Ivan Musoke

How was your day?

Tired as heck, I whip out my reading material. Dude next to me is carrying loads of stuff so he figures we must have some sort of connection seeing as I am also carrying some stuff. He says hi. Its nine O’clock and I have the cold the whole world has seemingly recovered from, or dumped on me. I am tempted to snort, but hey, he is trying to be polite. So I reply. I say Hi. He nods his head in sage-like approval. I contemplate nodding my head as well, but realize that deep down I know better. It simply wouldn’t make sense if we just kept bobbing our heads to the beat of some imaginary drum.

I turn to my reading material. I am barely halfway when a woman darts in like she was racing for the seat. There are loads of seats in this taxi, come to think of it, in the world and this one is no different. I have seen better seats, but clearly she hasn’t. She is happy…as happy as she is rude. I thought this was the “polite taxi” where everyone says “hi” and nods.

The taxi fills and because I am sitting near the light…well if we were to be specific, I am right under it so I could very easily have a Michael Jackson incident and singe my hair and convince myself that it won’t grow and the only thing for it is to change the color of my skin. To avoid prejudice from the Blacks and Whites I will find some sort of middle ground and turn a shade of grey.

My hair is not singed, but the light allows me to read my stuff. We stop at a petrol station and once again I wonder why these guys waited till now to refill their tanks. I’m still wondering when the “conductor’s” voice cuts into my thoughts without so much as an “Excuse me while I intrude on your thought process”. He is asking for “big money”. Money the size of a TV presenter. No, bigger…the size of a big note. For a moment I wish I was the guy pumping gas so I can slip in a corny line like, “Ha, boss. We have a M7 situation here…No Change.”

Dude next to me asks whether 5k is big. If you ask me it really depends, hell, in front of the right sort of unemployed person 200 shillings is ginomargantuan (HUGE). The conductor looks at the dude with the sort of look that says “DUH”…not quite like the one we see in teen flicks with those cute chics in short skirts and pert noses and…by the way, I have seen some chic with a nose that, well, that’s just worth mentioning on my blog She’s short and brown and has a nose that just grabs your attention…or pokes you…or gouges your eyes…well she has a nose, is what I’m saying.

We set off from the petrol station and a while later draw up to some “stage” a “bus stop” if you will, but you probably won’t seeing as we have no buses yet. Ideally this is a great time to dispose of a few passengers and moving on. The last thing you want is some green t-shirt that is yet to discover the joys of deodorant…joys? No the wonders and perks (Perks…sounds like a nose description) of deo. So anyway, the conductor lets green tee sit on me…yeah, ON…there’s a piece of seat that’s just, er, lying there wondering what purpose it has in life and Green Tee-shirt guy can’t see this. What is wrong with this guy? What’s his malfunction?

We continue with incident. Up till the next point at which some peeps want to get out. Green Tee simply stands up and hopes they can squeeze past him. He does this with his back to me and I regret not carrying a dagger…or a landmine.

The conductor bumps himself up to first class and I am stuck with this miserable wretch. The situation is so bad even the sage next to me is not nodding…We get to my stop and as I disembark I consider for a moment what I stand to lose from literally stepping on Green tee and the conductor’s toes. I realize there’s a remote possibility that I may mess up my shoes so I simply walk out.

I get home and there’s a Spanish soap…Well, to be specific, its Mexican, but when you really think of it, they are the same…

I retire to this room, but not before taking my meds.

I attempt to chat, but my eyes are telling me no…but my body…well, it sort of restarts coz I black out and then come to.

I’m going to try and sleep now.




  1. “Ha, boss. We have a M7 situation here…No Change.” Wicked
    What’s with chaps and taxi experiences of late.

  2. ah…what was i going to say? forgotten. anyway, whats eating The One? u sound really depresased. i hope you are not heading for that Jimmi Hendrix situation Degstar spoke about a century ago, dude. want to lie back on the couch?

  3. @jay: Man, the taxi sector is long overdue for some sort of overhaul

    @cherie: Now you see me. . .

    @Iwaya: Its based on a true story

    @Amphibian: What’s eating me?…The Cold…I’ve had this thing for ages!

  4. Ivan, ma mellow, ma man (Excuse the slang, I’ve been listening to Big Daddy Kane) For a cold, Vodka. For depression, vodka. For becoming best friends with strangers, vodka. You see a theme developing?

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