The Woman on the Bus is one of eight stories in my published collection of short stories entitled `A DIME FOR TWO`. The account is a graphic rendition of an unforgettable journey I had with a fellow female passenger.
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THE STORY
One of
the most popular modes of public transport in Cameroon today is night travel.
This happens especially between the South West, Littoral, Centre, West and
North West Regions where passengers finish their full day`s activities in one
city and then take off before midnight to get to the next one at about 6 am.
Such an option enables those who travel overnight to immediately start a new
day on arrival without losing a whole working day traveling.
I am one
of the lovers of night travel. Recently as I journeyed from the North West
Regional headquarters of Bamenda to the South West Regional Headquarters, Buea,
I sat next to a woman who fascinated me from the beginning of the trip to the
end.
I refer
to her as “the woman by me”, not meaning, “the woman I fathered”, because I
could not have fathered her. She is the one “by me” because she sat next to
me. Yet, I cannot call her, “the woman by my side”, for that description
is exclusively reserved for my better half. I won`t call her “the woman behind me”
because that is my mother. She is not “the woman above me”, for that is Mary
the Mother of Christ. Similarly, she is not “the woman in front of me” because
that is the expression I use to refer to Dr. Nalova Lyonga, an undeniably
dynamic woman who was recently appointed Vice Chancellor of the University of Buea,
here in Cameroon.
Dr. Nalova is “in front of me” because I know that where she has got to today
is by dint of hard work on her part. I also greatly admire her for her
contribution to world literature. So to me she is a role model.
Nonetheless,
let`s return to the woman on the bus. On this day of the trip I was happy to
have had a seat on a Buea by night 70-sitter bus. I prefer the 70-sitter to the
smaller Coaster because while the latter is small, narrow, crammed and
indiscreet; the former is large, spacious and discreet, and to boot, gives one
the false impression that one is flying in an airplane. That is not bad,
because, after all, do the French not say:”Il
est toujours permis de rêver?” which means, “One can always dream?”
Before I
took up my seat, Number 46 to be precise, the woman had already taken up hers,
the one just before mine, Number 45. So we sat close to each other. But mind
you, I took no unfair advantages. The first thing I noticed about her was
that she was in the prayer mood. When I greeted her, her response was, “Praise
God!” When I asked if I could pass to my seat, she said: “Alleluia!”
During
the journey she sang, she hummed, she whispered and even occasionally cried
out: “Jesus!”, or “Father!”, or “Daddy God!”, or “Father Almighty!” Although I
am one who prays, I did not cherish this particular manner of praying because
when I travel at night I want to sleep. But now, I realized that was out of the
question. Even so, I did not see why I, an autonomous passenger with sovereign
rights of mine, should be subjected to a fellow passenger`s whims and caprices.
So, I
spoke up: “Madam, what do you think you`re doing?” She was not just surprised
but shocked by my question. “I am praying! I am worshiping God! Can`t you see?”
I told her that there was nothing wrong with worshiping God apart from the fact
that her loudness was disturbing me and possibly other passengers. She replied
that no other passenger had complained and wondered loudly why I should
complain about her when she was sure that if the driver had instead put on
music with the loudspeakers of the bus blasting away, I would not have
complained. On that point I felt she was right because I love bus music to the
point of going to sleep while it`s on, because it lulls me to sleep. Even so, I
was not prepared to hand her victory on a platter of gold.
Just
then, she added another dimension to my Calvary
by speaking in tongues: “Abra kada bra
saka maka la lata!” “What are you saying?” I inquired. “Do I even know what
I`m saying! All I know is I`m moved by the Holy Spirit. He puts words in my
mouth. He tells me what to say.” “But what you say must have a meaning!” I
insisted. “I don`t know what it means. But the Lord Knows.”, she told me,
rather categorically.
I pointed
out to her that what she was doing was contrary to the way Jesus preached. She
was disturbing the public peace, I explained. Spinning round as if stung, she
declared to me that the problem was mine, not hers. She even said she would
continue to sing and exclaim as much as she wanted. Strangely enough, not a
single passenger uttered a word in support of me, although none also spoke on
her behalf. But then again, she was winning the day, was not she?
When we
got to Mile 17 Buea where my journey had to end, she looked at me and said:
“God bless you, brother!” Looking back at her, I swallowed my pride and
replied: “God bless you too, Sister”. She continued her journey to the
town of Muyuka.
As I walked away from the bus her sighs and chants and outbursts faded away. I
wondered who of the two of us should be saying to the other: “Good riddance!”
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FOOTNOTE
TO READ
THE OTHER SEVEN STORIES IN THE COLLECTION, PLEASE FOLLOW THE LINK BELOW TO MY
SUMBOLA WEBSITE PAGES. IF THE LINK DOES NOT OPEN, COPY IT AND PASTE IT IN THE
ADDRESS BAR AT THE TOP OF YOUR SCREEN, THEN PRESS "ENTER":
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