It’s eleven o’clock in the morning; I am striding on a wet ground. There has been a heavy torrential rainfall. Some roads are already saturated with water, whilst some waters are still making some musical sounds as they fall into the unquenchable gutters. I am walking towards the Piccadilly Bus Station, in Manchester. My mind loaded with other thoughts, and I feel the weight of my bag as I stroll towards the station. The long zigzag yellow trams are travelling in slow motion as they come to a halt, their faces facing different directions on different platforms. A sea of diversity passengers flocks in, with their light and heavy luggage, the mothers with their perambulators, as they cooed their babies. One old man smiles at me and says; “Oh, I like your smile,” “Thank you sir,” I responded back with a widened smile. Just a few yards from where I stood my eyes are absorbing the ongoing activities of a busy city life. I intermingle with people of all walks of life with their bags slinging on their shoulders, crisscrossing the roads, pedestrians negotiating with the bus and tram drivers who should go first. I look on a convoy of buses of different shapes, with some vibrant colours coming to load and unload people. The modern, old, Victorian, and Georgian buildings of different architectural designs stood high up in the crowd. The buildings are clearly distinguishable as they offer different services to the people, who proudly and eloquently move in style as they stride in with a purpose. Then like someone who was having a dream, I realise that I have been drawn so much into the ongoing activities. I started to increase my pace, heading to a nearby post office, where I want to do some little errands of my own but before I cross the road, then, my attention diverted to a group of people who are wearing high visibility yellow jackets, with their backs facing me, with a sense of inquisitiveness I invaded their space but I am not alone as the crowd start to gather.
On this account, I am caught up with the tragedies of the modern society, that there is a lot of self-denial in the area of sexuality, where people vehemently strip off themselves from their sex of their origin, with the help of advanced technology and the illustrious doctors the number of transsexual genders has soared in the a period of a shorter time. My eyes intensify, staring long on the subject of the attention, and wondering, what could be the source of the problem. Lying, on the wet ground is a man wearing layers of clothes, he looks dead, but when I look again I see a slight movement of his leg, I feel a sense of relief hence making me feel better inside me. One of the candidates wearing a high visibility jacket (the police) is having a constant conversation with the casualty. He bends forwards as he speaks to the lying victim. Finally, they both come to a conclusion that they should remove some of his layers to allow a good aeration. It is at this juncture when the layers are stripped off and I experience a shock of a lifetime. The man is pregnant, like that of a woman who is about to give birth. I wonder how this has happened. There is a murmur of shock from the crowd; we are both perplexed, people exchanging glances of disbelief. “A man with pregnancy, Oh, my God, what is happening in the world? This is pure abomination,” someone shouts from the crowd. My mind is deeply engrossed, and mentally calculating many theories, I finally come up with the best theory that unravels the mystery behind the man’s pregnancy. My theory goes on like this; that this “man” was once a woman and she went under the knife to become a man, and he could have asked the doctor not to disturb her womb. This how “he” became pregnant. In overall If my theory is right then I could say the transsexual operation he might have gone in the past was a triumph. No doubt, everything about him is so convincingly masculine except for the odd fish that is swimmingly not in its own territories.
I move away and proceeds with my journey to a post office, after five minutes I am back on the same spot, my bus had just arrived that takes me to the University, I jump onto the bus, flashes my bus pass and I take a seat. I feel a bit unsettled, and I feel that there is still a mission to be accomplished that is to take a good photo of the causality, I had taken a photo earlier with my outdated phone and the photos are of poor quality comparing with those of the smart phones. Unfortunately I do not have my smart phone with me but I have my other digital camera, and the only major problem I encounter is that the battery is very low, hence I am pretty much anxious to get hold of a good picture. So, I manoeuvre towards the front to exist and politely I ask the bus driver to give me a minute to take a shoot of the victim. “Why? What for?” He asks with an agitating tone. I feel it very strongly that he does not like the idea that I am about to take a photo of someone who is not well. He feels that I am being more intrusive. “Well, we ‘ll talk later”, says I, as I leap out of the bus and there again my batteries let me down. Regrettably, I returned onto the bus empty-handed, but the driver is still furious. It is his tone that betrays him and I feel the vehemence in his speech. “Why did you take the photo of that person?” All of sudden I lose my patience with him, then, I thought of one good strong answer that will cool down his tempers. “ Because I am a journalist,” I loudly stressed out the word in confidence, that everyone on the bus heard me, and with that I stomp back to my seat. Just, before I sit down, my eye locks on an old man’s eyes who stares at me from the back, wearing a big smile on his face that says, “Good girl you have done him.” I turn around and speak to him. I simply justified my actions that since it’s a bus station and a public place I am bound by the laws to take any form of photos regardless of the circumstances that surrounds me. Surprisingly the old man seems to be well acquainted with the laws of this country, he agrees with me and supports me that there was nothing of criminology that I have done that someone should feel offended.
Whilst sitting on the bus the ambulance arrives, and the pregnant man is laid on the stretcher, the bus leaves, and I am left with unanswered questions of the realisms, tragic, and the modernisms of the world we live. This is the world we live today is full of surprises and people are going to bear with a lot changes that are dramatically shaping our society and learn to live with it.