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Saturday, 27 February 2016


Nature has placed several things in place for us to admire and appreciate; you could look at the blue sky and see the dragons and massive gorillas formed by the white clouds. While admiring their intricacies and outlines, they begin to disintegrate, pulling apart from each other in a smoky transformation until all that’s left is the curvature of the unending blue sky. Gradually, the fierce sun loses its scorching power, changing into an orange and harmless ball, sinking into the edge of the curvature where no soul sojourns.

This is the point where the traffic grows tense, cars lining up on the order of the red light from the traffic light. Then the moment that captured my attention crept in; the waiting people. I didn’t just see the lined up sedans, SUVs, wagons and trucks but I saw the souls on the wheels. I took the time to read the different faces, looking through the shields into their eyes, deciphering the unspoken words from their faces, reading the contemplation of their hearts. From my viewpoint I sat, taking it all in.

The man driving the Hilux was chewing carrot, his other hand on the wheel, hoping the light turned green. He looked cheerful and fairly rich, probably a worker who had a busy day at work and couldn’t get adequate lunch so settled for the crunchy fruit from street light hawkers. There was another car with a lady behind the wheels, probably in her late thirties. Even with her glasses on, I could see fragments of worry in her eyes. She focused her stare ahead at the light pole. I could only guess she was worried about getting home to see her kids and if good enough, meet her husband’s needs. There was another sedan; the bony driver not looking quite happy. He didn’t look like he could afford a car so I guessed he was a paid driver, probably going to pick up the mistress or master from a place or on another errand. Close to him was an SUV with two men in the front seats. The man on the wheels was engaged in a conversation by the other man, the other fellow doing more of the talking. The driver was more calm and lukewarm in the conversation, looking ahead for the colour he wanted to see. Maybe he was giving a less privileged colleague a lift from work and was more concerned about getting home than engaging in a conversation. Behind him was another sedan, the man on the wheels spiting words at whosoever was on the other end of his phone. Then there was the patrol Hilux with the men in black inside, trying to meander to the front like they were above every law. The tricycles could not be left out as they splattered everywhere like a disrupted file of ants. They were the back bone of the common men, the public transport means.

Horns blared, carbon monoxide fumes displaced the lower air, traders hustled to sell, human and mechanical noise was everywhere.

Ping! The light went green and engines dropped into gears; some sounding like grinders, others like super cars. Then the horn blaring intensified and the aggression set in. Everyone wanted to get ahead of the other, pushing in bumper to bumper. In a fraction of time, I could see the race in human nature, the volumes in their unmoving lips and the desperation to meet their needs. Then my tricycle moved.

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