…By early afternoon, I was finally roused by the squealing blares of some vendors who had invaded the bus. All of them, cardboard boxes on shoulders, were striving to sell their wares, consisting of water bottles, soft drinks, cookies, fruit, and various other edible-or-not products. Only the faster ones had made it into the vehicle’s interior. The rest had formed a mob outside and attempted to sell from the windows.
Somewhat bemused, still trying to properly wake up, I observed those proceedings, when:
“Good morning!” the guy next seat addressed me. “We’ve arrived in Lusaka. We are stopping for lunch.”
Great hustle was ongoing at the central bus station of Zambia’s capital city. The area around the parked buses was congested by a disorderly horde of passengers, staff, vendors, and other irrelevant folks.
As far as I could see, I was the only white person at the station. As a Greek saying goes, I resembled a fly floating on milk – but a dandelion floating on petroleum would be more literally befitting in this case. However, to my pleasant surprise, I didn’t get into the awkward position of being the center of everyone’s attention – as is often the case throughout Africa. Nobody seemed to care much about my presence.
We were going to remain at the station for about an hour. After giving my joints a good cracking and discharging my urinary bladder, it was time to fill my stomach up with something. I got myself three massive biff skewers with plenty of fat and a portion of chips, and I started chowing down on them.
Having swallowed the last mouthful – as required after every good meal – I desired to light a cigarette. I headed towards a secluded edge of the station, intending to hide between two parked trucks. I did that so to take advantage of the shade, as well as to avoid the gazes of the patrolling cops – who would eagerly attempt to charge me, for their personal profit, a fine for the fag I was to smoke within the no-smoking-allowed station’s premises.
Upon sneaking into the narrow space between the two trucks, I saw that I would share it with someone. An old chap he was. He was amputated from the groin down and attached to an improvised wheelchair made of a wooden frame and bicycle wheels. He didn’t take his eyes off me for a single moment while I neared. He stared at me persistently in agony and anticipation until I came to a halt beside him.
“You finally came! I’ve been waiting the whole day for you!” he roared as I was bringing to my mouth the cigarette I was theretofore holding in my hand.
“Who? Me?” I asked, baffled, swiveling my neck from side to side.
“Yes, you! And the pack of smokes you’re carrying in your pocket. Give me one, please.”
I took one out, gave it to him, and stood there observing him.
Without a word, he grabbed the cigarette and squeezed it between his lips, firmly, as if to make sure it won’t fly away. He lit it up with a match and began to suck it with deep, successive, protracted drags. There was a highly exhilarating emotion I could discern in his glittering eyes as they attended the rising fumes. It must not have taken more than ten drags for the whole fag to burn out. Due to inertia, he drew a couple of puffs off the filter, too, before discarding the butt on the ground. He then remained silent and pensive, staring at the sky.
I also finished smoking and reached in my pocket for a pack of cookies I’d bought before.
“Want a cookie?” I asked the man, spreading my hand out to him with one.
He turned and looked at me, speechless and bewildered, for a bit, as if he just remembered I was there.
“A cookie? No! I want no damn cookie! Give me a smoke if you will… You see, I only sit here, all day, every day. I don’t spend much energy. I don’t need food. I need cigarettes… cigarettes, and the fucking time to pass quickly”.
I pulled out my open, half-full pack and placed it as it was on his palm. He was going to say something, but it wilted at the edge of his lips. He shoved the pack into his underwear, looking at the same time around him distrustfully in case anyone sees him.
“Goodbye,” I told him as I set off striding back towards the bus. He also greeted with a weary gesture.
The story you've just read is a part of my "Real Stories of Real People" collection, wherein I narrate my encounters with various remarkable characters I've run into while traveling around the world. The entire collection is published on my blog and may be read here. But if you'd like to get them with you to the beach in your ebook reader or as a physical book, and very appreciatedly support my creative activity, go ahead and grab your copy from Amazon for the cost of a cup of coffee.
