I wake up before my alarm goes off, I look around momentarily while everything comes into focus. I must have been really tired yesternight or did I pass out on the floor? That is where I find myself. My neck is stiff from sleeping on the cold hard floor, despite there being a carpet. I stand and stretch, my clothes are still damp from walking in the rain. I must have been in a special zone, what with my asthma situation. Note to self, look for inhaler to be on standby. I peel them away and pick my towel and hop into the shower. The annoying alarm goes off as I turn on the water. The hot water caresses and massages my cold skin, it comes alive and revives my soul. It is a new day; new day, new things. I let the water flow down to the bathroom floor with my resolve to face the new world braver than yesterday. I feel tired, I let it leave my pores and rise up like the steam from the hot water. My shoulders slump down and I hum a mindless tune.
I prepare for work mechanically like clockwork. I walk to stage slowly, as cars pass me heading to the main road. A noisy tout jumps from the matatu and hurtles towards me. He is grabbing my bag and force-ushering me to his matatu. I peer into it and realize I will be the only passenger. I decline politely and walk towards a waiting bus. I move past the rows towards the end, and sit down next to the window and look outside. It is grey and cold, lifeless even. People in gloves, boots, scarves, all black or grey mill around the stage. Not a single colorful soul, this July weather must be very uninspiring. I look at my phone, it is half past six. The sky is still pale and bright, I rummage through my pockets for my earphones and plug them in.
Next, next, next … all my music sounds very noisy this morning. Finally, a slow and soulful song. Which is this one? I wonder. The strings, drums and bass tug at something in me. “Hujambo Salam Dunia, ni siku nyingi hatujaongea” comes a familiar voice, aaah, Elani. “Hizi enzi, mbona huna penzi?” I swallow hard. I feel the bus start to move and I look outside. Places and faces start to zoom past me, fast. Just like places and faces in my life. It’s a cruel world I thought. So many questions I had, soliloquies. Yesterday, all my troubles seemed abstract and so far away. Not today. Now they seemed to be at home, not in a hurry to leave; here to stay with me as their host. Sigh.
Silence in my ear and a rough male voice jolts me that the song is over. Great, one of those preachers in the bus was in ours. Just when you need some peace and quiet … “I don’t know where you are all going, but it is written that every valley shall be exalted, every mountain and hill made low, the crooked straight and the rough places plain.” Handel’s messiah, was that in the Bible? I smiled. The beat and bass came back on and drowned his voice and my thoughts. “Nimekuandikia barua, ningeweza ningekupigia, geti kali nalia, machozi ya simba”. Something in the last harmony teased out a hot tear straight to my jacket lapel. Rogue tear that one, I sniffed. I let my soul swim in the chorus, they seemed to tell my story even to me. What I couldn’t articulate clearly, they told me directly to my eardrum and into my brain.
My breathing was getting labored, I slid open the window and let the cold breeze cool my hot cheeks. I could see from the corner of my eye my seatmate’s sudden shock. I ignored her, and she covered herself with a shawl muttering under her breathe. I had gotten used to murmurs but no one telling me anything to my face. That was how I found myself without a job while within an inch of a hopeful promotion. That is how I found myself within a loss margin twice my projected profits from my projects. That is how I found myself sleeping alone, cold in expansive bed that had always known two warm bodies. That is how … that is how. Sigh. “Umri ndio huo uzee unaingia, sina fedha hisia wala njia ya kujitafutia” The irony in the lyrics was biting. She nudges me for fare, I pull a crisp note from my wallet and get a crumpled note back as change from the tout. Such was life of late, handing me crumpled notes for my crisp notes mostly of lesser value.
Silence again and that voice came on again. He had such energy and charisma, must have had a hearty breakfast. “Trust in God, he will comfort you now and raise you beyond your wildest dreams.” I looked at him keenly, and he seemed to be looking at me. I felt he was talking to me, he smiled. I looked away, I am not comfortable trading smiles with strangers especially in the morning. The bass and beat came back on, my face was now freezing. I closed the window and saw my seatmate lower her shawl and smile. I was still not going to trade smiles with a stranger, no matter how colorful the smile. There was nothing to smile about.
“Mbona hukunijalia, Dunia” they croon. I ask the same question. Yesterday, it seemed like I could do it all on my own. Now, I wasn’t sure anymore. I felt so beaten, like nothing else would go right. Like I had the opposite of what the Midas touch was. Everything, everyone I touched was wilting at my very touch. Why me? I remembered my brave stunt in the middle of the road last night. I remembered my defiance of the elements and smiled. “Usinilenge…” In my head I picture the lady singing, waving a defiant index finger to the world’s face. “Bobea… ngojea, nitabobea pia” We are almost in town. Every dog has its day, my day was coming. The preacher is now praying hard as people alight the bus, with an outstretched bowl. I place the crumpled fifty shilling note that was my change and step outside. The noise, chaos, confusion and people meet me and I smile. I am master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.
NB: Words in Swahili and Italics are excerpts from Elani’s single “Barua ya Dunia”
donmu2ua 