“BAN BODAS!” SHE TYPED. FROM THE BACK OF A BODA.
SAFARI, SPILL OR STEP?
Jessica arrived for game night forty minutes late.
“Bodas!” she announced. “Those people will kill us.”
Uncle Rwamiti looked behind her.
“How did you get here?”
“Boda.”
“So you have arrived safely to report your death?”
Brenda choked on a groundnut.
Jessica’s phone lit up. Someone had liked her post.
BAN BODAS. KAMPALA DESERVES BETTER.
“Posted twelve minutes ago?” Brenda asked.
“I was expressing my frustration.”
“While Safari was transporting it?”
Outside, Safari was struggling to turn his motorcycle beside a parked SUV.
“Safari!” Jessica called. “Come. Uncle wants to interrogate you.”
“About the fare? Madam, we agreed before departure.”
“Relax,” said Uncle Rwamiti. “Spill or step? Spill, you answer honestly. Step, you take a challenge.”
“Does step involve money? She has already negotiated away my retirement.”
Everyone laughed.
“Spill,” Safari said.
“What did you want to become when you were a boy?”
“A pilot.”
Jessica smiled.
“What happened?”
“My father died. School fees stopped. My mother sold tomatoes. I started carrying them.”
He looked at his helmet.
“Now I carry people who tell me to fly.”
Nobody laughed immediately.
Then Safari added, “Pilots have control towers. I have a woman behind me shouting, ‘Pass there! Pass there!’”
Jessica looked away.
Uncle Rwamiti noticed.
“Jessica. Spill or step?”
“Spill.”
“What instructions did you give Safari?”
“I said I was late.”
Safari raised a finger.
“Then?”
“Find a shortcut.”
“Then?”
Jessica sighed.
“Can’t you use the pavement?”
Brenda put down her drink.
“Madam prosecution has become exhibit A.”
“But you riders are reckless,” Jessica said.
Safari nodded.
“Yesterday I frightened a schoolboy crossing the road. He jumped back. I kept going.”
“Why?”
“I wanted another trip.”
He rubbed his hands.
“I remembered him later. Small bag. Big eyes. He looked like my son.”
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Safari turned to Jessica.
“My turn. Spill or step?”
“Spill.”
“Where the taxi drops you, how far is your home?”
“Too far to walk in the dark.”
“Does it reach your gate?”
“No.”
“And this evening, why didn’t you stay in the taxi?”
“It wasn’t moving.”
Safari nodded.
“That is where you find me.”
“Between the taxi and the gate?” Brenda asked.
“Between where transport stops and where people still need to go.”
Outside, a horn blared.
The SUV owner wanted Safari’s motorcycle moved.
“Look at this boda blocking everyone!”
Safari stood.
His motorcycle occupied a small gap beside the man’s enormous vehicle.
Uncle Rwamiti followed him out.
“Would you still ride if there were reliable buses?”
“If people needed me between the bus stop and home.”
“And if they didn’t?”
“I would need another job. My landlord doesn’t accept improved transport as rent.”
Jessica came outside holding her phone.
“My cousin needs a ride. She’ll pay extra if you get her there quickly.”
Safari checked the time.
Another fare. More money towards tomorrow’s motorcycle payment.
Then her cousin’s message appeared:
PLEASE HURRY. EVEN IF YOU HAVE TO USE THE PAVEMENT.
Uncle Rwamiti read it over his shoulder.
“Safari. Spill or step?”
Safari looked at the road.
“Uncle, this one has left the game.”
YOUR MOVE:
You are Safari. What do you reply?
And Jessica: what will you tell your cousin?
UNCLE RWAMITI: YOUR MOVE.
The uncle your parents should probably never have introduced you to. 😎
Unclerwamiti.com
Peterospaths.org
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