Experience is a nasty, cruel teacher. Especially when travelling long distance on public buses, eg, Msa to Nrb.
For some reason, we love to treat ourselves when travelling. Before departure, you snack on fried chicken in a fast food cafe (chicken took 3wks from hatching to the deep frier). With chips,on the side. Thats junk, with a stew of junk. And, a packet of cold milk.
Before you’ve cleared the truck jam at Jomvu, you’ve started shifting in your seat, with silent bombs of gas. At Voi, you pray your god for a stop over but they zoom past. The bus has aircon, and the perfume from the lady in the next seat is now a pain. Loud sounds from your tummy. You need to unload and fast. Its now some godforsaken wasteland between Voi and Mtito. You sprint to the front, and beg the driver to stop. “ok, hapo mbele tu.”, he says. You jog from one leg to the other.
Thankfully, the driver stops. On condition that he takes off, if bandits materialise from the bush. (bandits? you wouldnt care if the prophecy of Armaggedon happened then). You bolt out of the bus into the bush. Its the plains, no bushes in sight but you dont care.
You rip your jeans to the knees, and squat. Such relief. The sounds from your bottom must equal those from the bombing of The Pearl Harbour by the Japanese, in the 1940s. The passengers still awake in the bus stare at you, but,hey, no one knows you, right? After all, no one can take a photo of me in the split seconds passing cars illuminate me. Pesky Kenyans.
A steady rhythm and tremors on the ground startle you, and a huge round single headlight show up to your left. Its the train. The train rails run parallel to the highway, remember? And in your haste, for relief, you jumped over the rail. Before you can pause your business, the train is between you and the highway, and your bus.
Tragedy. And its a cargo train. It goes on and on, and the noise cant let you shout to the impatient conductor, and angry passengers.
After an eternity, which you spent with furtive glances all over (this place is infested with buffalos and hyenas - for whom, sir, your bum is literally, a piece of cake),the train passes by.
Oh,you forgot tissue paper in your bag. Maybe you didnt even have any tissue paper. Options ? Nasty thorny bushes. A rock. Nope. You remember you are wearing a vest. Its white and brand new. You pull it off your head and clean your bottom with it.
“Hurry up, you fool”. The perfumed lady shouts.
You head back. You have used up all of 45 minutes shitting in Tsavo East,with a busload of angry passengers staring at you.
Damn, that vest had no mileage on it.
Experience is a nasty teacher.
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