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Pa kitesheni paimenanga masakya ku muzhi pavujile bantu ne ma sakya ayula nabipe ne bantu. Kabiji ne panshi pajinga ne bintu bikwabo byavula bya kulonga. Banyamata ba bijikelenga kubena kuya masakya.
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.
“Kutaunyi! Kutaunyi! Babena kuya ku muzhika!” Naumvwine munyamata wabijika. Yo sakaya yo nakebelwenga ku kanjila.
“City! City! Going west!” I heard a tout shouting. That was the bus I needed to catch.
Uno sakya wakutauni washajile pacheche kuyula kabiji ne bantu bavula beshinjikilenga amba batwele. Bamo balongele bipe byabo munshi wa sakaya. Bakwabo nabo batujile bipe byabo mukachi pakulamina bipe.
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.
Ba kang’enda baishilenga pa nyuma bakwachile ma tikechi abo kumaboko saka bakeba pa kwikala musakya wayula. Bainetu baji nabana bebekajile bulongo pa lweendo lwa lepa.
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.
Nechichimikele kwipi na windo. Muntu waikele kwipi ne amiwa wakwachijile bingi kyola kya pepala wa pulasitiki wa mazha matamba. Wavwajile nkwabilo yakala, ne jakete wapwa kabiji wamwekene kumvwa moyo.
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.
Natajile panje ya sakya ne kulanguluka amba mbena kusha muzhi wami, mpunzha kona komejile. Nailenga ku taunyi mukatampe.
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.
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.
Bakangenda bacheche bapotele byakutoma, bakwabo nabo bapotele byakujisha ne kutendeka kunyeuna. Aba bujile maali nobe amuwa, batajilengatu.
A few passengers bought drinks, others bought small snacks and began to chew. Those who did not have any money, like me, just watched.
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.
Sakya byo yafuminga pa kitesheni, natajile pangye ya windo. Nalungulikele inge nkabwelako jibiji ku muzhi.
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.
Byotwaendeleko paluno lwendo, mukachi kasakya mwaishile mwapyana kya kine kine. Nazhinzhibele mukumona kuuba amba ndaleko.
As the journey progressed, the inside of the bus got very hot. I closed my eyes hoping to sleep.
Bino maana ami abwele kumuzhi. Bamama bakekala bulongo nyi? Tululu twami tukaleta maali nyi? Kolajami wamulume uka vulukanga kutekezha tubichi twami tucheche nyi?
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?
Mujishinda, nalamine jizhina ja mpunzha kwaikalanga ba mwisho mu taunyi mukatampe. Nejitongwelenga ne mutulo.
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.
Panyuma yama awala atanu ne ana, nabukile nakyongo kyobaimbilenga kusakya ne kwita bakang’enda babwelelenga kumuzhi kwetu. Natolele ka kyola kami ne kulupuka musakya.
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.
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.
