SCHOOL BUS

I know what most of you must be thinking. But no, I am not going to talk about that school bus. Not today. That is in the past now. I am going to talk about my ride in a school bus this evening. My little brother’s school bus. You know one of those lucky days you’re “footing” and then a local school bus driver spots you and stops for you. And you get in. And you feel so lucky. And that’s how you save some fare if at all you had any. Yeah, so it happened to me today as I was walking home from the market* (type of market not specified) and boy, it felt good!
So I sat and after all the stares at me from all these kids and at my phone that was ringing, after my brother rushing to say hallo to my bag and its contents- what it had in store for him- and after I had received the uncomfortable call from my father, I realized that I was actually the only person seated in the bus. Well, plus the driver. The children were still playing, jumping from seat to seat…Good Lord! Don’t they ever get tired? I mean, isn’t this what they do all day at school? How do they do this? They were having a good time, these kids and I wished I could become a kid all over again. However, that thought lasted only about half a second. God, no, I do not want to be a kid again. I do not want to sit KCPE again. Or to learn parts of a bloody praying mantis again. Not again.
They made me think about my days in primary school. How we would walk to school every day, how we would cross our river faithfully and dutifully, come rain come shine, literally. And when the river was breaking its banks and we thought we could get an excuse to break the rules (skip school), our mums would carry us across it. So that’s how we managed to go to school every day; not using school buses like these kids around me still admiring my phone and now checking out my cool hairstyle –the girls just had boring lines on their heads.
During our days, buses were used to travel to the city and did schools have buses? No, maybe universities or those other schools in the city. Who knew? In our village, there was only one secondary school that had a pickup. We all wanted to go there when we grew up. It was unclear, however, whether the pickup belonged to the headmaster or to the school because it had the school logo and it was always driven around by the headmaster.
Our school had nothing close to a pickup, let alone a school bicycle. No, let alone a school wheelbarrow. You know, even a crippled one for display or a donated one for carrying yellow maize from the relief food lorry to Five East for distribution? (You remember yellow maize? You know, corn? The one they were testing on us to see if it actually doesn’t kill?). But we were just fine. We of the 20th century are an amazing bunch. Hakuna maneno mingi. Hakuna matata. Surely, children of this present century could not cope with half of what we went through. But then again they have their fair share of tribulations. 21st century problems: Waking up at four. Even before their fathers (or mothers for those prepped by the house help) so that they can catch the bus at five. So much for the early bird that catches the worm. Most of these kids are too young and it’s too early in life for them to be early birds. Too early in the morning to catch any worm. For Chrissake even the worms are still safely asleep in their holes.
But then there were still a few traitors in the 20th century that had school buses. Probably those that now eat burgers and don’t know what beans are. Those who don’t even know wat boerewors is. Those that studied at Sunrise Academy and Brilliance group of schools. The Sherryls and Beryls and Whitneys and Britneys. The Karls and Kyles and Lous and Lees. The Briannas and Biancas and Speciozas and Speranzas. Those that when asked wat COD abbreviates say “Call of Duty” instead of Cash on Delivery. The Brayos* and Kevos and Patos and Martos. *(emphasis on Brayo). Brayo from my discussion group in school actually said this. Haki Brayo utatumaliza.
Back to this particular school bus. These kids are speaking English, Kiswahili or a mix of both. A good mix. A beautiful mixture. You do not want to know what our mixture back in the day sounded like. I won’t even call it a mixture; that’s too decent. It was something else, more like a concoction. A nasty concoction. These kids are well dressed and are not stealing anything from the bus. The driver’s water is exactly where it was an hour ago. Even the sponges making up the seats are undisturbed, unpinched. Everything’s in order. There’s always one naughty one, though. Or two, or three. These are the ones that will promote themselves to the position of bus conductor but generally, these kids are civilized.
At school, they speak English, perhaps French. They eat good food, sing real songs; real lyrics. School is fun. Even children as young as my little nephew (we’ll call him Papsi) want to carry their daddy’s backpack or their mummy’s handbag and run (sorry, ride the bus) to school. Yes, they know about the school bus. Papsi knows about the school bus. “Skubash”, he says. You see, an enlightened generation, a bright future. The chosen generation.
Papsi. My nephew. Two years old. Very handsome. This guy is something else. A charmer, killer smile. Ever heard of involuntary responses? This guy stimulates one of those; the smile. A long face is a non-occurrence at their house. Try wearing a long face and this guy will give you a warm hug, a peck and he will look at you with those innocent eyes and that cheeky, chubby and cute face. Ladies and gentlemen when this happens you will have no choice but to smile from ear to ear. Involuntarily. He is full of warmth and charmth. When you meet Papsi, you can walk to the ends of the earth for him. That’s Papsi for you.
Hold on, did I say there were only two of us seated? Incorrect. There was Dylan. I hadn’t seen Dylan. The driver’s son. Woe unto you if the driver is your father. Woe unto Dylan. He has to sit next to his father every single day. And however much he seems to yearn to have a little fun with his friends, he has to sit there and be a good boy and be sad and watch his daddy drive the school bus. Let’s hope he picks up a few driving skills. Let’s hope that he owns a nice car in the future and that he drives it like a crazy man.
As you can see, I thought about many things during this little journey of mine but guess what, I didn’t miss my stop. I just couldn’t. You see, that’s the thing with school buses. You are reminded where your home is as though every time you leave home for school, everyone is reassigned a new home or your home somehow readjusts its position in line with the sun or the wind or the equator or anything else that matters. But then again perhaps that’s why our kids come back home every day. Perhaps why my lovely little brother comes back to this very home every evening. And safe.