The City with the Yellow Buses

The major connection i have with the memory of the step i took on the 10th of January, 2020, is the black Raado watch that adorns my left wrist.

The same watch sits now as i type away on my laptop.

The city with yellow buses, where its inhabitants rarely sleep.
The city with yellow buses where the conductors hang from the doors as we speed over the overhead bridges, my mind gives flash images of the conductor falling and me reaching to grab him.

I see him fall, his skull cracks open and blood spills, the woman beside me begins a repetitive chant or maybe it’s screaming, but it is definitely not in the English language.

I shake my head to get out of my grotesque imagination. My eyes are staring out to the lagoon. Its the first time i am seeing this amount of water up close, minus the time my class went to visit a Dam when i was still in the university.

I think of showing my brother this large quantity of water, the ships, the noise, the people, the place. I want to share this with him. Pictures. Pictures would work, but i recall what happened the last time i was using my phone beside an open window. I change my mind and absorb the details of this view, with hopes that i can recreate it with words when i get to see him.

This is an attempt to recreate this view and many others i have seen and will see. I hope in the middle of a chaotic or peaceful day, you read any section of this journal and you feel refreshed, or at least don’t feel like you wasted time.

See you soon.

Photo credit: @WoshDraws on Twitter

For me, Writing is therapeutic, alongside listening to Rap, Highlife and Classical Music. I bite my nails when bored.

For me, Writing is therapeutic, alongside listening to Rap, Highlife and Classical Music. I bite my nails when bored.