We had our first rain since June the day after Independence Day. I had been really tired from all the laundering, and my stomach didn’t feel right from all the meat I ate, so I spent the day relaxing and doing nothing of consequence. My teen age friends came over for awhile, and one of them proceeded to take a nap. Sitting with the other girl and watching this nap-taker made me very sleepy, so when they left I decided to try a nap of my own. I woke up at around 7 pm with my light on and decided I wasn’t going to do anything but continue my nap, so I turned off the light and slept for another 12 hours, off and on, because of the terrific thunderstorm.
Both I and the world outside woke refreshed. The dusty dirt paths and roads were no longer dusty, but not muddy either. I walked all the way to the bus stop and my shoes still looked black. I was headed to the Boatle Jazz Garden to meet Tom and his wife Debbie, visiting from the States, to see the Women of Jazz perform. I had met one of the Women at a fundraiser at Tom’s church and wanted to see they perform. They do fundraisers for nonprofits and I am trying to get one of my many projects on their short list for next year.
Being a Sunday afternoon on a holiday weekend that included a pay day on Friday, the bus was packed with people returning home from either a trip home or a shopping excursion. I barely got a place on the bus, and we passed stops with people waiting because we were now at standing room capacity. I was lucky enough to have a precarious perch to sit on, next to an open window, where I could peer directly out the huge plate glass windshield. At least I didn’t have to stand the whole way. So as we are driving along and I can see everything the driver can see, I started thinking about the things I do here that I would never do at home, mostly because no one would allow it. Like all of us standing in the stairwell or perched on the handle rail of the stairwell of this bus. For a second or so I try to develop my mitigation plan for a possible crash. Given that the road is fairly straight and you can see most things coming, I figured I would quickly turn away from the window and throw myself onto the floor, holding on tight to the hand rail if I saw the driver about to do anything stupid. Of course, I would look pretty stupid if I misinterpreted anything. The other major cause of accidents is those animals flinging themselves in front of vehicles at the last minute. In that case, I wouldn’t see it coming and we were much bigger than it, so the key was for the driver to just run it over and not try to avoid it.
All these thoughts went out the window as we drove by the garbage dump and the smells came charging in. So, now I know what a garbage dump smells like after four months of dryness followed by a nice rainstorm. God Almighty. Why did they put this dump right along this highway? Will it smell this bad all summer or just after every rain? Or is it just after the first rain and then for how long? I am still trying to maintain my safety and security plan for a bus crash while having these thoughts. I hadn’t figured into any of my scenarios the driver passing out from garbage fumes, so I watched him anxiously for any signs that I would have to put my plan into motion.
But none too soon, we had passed the stench and people who had passed out were regaining consciousness (seriously though, no one that I could see actually passed out). I arrived at the Jazz Garden promptly at 2, when it was to begin. Of course on my way past the stench it had occurred to me that I was getting there way too early and that things wouldn’t start properly for a couple of hours at least, but Tom, Debbie and I would have time to chat before the music, so it was cool. Plus, I had to head back with a bus before it got too dark, which would mean I would have to leave by 6:30 at the latest.
I found the Women of Jazz, including the one I met Nnunu, only because they were the only three women standing around looking like they had something to do. She looked totally different without her big wig, formal dress and high heels. They arrived around 5. I said hi and told them I had to leave around 6 so I was hoping to get to hear them before then. Nnunu said, “well then let’s get started!” Unfortunately what that meant was their back up musicians needed to set up their equipment and do a sound check, and they had to go change their clothes, so things started at 5:45 which was probably 15 minutes early. I got to hear three songs before I headed out to the bus stop. They were awesome though.
On my way to the bus stop a drunk adult male yelled “lekoga” at me. Well, Doofus Butt, I don’t respond to that and certainly not from an adult and certainly not a drunk one so I walked with strong, firm strides towards the bus stop. At some point it occurred to me that I was headed to the bus stop that would take me to Gabs, not the one that would take me back to Otse, so I had to double back, cross the street and run to catch the bus that was just coming. At least Doofus Butt was nowhere to be seen.
When I got off the bus, I saw ahead of me on the roadway into town a bunch of dark figures (it was dusk now) with glowing plastic bags full of groceries. Finally, I have seen people shop and carry their loads home on the bus! These people had just gotten off the bus from the opposite direction. I looked back at my bus and saw the multitude unloading their own glowing plastic bags full of groceries. I walked up to join the group ahead of me and took one strap of a duffle bag that the young lady was especially struggling with and helped her carry that and one of her friend’s plastic bags to Moeding College, where they go to boarding school. They are fed at the school, but they say the food isn’t that good. What did you buy? I asked. Packages of Top Ramen like noodles, among other things. These were one of my favorite quick and easy foods when I was their age. Nice to know some things may be universal and unchanging with the passage of time. I wished I had one of them there packages myself that night.
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