The small bus stop in my village was busy with people and overloaded buses. On the ground were even more things to load. Touts were shouting the names where their buses were going.
Pa citesheni ca saaca mu mushi wandi pali abantu abengi na basaaca abaiswilemo abantu. Panshi napo ninshi pali ifipe na fimbi ifyakulonga. Abalumendo ninshi baleependilila ukuleya basaaca.
The city bus was almost full, but more people were still pushing to get on. Some packed their luggage under the bus. Others put theirs on the racks inside.
Saaca yaaleeya ku kalaale ninshi ili mukwisula, nomba abantu beena ninshi bacili balelwisha ukuniina. Bambi baalongele ifipe munshi ya saaca. Bambi baalongele pa tushimbi twa mukati ka saaca.
Ba kañenda baishilenga panyuma bakwachile matiketi aabo kumaboko saka bakeba pa kwikala mubbasi wayula. Bainetu bajinga na baana babacheeche bebabikile bulongo pakwikala namambo akuuba amba lwendo lwalepele.
New passengers clutched their tickets as they looked for somewhere to sit in the crowded bus. Women with young children made them comfortable for the long journey.
Abaaleniina baikatiliile utumatikiti lintu baalefwaya apakwikala muli saaca iyaiswile abantu. Banamaayo abaali na baana baafwaile abaana babo apakwikala bwino pa bulendo ubutali.
I squeezed in next to a window. The person sitting next to me was holding tightly to a green plastic bag. He wore old sandals, a worn out coat, and he looked nervous.
Naifyantike mupeepi ne windo. Abo naikeele nabo mupeepi baikete akacola ka pulashitiki akakatapakatapa. Baafwele indyato ishakale ne jaketi ilyapwa kabili baaleemoneka mwenso-mwenso.
Natajile pangye ya bbasi ne kulanguluka amba mbena kusha muzhi wami, mpunzha mona komejile. Nailenga kutaunyi mukatampe.
I looked outside the bus and realised that I was leaving my village, the place where I had grown up. I was going to the big city.
Naloleshe panse ya saaca elyo caisa mu maano ukuti ciine-ciine naaleefuma mu mushi wandi, incende nakuliilemo. Naleeya ku musumba ukulu.
The loading was completed and all passengers were seated. Hawkers still pushed their way into the bus to sell their goods to the passengers. Everyone was shouting the names of what was available for sale. The words sounded funny to me.
Bapwisha ukulonga na bantu bonse baikala. Abakushitisha ninshi bacili balepitana muli saaca mu kushitisha utwamakwebo yabo ku bantu. Cila muntu alepunda amashina yafyo aaleeshitisha. Aya mashiwi baaleelanda yaaleesekesha.
Bakañenda bacheeche bapotele byakutoma, bakwabo nabo bapotele byakujisha ne kutendeka kunyeuna. Aba bujile mali nobe amiwa, batajilengakotu na menso.
A few passengers bought drinks, others bought small snacks and began to chew. Those who did not have any money, like me, just watched.
Abalendo abanoono baashitile ifyakunwa, bambi bashita utwakulya batampa no kulya. Abashakwete indalama nga ine baletambakofye.
Bino byonse byaubiwenga byaimene pakumvwa kilulumo kyauta wa bbasi, kayukilo kakuba amba pano twinengezha kunyamuka. Bansongwalume babujile bapoteshenga kulupuka mubbasi.
These activities were interrupted by the hooting of the bus, a sign that we were ready to leave. The tout yelled at the hawkers to get out.
Ukushitisha no kushita kwapumfyanishiwe lintu uuta ya saacai yalilile, ukulangisha ukuti yaali mukwima. Kondakita epakupundilila bakashitisha bonse ukuti bekile muli saaca.
Hawkers pushed each other to make their way out of the bus. Some gave back change to the travellers. Others made last minute attempts to sell more items.
Bakashitisha balasunkana pa kufuma muli bashi. Bambi baleebwesesha cenji ku baali pa bulendo. Bambi nabo balelwisha ukushitishako ifyakulekelesha.
Mujishinda, nalamine jizhina jampunzha kwaikalanga ba mwisho mutaunyi mukatampe. Nejitongwelenga ne mutulo inge nalaala.
On the way, I memorised the name of the place where my uncle lived in the big city. I was still mumbling it when I fell asleep.
Mu nshila naya ndesungila ishina lya ncende ukwaleikala bayaama mu kalaale. Ncili ndeilumbula mu kapoopo naponena mutulo.
Panyuma yama awala atanu ne ana, nabukile nakyongo kyobaimbilenga ku bbasi ne kwita bakañenda babwelelenga kumuzhi kwetu. Natolele ka kyola kami ne kulupuka mubbasi.
Nine hours later, I woke up with loud banging and calling for passengers going back to my village. I grabbed my small bag and jumped out of the bus.
Panuma yansa pabula, nabukila mu congo cabalepunda no kupumpusha ukwita abaleebwekelamo ku mushi wesu. Nasompola akacoola no kufuma muli saaca.
The return bus was filling up quickly. Soon it would make its way back east. The most important thing for me now, was to start looking for my uncle’s house.
Bwangu-bwangu saaca yakubwelelamo yayaileisula. Nombalinefye yalaima ukubwekelamo kukabanga. Icaali icikalamba kuli ine pali ii nshita kwamba ukufwaya iŋanda ya bayaama.
