Waiting for Enure

I got into a taxi whose destination was Kireka - Mukono. This was about 8:30pm at the Ntinda stage. At that time, passengers were usually scarce. 30 minutes of waiting were rest assured. At about five to 9pm, the second last seat was occupied. The sign post was removed off the top of the taxi and placed on another.  

We waited. Five minutes later, the driver got into the car.

‘Conductor aliwa’, he asked for the conductor who was nowhere to be seen. We waited for him. The last 

seat still empty. All passengers mute.

The conductor finally appears. ‘tugende?’ the Driver asks if we could leave.

‘Nedda, lindako. Enure tanajya’. We had to wait for Henry. Whoever he was, whatever he was doing! It was clear that the seat was not left empty on purpose. It clocked 9.15pm. The taxi that had taken on passengers after the one we were in left. No complaint still.

‘Whoever Enure is, he must be very important’ I thought.  I wondered why no one was saying a word. It was not like of people to just be silent. Someone should have walked out of the taxi with rage, and we would have done the same. No one did. Someone should have initiated a complaint, and we would all join in against the delaying team considering it was clocking the dangerous hours of night. No one did.

Personally I did not mind. Even if I did, I do not have the nerve to initiate a complaint, much less in a taxi. I had formed an imagination of Enure, how he would be dressed and what he looked like. He had made 13passengers wait for him. Definitely Enure was important. I imagined he would be a tall and handsome man of dark complexion. He would be dressed in a checkered short sleeved shirt with perhaps ensigns of blue, red and white. He would also be donned in a black trouser, holding a clear bag perhaps, containing white papers and envelops. A man with a hectic schedule.

I kept watching the road hoping Enure would cross the road soon and we can leave. Then I saw someone fitting the description of him. I was almost sure it was him. Relieved that we were about to leave. I kept watching Enure. Disappointingly, he was headed for the video library nearby. It wasn’t him.

I turned back to look at the rest of the passengers. To see if I could read any anger off their face. To try and 

sow in them rage through my frowned one. They appeared calm. Annoyingly calm. Waiting for Enure had definitely gotten to me alone, perhaps.

Fifteen minutes of waiting felt like an hour. The guy seated in front of me coughed. It sounded more of forged than necessary even to clear his throat. He then turned with his lips parting. ‘say something ,say something’, I invited inwardly. In vain. I lay back, not caring that I would soon get worried if I was not home by 10pm.

‘Condukita, Enure nze simulese?’ the driver could no longer wait for Henry. We would finally leave.

‘Lindako, kangende mukyime’. He pleaded to the driver to wait as he went to find Henry. We waited for 

Enure and Condakita. And no goddamned passenger said a word. They were all seated like wet logs. Perhaps too tired that some had dozed off.

The conductor got back. He was chewing grasshoppers and bore some in his left hand. ‘Enure musilu, musanze alya nsenene nga anyumya embozi’. The conductor laughed. Henry had been busy eating grasshoppers and was engaged in a heated chat with his fellows. We all laughed at Henry. After a few seconds of laughter, I wondered, aren’t we all supposed to be angry? With what the conductor had just said, 

I was sure my imagination of Enure was totally overrated.  

‘Kale funayo omuntu omulala tugende’. The driver asked the conductor to find another person to fill Enure’s seat if we were to leave.  He got out of the taxi. We waited in vain. About 7 minutes had passed. A gentleman from the back yawned. At the end of the yawn finally came a complaint. Finally someone had felt the pinch. ‘Gwe dureva tuvewano’. He demanded the driver to leave already. Dureva didn’t reply. He looked through his side mirror, something he had been doing all through.

At last, a man occupied Enure’s seat. He was a tall man with a light complexion and unkempt hair. He wore a faded brown t-shirt that was torn on his right shoulder and held a tiny white pack. He ate of its contents.

‘Dureva olinze ki, Condakita aliwa? The man asked what the driver was waiting for. The driver hooted. 

Condakita came back running.

‘Eh, yegwe, mpa ku nsenene?’the conductor asked. ‘oh, it’s you?’ ‘Can I have some of those grasshoppers?’ Condakita stretched his left hand.

It was Enure.