Ivan Musoke

ridin' dutty

I’m riding a boda boda.
Not steering it, just calling the shots from back here, ‘take a left, turn right… But I think that’s where the problem is.
Something seems to keep getting lost on translation.
That’s a lie. I should probably try to expand my vocabulary. Now I’m riding the boda equivalent of shot-gun on a motorbike and I can not contribute to the conversation.
And lord knows he is trying.
• ‘whats that vehicle for? Its like a small tractor. What is it used for…
Even if I had the answer, I’m not equipped with the right subtitles. I choose to laugh. Laughter is universal. Knows no language.
I think he has me figured out. He keeps quiet.
But this is the guy with the hands I’ve put my life in. I don’t want to antagonize him. Well, its not so much up to me, I just want to get home.
I am allowed one dumb thing. So I kick start a convo. It’s not working. A one eyed guy would have better luck describing a renaissance painting.
so I shut up. So there we are. Two mismatched chaps heading into the unknown with just hope. Me hoping I’ll get home safe, he hoping I’ll just keep my gob shut for the remainder of the journey.

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