Sitasiyo nto ya bisi mu igiturage cyange yari ihuze n’abantu n’amabisi apakiwe cyane. Kubutaka hari hakiri nindi bintu byo gupakira. Abakonvayeri barimo bahamagara amazina yaho bisi zari zigiye.
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.
“City! City! Going west!” I heard a tout shouting. That was the bus I needed to catch.
Busi yo m’umugi yari hafi kuzura, ariko abantu benshi bari bakiri gusunika ngo binjiremo. Bamwe bashyize imizigo yabo munsi ya busi. Abandi bashyira iyabo mu ntebe imbere.
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.
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.
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.
Narebye hanze ya busi mbona ko nvuye mu icyaro cyange, ahantu nari narakuriye. Naringiye m
umugi munini.
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.
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.
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?
Munzira, nafashe mumutwe amazina yahantu data wacu yabaga mu mugi munini. Narinkirimo kuhavuga igihe narinsinziriye.
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.
Amasaha icyenda ashize, nabyukijwe n’urusaku, hahamagarwa abagenzi basubira iwacu mu igiturage. Nafashe igikapu cyange gito nanasimbukira hanze ya busi.
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.
Busi isububirayo yaririmo kuzura byihuse. Vuba yari gusubira mu aburasirazuba. Ikintu kibanze cyane kuringe, cyari gutangira gushaka inzu ya data wacu.
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.
Lesley Koyi, Ursula Nafula
Brian Wambi
Patrick Munyurangabo
Kinyarwanda
Level 3
The audio for this story is currently not available.
