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Liyuva olyo na tundire mumundi ni yende kushitata The day I left home for the city

Written by Lesley Koyi, Ursula Nafula

Illustrated by Brian Wambi

Translated by Peter Linyando Likoro

Language Rumanyo

Level Level 3

Narrate full story The audio for this story is currently not available.


Besa yayididi ayi yimana pamukunda wetu kwalire naviviyauka navantu ntani na besa odo dapitakanitiro kurondeka. Palivhu pakalire vininke vyavingi vyakuvhura kurondeka.

The small bus stop in my village was busy with people and overloaded buses. On the ground were even more things to load. Touts were shouting the names where their buses were going.


“Shitata! Shita! Kuyenda kuutokero!” Ani yuvu mughuliti wa vikarata vya besa ana kuyiyiro. Oyinya kwalire besa na shinine kuronda.

“City! City! Going west!” I heard a tout shouting. That was the bus I needed to catch.


Besa yamushitata kwashanine kuyura, ene ngoli vantu vanivingi shimpe vakutininikire varonde. Vamwe kwaarondikire vyuma vyavo munde yabesa. Vamwe ava tura muntere.

The city bus was almost full, but more people were still pushing to get on. Some packed their luggage under the bus. Others put theirs on the racks inside.


Varondi vamwe kwa katilire vikarata vyavo vashana-shane kwakushungira mubesa yampato. Vakamali vakaliro navanuke vanadidi vashungilire nawa mundjira nayintje yinya yayire.

New passengers clutched their tickets as they looked for somewhere to sit in the crowded bus. Women with young children made them comfortable for the long journey.


Ani kuvamba kulikende. Muntu ogho a shungiliro pepi name kwakwatilire shipulasitika shashinamahako. Kwadwatire vicapa vyakukurupa, ndjasha yakudjogho, ntani a monikire yira tukuka.

I squeezed in next to a window. The person sitting next to me was holding tightly to a green plastic bag. He wore old sandals, a worn out coat, and he looked nervous.


Ani kenge pandje yabesa ani dimburura ashi kuma kushuva mukunda wande, livango olyo na kulira. Niyende kushitata shashinene.

I looked outside the bus and realised that I was leaving my village, the place where I had grown up. I was going to the big city.


Liperamo ali djiri mo and varondi vanantje ava shungiri. Vaghuliti shimpe vakutininkire kughulita vininke vyavo kuvarwana ovo va peramino mubesa. Kehe uno kwayiyilire namutwentaura ovyo a ghulitire. Nkango kwakalire dakushepita kwande.

The loading was completed and all passengers were seated. Hawkers still pushed their way into the bus to sell their goods to the passengers. Everyone was shouting the names of what was available for sale. The words sounded funny to me.


Varondi vavasheshu ava ghuru vinwa, vanwe ava ghuru ndya ava vareke kutafuna. Ovo vapiliro maliva, yira ame, kwanungurukire tupu.

A few passengers bought drinks, others bought small snacks and began to chew. Those who did not have any money, like me, just watched.


Viviyauka vino kwavigonganitirepo opo yapembitire besa, shineghedo ashi kuna kushapuka. Mughuliti watiketi a harukiri vaghuliti vakuporeko.

These activities were interrupted by the hooting of the bus, a sign that we were ready to leave. The tout yelled at the hawkers to get out.


Vaghuliti ava kutindayiki vakutude kubesa. Vamwe ava tapa tjindji kuvarundandjira. Vamwe ava kambadara kughulira rwakuhulilira va ghulite vininke vyavingi.

Hawkers pushed each other to make their way out of the bus. Some gave back change to the travellers. Others made last minute attempts to sell more items.


Opo yina kushapuka besa yitunde palivango yimanaga, ani kenge palikende. Ani kupura ashi ntjenshi ngani kavyuka nka kumukunda wande.

As the bus left the bus stop, I stared out of the window. I wondered if I would ever go back to my village again.


Momo rwa twikilire ruyendo, mubesa amu vareka kupyapyara. Ani ferere nalihuguvaro ashi kuni porokera.

As the journey progressed, the inside of the bus got very hot. I closed my eyes hoping to sleep.


Ene ngoli maghano ghande agha vyuka ghayare kumundi. Vanane ngava kara muliporepo ndi? Vandimba vande ngava yita maliva ndi? Muunyande wamumati nga vuruka kutekera tutondo twande?

But my mind drifted back home. Will my mother be safe? Will my rabbits fetch any money? Will my brother remember to water my tree seedlings?


Mundjira mo, ani vhuruka kukwata lidina lyalivango lyalinene lyamushitata oko a tungire nkwirikwande.

On the way, I memorised the name of the place where my uncle lived in the big city. I was still mumbling it when I fell asleep.


Muru rwaviri ntane, ani rambuka na muyoyo waunene wakungongora nakuyiyira varondi ashi kuna kuyenda kumukunda wetu. Ani nyangura ndjato yande nakuvatuka mubesa.

Nine hours later, I woke up with loud banging and calling for passengers going back to my village. I grabbed my small bag and jumped out of the bus.


Besa yakuvyuka kwayinwitire wangu-wangu. Shirugho shashifupi tupu ayi pwawiri yitambe upumeyuva. Shininke shamulyo po unene ne, kwa kalire sha kukeverera mundi wankwirikwande.

The return bus was filling up quickly. Soon it would make its way back east. The most important thing for me now, was to start looking for my uncle’s house.


Written by: Lesley Koyi, Ursula Nafula
Illustrated by: Brian Wambi
Translated by: Peter Linyando Likoro
Language: Rumanyo
Level: Level 3
Source: The day I left home for the city from African Storybook
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
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