Our bus ride to TZ began MUCH better than the last; keyword: began. We knew better this time and arrived at 9 (rather than 6), and we left promptly at 9:45am. Thus ends the normalcy. I must confess that we went against one of Mama Shamim’s rules of busing in E. Africa and had to sit in the back of the bus; we now understand why it is a rule. Thus begins my list of things that I will never do again after the bus ride. First, I will never ride in the back of a bus in East Africa. There are no such things as “shocks” on the bus that we’re on and so we feel every single bump on the road, especially the speed bumps. Secondly, I will never complain about speed bumps in Little Rock, Arkansas, or anywhere else for that matter, because those in EA put all others to shame; I’m talking mini mountains. The only two images that come close to the feeling of being in the back are: infant Spencer in the Johnny Jumper bouncing up and down, up and down; and when cartoon characters are shot out of cannons and such, flying across a road or ground bouncing as they come to a stop, only there was no suspension pulling me back up and the ground was not a cartoon but a hard, uncomfortable seat killing my butt. Finally, I will never think twice about bringing an animal in transit with me. The lady on the back row (directly behind us and next to my right side) brought a chicken with her on the bus; yes, a live chicken. And by damn, if any animal behaves as well as that chicken did for six hours (minus the first 2 minutes of freaking out before it was put on the floor), it’s allowed to travel with me. It was so well behaved that at one point, everyone started screaming, “where’s the chicken?! Where’s the chicken?!” What?!?! You’ve lost the damn chicken, unbelievable. No worries, though, after five minutes of searching it was found against the back wall sleeping.
Anyways, I unfortunately conclude this post on a sad note. The bus was less than 10 minutes from the border, actually in Isebania’s jurisdiction when all of a sudden the bus driver SLAMS on the breaks, swerving, as our bus quickly leans to the right, about to tip over into the ditch on the side of the road; I’m talking about two wheels off the ground tipping. Luckily, most of us are on the left side and it comes back to earth and comes to a stop. Terrified we gather ourselves and start figuring out what happened. We quickly realize things are bad. There’s a piki in the ditch on its side and right behind it a man on his back screaming, one leg going the wrong direction, people are running from all directions to the front of the bus screaming, and we soon realize that they are running to a man lying dead in front of our bus. The best we can gather is that the man had stumbled out into the street, was hit by the piki, both of which were hit by our bus. It’s an odd feeling being on something that kills a man. For the past 5 ½ hours, we had been bitching about how fast the driver was taking the bumps, and yet, his speed in the end possibly played a role in a man’s death. Part of me wonders if things would have changed if one of us had said something to the driver, but especially coming from a mzungu, I’m sure he would’ve changed little. We actually had multiple people back in Shirati act like it was no big deal, for deaths along the ride happen like that all the time. Needless to say, shaken up and kinda out of it, we finally make it back to Shirati and SHED, and I find myself thinking, “thank god, home sweet home.”
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