readers, then you will know that the feud between me and a group of hooli- gans in our society will never end, until the day they start behaving like normal people. I blame my collection of metal which is a sorry excuse of a car for my predicament with this group of people, because I am always forced to board their ramshackle after it refuses to cooperate, which is becoming regular.
Someone told me that instead of waging the never-ending war with this uniformed group of hooligans, I should instead rely on special services from Bolt or Uber taxis, and I flatly told him to get lost, because with the measly paycheck I receive from my boss every month, will not last a week.
The most irritating thing with this gang of hooligans is that they are li- censed to ply their trade, which happens to be harassing, insulting and generally belittling your character and ego. For your information, I am not talk- ing about the police, I am talking about a group of people who call themselves drivers and ‘Kondas’.
If you know these people and how they ply their trade, then you will understand what I am talking about. It seems as if there is a special university or college where these people go for training, because most of them be- have the same, shabby and very rude characters…. I insist, most of them, not all of them.
Once again, I nearly committed cold blood murder, but I thank God that once again I was in the company of my left rib, a. k. a Mama Boyi, who realised that my Nyamwezi spirits were about to explode, and took the necessary measures. As usual, that day my kimeo started behaving in a very funny fashion and I knew it was sending a message that it was in no mood to take me anywhere that day.
When I tried to start it, first it started to cough and sneeze like an asthmatic patient, then groaned like a patient who was about to meet his ancestors and fi- nally the engine sputtered dead. I told my better half, who in this case happens to be the mother of my small clan, that she should prepare herself to board a bus because the collec- tion of metal was on another strike.
“Baba Boyi, why don’t you behave like other husbands who care for their families by driving them in respectable cars? Or you want to kill all of us? Be- cause apart from the risk of a major accident in that metal box, the box is also a health risk, because we all fear getting tetanus!” she told me as she stormed out of the house. I raised my eyes towards the heav- ens and beseeched my ancestors to give me strength to continue living with this species called women, because just the other day I had dropped her at her friend’s house and she did not utter such seditious words.
For those of you who know how the situation is in Bongo, then you will agree with me that boarding a daladala has become one of the consistent night- mares, because apart from encountering endless traffic jams, the amount of passengers squeezed into those boxes is amazing! I told mama Boyi that we should go ahead and cram ourselves in one of the loaded boxes, but she looked as if she had no plans of boarding one and I understood why when she looked at me and asked if I had a Bolt Application in my phone.
With the money I had in my pocket, I knew that ordering for a Bolt would be like a suicide mission, since I had all the intentions of visiting Zakayo’s Pub later in the evening, because my throat was behaving in a very weird manner.
I flatly refused, telling her that if she was not ready to squeeze into one of the ramshackles, then we would rather head back home, because I was not ready to incur expenses while knowing very well that I was going to spend more when we reached our destination. The bus stop was crowded and I knew by the time the bus came it was going to be a serious war to get inside, so I set myself strategically so that when it comes along, I would be among the first ones to enter.
I saw the bus approaching and my body froze, ready to pounce before it comes to a stop, but I was surprised because my wife was the first one to enter the bus and I can assure you she left behind several broken ribs and seri- ous injuries to other passengers and this is because of the screams and howls I heard when she was charging in. It is a shame, because I was the last one to enter the bus which was already packed like a tin of sardines, so by the time it was leaving the bus stop, only my tummy was inside while the rest of my body was hanging outside.
“Mzee si upunguze kula?” said the scruffy boy who happened to be the conductor, which literally means that he was blaming my predicament on my appetite, before demanding for his money. I told him that he should wait until the bus comes to a stop before I could get him his money, because the position I was in was not friendly.
“Sikiliza mzee, I am not the one who convinced you to be fat, so you either give me my money or you step down,” he shouted in my face…that is why when the bus came to a screech- ing halt, the first thing I did was to grab his neck. I would have sent that boy to his creator if it was not for my wife, who jumped out of the bus and came to the boy’s rescue.
