Turning mishaps into opportunities

“SIYAHAMBA nebhazi, tiri kunakirwa, tula bechulude! Siyahamba nebhazi, tiri kunakirwa, tula bechulude!”

How you read those two identical sentences will show which generation you are from.

For those who know, what memories did I trigger? Some of the songs that were there when we were young were not for dancing!

The songs were long stories that when you tried to dance to it would not work out. People just ended up listening to the narrative which was accompanied by musical instruments!

The two first sentences are taken from a song, a golden oldie. In the song the artists talk about one who had decided to let go of goblins that had caused havoc within the family.

He takes the goblins on a bus ride so as to throw them away far from his home so that the goblins would not know their way back home.

When one is on a bus there are moments it gets really enjoyable and you really enjoy the journey.

This moment was experienced on the journey as the individual was taking the goblins. The goblins were excited and then started singing. Siyahamba nebhazi, tiri kunakirwa, tula bechulude! Siyahamba nebhazi, tiri kinakirwa, tula bechulude!

There was probably pandemonium as what had been concealed was revealed!

Each time one of our family members is on a road trip, we send each other those words if the trip is an enjoyable one – Siyahamba nebhazi ndiri kunakirwa.

Then one gets to share experiences of what they are really enjoying about the trip.

I enjoy the scenery. I also enjoy observing how people behave and relate to one another especially if it is a long trip.

If a trip is short, one cannot really observe much.

A lot happens on public transport and before embarking on the trip one has to prepare themselves psychologically.

While it is important to pack water, fruits and snacks for the trip, the mental health aspects need to be catered for too.

There so many things that can go wrong on a road trip and this is not necessarily referring to road accidents that can lead to death or injuries. The other injuries that occur on road trips are unseen yet they are traumatic.

A colleague and I were discussing things that we have seen go wrong on a bus trip such that no one ends up singing Siyahamba nebhazi ndiri kunakirwa.

I shared that on one bus trip, in the so called “chicken bus” someone had been travelling with some homemade mahewu that fermented and went off like a little bomb and spoilt a few people`s clothes and hairstyles.

It gave the affected passengers extra work as they had to clean up.

That incident always reminds me of my Form Two Geography teacher and another mahewu experience.

I am not very fond of mahewu (maybe I have failed up to this age to manage my `traumas` that relate to mahewu issues). I know of people who will not eat fish even the fillets because of a nasty experience when they were children. . .

When we were in Form Two one of the girls brought mahewu to school.

It was in her school bag. Then we did not know that fermentation builds a lot of pressure within the container.

As our teacher walked between the rows to check if we had all understood the concepts she had asked us to draw, the mahewu time bomb went off!

It waited for our teacher to just go past the bag to go off. It splashed over books, uniforms and our teacher`s back.

She was upset, but from that day our bags were to be lined outside by the wall.

My colleague told me that he was in a commuter omnibus and after some people had reached their destinations, the conductor got a place to sit next to a girl.

As he chatted with the girl, he started fiddling with the fire extinguisher and pressed the release knob, emptying contents and forcing the driver had to stop the commuter omnibus.

Another mishap that can happen on public transport is sitting next to someone who cannot stop talking. I sat next to one woman recently.

Within a few minutes, I knew where she was from and that she was going to her mother in-law’s funeral.

She revealed that the mother had not disclosed that she had breast cancer until it was too late.

As we travelled, she informed me that her husband had sent her message from South Africa that he was coming home for the funeral.

She quickly called home and informed some people that when she comes back from the funeral, she would be with “Daddy,” so she expected the highest level of order.

Maybe that is why the radio volume is very high in public transport vehicles, just to drown passengers’ stories.

After the call, she told me that she had just panicked about her husband coming home.

I knew I did not have long to wait before she shared why. Then she opened her bag. I waited. She took out a small purse and said: “Honaiwo Mother.” I looked.

It was a control pill cycle. The strange thing about the cycle is that it had pills and empty slots in between.

I asked to look. She quickly handed it over. I asked why it had spaces in-between the pills.

She told me that she just took a pill from any slot and since her husband had gone back to South Africa in January, she had stopped taking the control pill waiting to resume just before Easter when he would be coming home.

Now chances of getting pregnant were quite high as they would be together after the funeral. Between Marondera and Harare, I began a family planning session and why it is important to take medicines as directed.