Bird hunter reloaded: Hunting on the ride from Nairobi

The journey finally came to an end after one day and one night. But to me, it was just a few minutes from Nairobi to Kigali. It’s not that the bus suddenly developed wings and flew all the way to Kigali. It’s because I did not want it to end because I was kinda occupied- conveniently distracted, if you will. When the conductor finally announced that those of us who had nothing to declare at Magerwa had better get off because we were already at the Nyabugogo ‘landport’ I cursed and wished we were heading to Kinshasa (of course I know there are no roads heading there but I would have cared less, if you know what I mean). To put you in the picture, I was travelling from Nairobi where I had gone…….you guessed right!.. On a bird hunting expedition. I had escorted my game from Kigali to Nairobi as a show of TLC (For the lay men, this means Tender Love and Care). This went well and after two days of ‘bidding farewell’ in Nairobi, I decided it was time to head back to the land of Milles Collines. Armed with tender and pleasant memories, I boarded the Kigali bound bus ready for a long and rough journey……. As I was squeezing my hand luggage in the overhead cabin, something astounding caught my eye. I beheld the sight of a very gorgeous bird - one that makes you say “yes, I am indeed on the right bus. Wherever it’s headed, it will surely end up nowhere else but in the land of a thousand hills.” Chemistry went to work and I can swear that electrical current was exchanged when our eyes met. One thing led to another and I found myself seated next to the bird. There was virtually zero distance between us. It wasn’t a coincidence; I know some of you might start thinking that by coincidence, I found her seated in the seat next to the one I was seated in. Real bird hunters don’t believe in hunting by coincidence or accident. We go for the kill and don’t wait for game to come to us. So, what happened is that I was supposed to sit on seat number 22 by the window, next to a potbellied man who started snoring before even lowering his bulky body in his seat. I did not like this at all because there is nothing inconveniencing like sitting next to a snoring fat creature. He will not only interrupt your sleep and the digestion of your memories but will keep violating your space, leaving you space only enough for one bum. As I continued to analyse the situation, I realised that next to the bird was seated an elderly lady who apparently was uncomfortable sitting by the ‘aisle.’ After making sure that this was indeed the case, I decided to take advantage. “Ah, excuse me grandee but I am sure that you would like to sit by the window. Old ladies like you should always be allocated window seats at all times, these bus operators have no manners! Would you like to exchange this seat for a window seat? I have one,” I asked, feigning deep concern and care. She said “thank you” and started to stand up to head to my designated seat, looking quite contented. She was as fat as the potbellied man who was supposed to be my neighbour but I did not care whether they both squeezed and suffocated along the journey. I immediately took my new place and made myself comfortable. I did not want to start the assault immediately, because I did not want the bird to think I was merely a skimmer. I wanted to play good boy. But as I sat there pretending to be innocent, I heard the smoothest voice I have ever heard. She was like “that was a very good gesture. I almost did the same; I mean, I wanted to let her sit by the window.” Oh my days! So she had honestly believed that mine was a gesture of kindness; a sign of good upbringing!!! Wonders shall never cease to be! But then of course killing two birds with one stone is my style. I scored points for being a ‘well groomed’ youngman from the old lady and, more importantly, I scored significant points from this bird that was my main target. Now this is how birds fall into the hunter’s trap. That is why I am a celebrated bird hunter. It’s skill not juju, I swear. So I was like, “That is no problem at all. After all I could see that there was no one else to help her out of her predicament. How could I sit comfortably while I watched someone the age of my mother suffering? My mother would be unhappy if she came to know that I behaved thus bad.” I could see from the corner of my eye that she was getting interested. “Do you have a mother?” I had to steer her away from this lest we end up finding out that actually we are related in a way. You know how winding Rwanda relations can be. You start hunting a bird and by the time it is almost in your bag, your aunt emerges from nowhere and she is like “…oh, so you fellas know each other, don’t you? Chantal, this is your uncle’s son. Remember the one who was living in Uganda….” I had to avoid such unpleasant discoveries and so I told her, “It’s a long story” and luckily, she changed course too. Before I knew it, she fished out her ipod and handed me the left earpiece and she started squeezing the right one in her left ear. I inserted mine in the right ear, seeing opportunity cheekily winking at me. She wanted me to listen to her favourite song. It was a romantic song of course and although I am not very romantic, I pretended to enjoy it and even closed my eyes, feigning arousal of memories or feelings. She was apparently contented that I was enjoying her music. The song ended and I secretly sighed with relief. We now engaged in real conversation and that’s how I got to know that she is a student at the Kenya Utalii College and that she stays in Nyarutarama in Kigali ( I hope someone I know doesn’t attack me thinking I am talking about his daughter who is at Utalii). So we talked about each other as the bus rolled through the highlands of Western Kenya, into Naivasha, Nakuru Eldoret, Kisumu and finally Busia where we had to get down for immigration processes. Hand in hand we went to process our entry into Uganda, to the envy of many other travellers who were freezing in the early morning cold. After the process we went back to the bus and I gave her my leather jacket because she was complaining that she was feeling cold. As others went to border restaurants to take tea and bites, we were not hungry at all because we were happily chatting and laughing, oblivious of our surroundings. The bus was now in Ugandan territory and we didn’t care less. We were in a territory of our own. Daylight came and we did not give a damn. As we rolled through Kampala city, I could only see hazy structures through the window, from the corner of my eye. I could not afford to get my eyes off this bird. Finally we were at Katuna and that is when I started thinking about how short the journey was after all. As I was busy making other ‘prudent’ plans, her phone rang and it was her mother informing her that she was waiting to pick her up at Nyabugogo. We just exchanged our numbers and that was it. But then there is another day, isn’t there? When you are a hunter of substance, hope is always your weapon. Ends