Babie’s Coach
This is a story of sadness. My friend, Mamsie, was the turnboy for Babie’s Coach. The Maralal International Camel derby had ended, and many people were going back to Wamba. But on this day, Mamsie loaded Babie’s Coach with more people than ever. All the seats were taken. People were standing wherever it was possible to stand and people were sitting on laps, but Mamsie kept pushing people into the bus until he found it impossible to squeeze in another.
Babies Coach started out. Mamsie was riding outside the bus, holding onto the ladder. Because of bandits, there were two security men with guns. They sat in the doorway. It was noon before the bus left. Inside, it was stifling. The smell was awful. Everyone was sweating. Many people were wearing dirty clothing, which made them stink in the heat of the bus. Bad smells came out of mouths, and even out of noses. All the children were crying, some were vomiting; it was not just the mothers who were afraid.
We asked the driver, Mr. Washington, Baby, to drive faster so air would come in the windows. He drove faster, but the air did not come in, so we again asked Baby to drive even faster. He drove faster, but it was still not fast enough. We asked Baby to drive faster still, and he tried, he is our friend, our neighbor, he lives in Wamba, too.
Baby worked the pedal; he worked the gears; he raced over the washboard and maneuvered around the holes and ruts. Baby pushed his bus as much as it could be pushed. He pushed it so much that the roar of metal and glass vibrating, shaking, shuddering, and banging was louder than it had ever been. It seemed as if his bus would tear itself apart, but air was finally coming in through the windows.
We came around a curve. People by the windows screamed, ‘Camels! Camels!’ Panic swept through the bus. Baby swerved to avoid the first camel. Everyone standing on the right side was thrown to the left side. Then everyone on the left side was thrown to the right side. Baby tried to keep control, but it was impossible. The people standing on the right were again thrown to the left, and the bus tipped over.
It took some time, but finally everyone was able to get out through the broken windows. The turnboy and the security men had tried to jump clear of Baby’s Coach as it fell, but they had failed. They were trapped between the bus and the ground; only the ladder kept them from being crushed completely.
When we were all outside the bus, and had calmed down a little, we became aware of Mamsie. He was calling out, ‘Help us, save us, Babu, Baby, do something.’ We told Mamsie not to worry, that we would lift the bus as soon as we could. As many as possible took hold of the bus and, on the count of three, we all pushed. But when we pushed, a gun went off. Everyone jumped away from the bus. We tried again, but a gun went off. Nobody knew what to do. One of the guns was caught under the bus in a way that it fired when there was any movement.
Someone said he’d go to the police, but there are few vehicles on the road, and the walk is a long one. It was now the hottest part of the day. Mamsie asked for water, but there was no way to bring him some.
As the day cooled, Mamsie called out less often, and the security men were quiet. At one point Mamsie said, ‘Don’t worry about the guns. If one of you loses your life to save the three of us, that is okay.’ And then, later, in such a quiet voice, almost a whisper, he called out, ‘Babu, Baby, don’t you love us?’ I felt bad. Baby felt bad. Everyone felt bad, but who wants to lose his life for someone who is down beneath a bus?
The police arrived with a truck and a winch. They attached a rope to Babie’s Coach and started lifting. A gun went off, but they continued winching until the bus was upright. It was now nearly night. The police collected the bodies and the guns, put away their equipment, and drove off, leaving us beside the broken bus.