Our trotro made a stop at UPSA, and a lot of people started rushing to the car, fighting for the limited space available. I was the only one sitting in the front of the car, watching as people struggled to get in. I noticed a lady with two bags trying very hard to board. She was carrying bags she couldn’t put down, which put her at a disadvantage. A guy was attempting to open the front door, but I stopped him and told him the seat was taken. He insisted, but I explained that I was saving the spot for the lady, so I couldn’t let him in.......CONTINUE READING THE ARTICLE FROM THE SOURCE>>>>>
Grudgingly, he gave up and focused on squeezing into the main part of the trotro. I signalled for the lady to come over. It was a struggle. She tossed her bags onto me and forced her way to the door. I let her in, and when she finally sat down, she let out a huge sigh of relief, looked straight into my eyes, and said, “Thank you.”
It was around 5 a.m. on a Saturday morning. I asked her why there were so many people, and she replied, “We were at an all-night service. We just finished.” A few minutes after the car started moving, she began dozing off, and her head slowly landed on my shoulder. I stiffened my shoulder to give her a peaceful, uninterrupted sleep.
This was no easy task, considering the many potholes on the road. Every time her head shifted, I adjusted my shoulder to support her. She woke up briefly, looked at me, embarrassed but still sleepy, and said, “Sorry.” I replied, “No problem, I understand.”
This time, she placed her head comfortably on my shoulder as if to say, “This is my spot now,” and fell asleep again. She didn’t wake up until we reached Circle, where many passengers got off. She asked, “Are you getting off here?” I answered, “No, I’m going to Kaneshie.”
She sat up, alert, and thanked me again. I said, “You’re welcome.” Then she asked if she could have my number. I willingly gave it to her. When we got off at Kaneshie station, she told me she would call to properly thank me. I nodded and said I’d be waiting for her call.
As she walked away, I looked back, and she did too. Our eyes me and we both smiled. I’ve never in my life cared for or taken care of a stranger the way I did during that twenty-five to thirty-minute journey. I waited for her call all day, but it never came. I can still remember her eyes when she said thank you, the innocence in her demeanour, and everything about her.
Days passed, then weeks, and now a month has gone by. Still, no call. It’s the hope that kills us. I’m still hoping she’ll call one day. I don’t know what I’ll say to her, but hearing from her again would make my day. I might tell her I missed her and how I waited for what felt like ages for her call. I’m just hoping she calls.
