The old man didn’t know what he got himself into. As a general rule of thumb, in this spinless city, no one ever talked back. EVER! He wasn’t new to that fact and he always abode by that. But today he felt inspired to speak his mind and get his tooth problem ‘resolved’. Fanya rearaanged his jaw for him before he was hastily whisked out of the matatu in to oncoming traffic. As usual people just sat there watching. Like the poor old man who was now semi road kill on the ground, another young chap garbed in a white promotional t-shirt with flame yellow armpits stood from his seat in protest. Irony was his shirt had ‘OMO, inatoa moadoa doa yote,’ written on it.
The tout who was now smelling of something out of a city council toilet was straightening his torn waist coat. The driver was trying to ‘speed’ off from the scene at 40 km/ hr with smoke bellowing from the exhaust and a coughing engine shuddering from time to time. The ‘OMO’ boy stood up and yanked what was left of Fanya’s waist coat.
‘Imekusaidia kivipi?’ Fanya demanded.
‘We acha! Kwani ni budako?’ was going to be the last thing the tout would utter. OMO boy tossed him out of the matatu and like super man, but without the worry of a cape to get caught on a speeding car tire, OMO boy lept out of the matatu; now screeching to a stand still and puulverised the tout on the highway.
Cars were now swerving past hooting psychotically. The swerving slowly damped down to a traffic jam where people peered out of their vehicles to watch the bout. Once they stared to their fill they drove off. About a 1km from the bout the old man was being ‘avoided’ as cars swerved past. One idiot drove by, slowed down and rolled down the window then yelled, ‘SOMEBODY HELP THIS MAN!’ and drove off.
The police officer who was about 500 metres away from the dying man, continued to attempt to direct the traffic which was now bulding to 4 lanes from the usual 2. The cop pulled off his hat tossed it to the ground and walked away.
A blood curdling scream stopped the cop. He froze then his face was filled with dread he turned around in the direction of the sound and there stood a ‘fluffy’ lass covered in blood screaming in shock staring at her blood drenched hands. The cop shrugged his shoulders and walked toward her. Then someone else yelled from the opposite direction.
‘Ofisa! Mzee anakufa.’
The cop looked dumbfounded. He stood where he was and everything went mute. He stared at the bloody woman and the man yeling for his attention. It was Tuesday all over again.