Download Options
Change language
English
Amharic
Arabic
Bengali
Cantonese
Dari
French
German
Italian
Japanese
Kiswahili
Korean
Mandarin
Norwegian
Nynorsk
Persian
Polish
Portuguese
Punjabi
Somali
Spanish
Tagalog
Tetum
Tibetan
Turkish
Ukrainian
Urdu
More languages...
Back to stories list
Likumbi ngwafumine hembo nakuya kumbaka
The day I left home for the city
The audio for this story is currently not available.
Regular PDFs (full-page)
Bilingual PDFs
Booklet PDFs (for printing)
Hawimanyino wajisacha mwimbo lyami halihomene vathu najisacha jakuzala. Hamavu hapwilenga vyuma vyavivulu vyakuvandamina kulongejeka. Mitoloki vapwile nakutambakana kwapwile nakuya jisacha javo.
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.
Ngwevwile mutoloki ali nakutambakana, “Mbaka! Mbaka! Yakuya kumulauko!” Ize ikhiko Sacha ngwatondele kukandama.
“City! City! Going west!” I heard a tout shouting. That was the bus I needed to catch.
Sacha yakuya kumbaka yapwile kwakamwihi nakuzala, oloze vathu vavavulu vapwile nakulishinjika kutonda kwingila mukachi. Vamwe valongejekele viteli vyavo mwishi yasacha. Vekha vahakile vyavo hakhelulu jamukachi kasacha.
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.
Vaze vapwile nakwingila musacha vakwachile matiketi avo chosena vatondele hakutwamina muze musacha mwazalile navathu. Maphwevo navana vatwamishile kanawa haungeji wavo wausuku uze.
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.
Ngwalichinyinyikile kwakamwihi nanjanena. Muthu atwamine kwakamwihi nayami akwachishile kungonga yenyi yandundu yamafwo-amatamba. Avwalile jisambalakata jamwaka, chashi chamwaka chakufwa kaha asolekele kupwa nawoma.
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.
Ngwatalile haweluka wasacha nakwanuka ngwami ngwapwile nakuseza limbo lyami, limbo ngwakolelelemo. Ngwapwile nakuya kumbaka yayinene.
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.
Kulongejeka kwakumine kaha nawa vosena vapwilenga musacha vatwamine. Vakakulanjisa vatwalilileho kulichichimika musacha nakulanjisa vyuma vyavo. Vosena vapwilenga nakutambakana kukulisa vize vapwilenga nakulanjisa. Mazu evwikile apwile akusehesa kuli yami.
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.
Vamwe valanjile vyakunwa, vakwavo valanjile vyakulya vyamweseke nakuputuka kutafunya. Vaze kavapwile najimbongoko nge yami, twatalileko kaha.
A few passengers bought drinks, others bought small snacks and began to chew. Those who did not have any money, like me, just watched.
Evi vikilikita vyakulanjisa vaviluwanganyishile kukusopesa chasacha, chinjikizo chakusolola ngwavo vanaliwahisa nakuya. Mutoloki wajisacha alwezele vakakulanjisa kufuma muminyau.
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.
Vakakulanjisa valishinjikile mangana vafume musacha. Vakwavo vahanyine jichenji kuli venyajo. Vakwavo vesekele kulanjisa muze vene mulwola lwamakumishilo.
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.
Omu sacha yasunukile, ngwanonokele hanjanena. Ngwalihulishile nge nangukeza kukahiluka cheka kwimbo.
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.
Omu ungeji watwalileho, mukachi kasacha mwazumine. Ngwasokele meso ami kutonda kusavala.
As the journey progressed, the inside of the bus got very hot. I closed my eyes hoping to sleep.
Oloze vishinganyeka vyapwile kwimbo. Mama ali kanawa? Vambwanda jami navaneha nganyo? Songo yami mwanuka kuthukumwina jimbuto jamitondo yami?
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?
Hakuya mujila, ngwalamine mumutwe lijina lyangalila atwaminengako nathu muze mumbaka yayinene. Ngwapwilenga nakuyivuluka likha chosena ngwalezukilile 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.
Omu mwahichile shimbu, ngwahindukile navyema vyakusanyika vathu vapwile nakukinduluka kwimbo. Ngwanonele kangonga kami nakufuma muze musacha.
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.
Sacha yakuhiluka yapwilenga nakuzala washi, kalinwomu nayikinduluka. Chachilemu chikuma chasalileko kuli yami jino chapwile kutonda zuvo yanathu.
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 NafulaIllustrated by: Brian WambiTranslated by: Masho Kaloza
