There’s something fascinating about public transport. Not to
say the public transport is perfect, certainly not in the streets of Windhoek,
the taxis are the most road rage initiating machines. I often find myself
screaming the most ungodly things in foreign languages, as if. I think its
mostly to make a point to myself than to the driver of the other vehicle – well
considering the windows are most often than not closed and the radio is
probably playing one of my songs when I am behind the wheel.
There’s a glimpse into a stranger’s life with every 20-minute
ride I endure to and from work in public transport. The older woman who sat in
front of my seat this morning as I rode to work is definitely a highlight. I
watched her from the side mirrors as she made her way to, I’d guess work at
7am. Maybe from work, I couldn’t be sure. She wore a blue tracksuit hugging her
body and on top of her well saturated weave which looked like it was flashed
down an oil pipe was a read woolen hat that sat clumsily to accompany her
seemingly satisfied face.
She dug into something on her lap then she quickly stuffed
it into her mouth, chewing while she glanced at the sites outside of her
window. An early mind blowing greasy delicious no good for nothing breakfast.
That is the only way I would explain her reaction to the food she ate. There is
only two things that could make a grown woman stuff the whole length of her
fingers in their mouth and that either something to do with for play or those
little foods that they tell us again and again are mind blowing greasy
delicious no good for nothing foods.
I suppressed a giggle so as to not appear rude when I
realized the song playing in my head phones was Silk’s Freak me. I have to say
it’s a little freaky when you are listening to a sexual song while someone
literally ran her fingers in her mouth living them all wet. I shuddered at the
inappropriate thought.
Another highlight, a few weeks back, I had another encounter
with a man. I had a long day at work and I had a book I was reading that had
reached its peak. I couldn’t wait to get home to read so I whipped it out and
found my page quickly then transported into the story. Made sure my characters
look returned to me then saturated myself in the word. The man who sat beside
me started leaning into me – in my personal space might I add – and he started
reading with me. I didn’t know weather to nudge him back to his side of his
seat or just close my really good book until I get home. While I was
contemplating my options he turned to me, his breathe making it to my face. I
suppressed a gag.
“What did Peter do?” He asked
Shocked I looked at him as if he were a rare species. How
dare he ask about Peter!? He was my character in MY book! I was possessive it
seemed and hated sharing my characters with strangers. He had no idea how
pissed and annoyed he made me. I brushed him off with a simple “it’s a long
story” and thanked god as the taxi pulled at my stop.
I didn’t appreciate it then, maybe I still wouldn’t enjoy
either meetings again but those little things I would be able to talk about
with my grand kids at one point or another that made 2016 quite a year.
We cant all be the same, thank goodness, but is that not
what make life worth living?
