One day my friend and I had visited some small country villages near Knutsford. We were walking on the high street and soon we were swallowed by a crowd of shoppers . The atmosphere was buzzing like the bees at work . Here and there we could hear shrils of laughter.We had almost visited every shop and most of the time we were satisfying our eyes as three quarters of our time was engrossed in window shopping, we laughed as we see things that amuses us or catch our imagination. So it happened that we met a couple who were both bulky in size, walking hand in hand, and going opposite direction with us. Silently, the couple managed to draw our attention towards them. It began with my friend, “Aha…ahaa,” he began laughing. I looked at him with curiosity. “Whats laughious?” I asked him with my colloquial language. “Can’t you see?” he said pointing his finger in the direction of the couple. “What?” I demanded? “Read, read that couple’s T-shirts,” he said with emphasising tone. I strained my eyes towards the couple. I first saw nicely scribbled words on their T-shirts . I started to read the woman’s T-shirt, it was printed in front and it read: “Nice Legs.” Then, when I read the man’s T-shirt whose words were printed at the back. The words scribbled at the man’s T-shirt paused a question to the woman’s statement. The words read: “What Time Are They Going To Open?” “Ahaa,aaah…aaaa,” I laughed continuously, and my laugh was so infectious that it drew a large crowd to join, that some of the people they just laughed with me but with no clue of what I was laughing. Fortunately, my friend managed to draw their attention as his finger continuously pointing in the direction of the couple, and soon their was an explosion of laughter and even the very couple laughed with the crowd, knowingly they were the centre of the attraction.
Lizzie was a working hard woman, and always worked an extra mile to fed her family. This day she had just coming from the fields whereby, her husband, children and her have been cultivating their maize. It was nearly lunch hour, when the finally decided to call it a day, when on a normal day they would have continued till evening time. But the husband of Lizzie had come from town the previous day. The separation had always made them feel hunger for each other. To satisfy the well being of their family, the two had decided the that the husband would always work in town to earn some cash whilst he wife stayed in rural areas working in the fields to sustain the family substantially. It worked and they both enjoyed the sweat of their labour as a family.
At home the wife, Lizzie, cooked food for the family. The children gathered and ate their food from one plate, whilst the parents shared their food from their own platter. Quickly after eating the wife packed up the used utensils for washing up. She asked the children to go and fetch some water on a nearby well. The woman bent down like all other African women in rural areas when washing up the plates and pots. She was very much engrossed as she enthusiastically washed the utensils, and little did she know someone was observing her, admiring her golden revealing thighs.
It happened so dramatically, that her dress was lifted up, very high that it revealed the flesh beneath. Shocked, the woman leapt into anger. “Who..oo are you, to lift someone ‘s wife dress?” she flared rapidly. “Don’t touch me, did you hear me? Or I call my husband.” she glared. I said, “leave me alone,” she kicked and scratching violently. All along, Lizzie, has shouted angrily without looking at the person who has grabbed her. When she finally looked at the attacker who was still holding her as a fugitive, she was perplexed and smiled. “Aaah….ahaa, It’s you Baba va Joe, my husband,” she uttered softly and letting her head rest peacefully in her husband’s loving arms.
Once upon a time in a tiny village of Bizoh, lived a very rich man who had a son. The man loved his son that he almost did everything for him as he grew up. The father pampered his son in every aspect. The son grew up knowingly that everything is spoon sped. He never thought other people would sweat to earn a good living. He enjoyed the life and so it as a blessing. He could not imagine anything out of this cocoon life; even going to the toilet he had servants who would take him. Some servants would wait until he finished and clean him. The servants did not mind as long they were earning their living. In most cases they would do anything including dressing and taking him out.
One night his father was sitting alone, and the big man was thinking deeply of his son, as he rocked his chair. A good thought had visited him that it was time for his son to get married. He wanted his son to marry a beautiful girl and in his heart he had one girl in his mind, and she was his friend’s daughter and the family lived a few miles from their village. The girl was envy of every man. She was incredibly beautiful, and some men regretted for marrying early and they thought they would have chances to snap this jackpot. On this night the big man smiled broadly, as he imagined this girl being his daughter-in-law, and envisaged how beautifully would be his grand children. The big man stood up and danced with the joy. He would make his son a proud man, an envy of other men, he thought as he punched his chest, which was punctuated with a deeper laughter. He went to bed with full of joy.
The following day he called his friend and explained his intentions over the phone. He amused the father of the girl. He never thought his friend would want his daughter to be his daughter-in-law, somehow these two old friends they led different lives. The father of the girl was a working class but his friend was more of bourgeois. He agreed to terms and condition of lobola. This big man was going to make the potential in-laws to be tycoons. The father of the girl shared the information with his wife, and the wife danced with joy and praised God for giving such a beautiful girl who instantly seemed to wipe away their financial worries. She repetitively kissed her husband until it was dusk. They called their daughter who had just come from visiting her friends. The parents conveyed the message to their daughter. The girl was also shocked but she was willingly to be part of this rich family. The trios were excited that they did not hear the sound of cars arriving at their doorstep. They were shocked when they found out there was a knock on their door, and when the husband opened the door only to find it’s his friend.
He realised things were moving fast than he expected. The big man had come with loaded groceries, and some new wrapped notes in big bundles worthy over a million and a chauffeur was arriving with a brand new Mercedes for the daughter’s family. The two men sat down and discussed to the length and the father of the boy had insisted to take the girl the same night, as he wanted to surprise his son, and it was his son’s birthday. The two families finally agreed and the girl was made to pack her things, and she did it obediently, she kissed her parents as she glamorously shoved herself on to the seat and tied her seatbelt. The parents waved with tears strolling down their cheeks. “Our princess, there she goes,” the father spoke with anguish voice. He hugged his wife tightly a blew the last kiss to their daughter. The convoy of cars melted from a distance as the princess was whisked to the palace.
The princess was ushered on a red carpet and went in a special room. The room was extravagantly decorated, and a bold message inscribed in golden big letters: WELCOME PRINCESS: AS FROM TODAY YOU ARE THE QUEEN OF THIS HOUSE. The beautiful girl smiled and thought that life is a wheel of fortune. She spread her legs softly on the most comfortable sofa. The father in law informed the girl that he was about to release the good news to his son. His wished her well and kissed her. The father had been clandestinely working on this matter and he had advice his servants not to leak any information to his son. The servants had obediently followed his advice, so the son was in for a big surprise. The father went in the room with joy and the party was already in full swing. He danced a while with his son, after a while he ordered the DJ to stop playing music as he had a beautiful pleasant for his son. There was silence in the room, as everyone wanted to hear what this man was going to offer for his son.
“Firstly I would want to thank God for giving me such a wonderful son. I remember the day he was conceived; I was besides his mother, on a swimming pool. His birth made me to be a proud father, I promised my late wife, that I will take care of our son and do anything for him under the sun. I am glad that I fulfilled that dream, and the only person who is missing it’s his mother who passed away on the same day he was born.” His voice at this stage was emotional, as the images of his beautiful late wife flashed back. “I thanked her for giving me a beautiful son and I remember kissing her as she slipped away from my arms. As I am speaking I wish she was here with me as I am about to announce the very special news for my son. I believe my wife is watching above from the sky, as this is the special day for me and my son and all of you who have come to witness this day. Your gathering made it special,” he addressed the crowd and as his voice reached crescendo tone.
“Secondly, I want to say a Very Happy Birthday to my son, in bold letters,” the father beamed. I have thought for the past six months about the best gift I could give you on your birthday. After toiling with my brains, the best gift I can give you today popped up a couple of days ago.” The big man smiled, as he looked straight into his son’s eyes. The son reciprocated and hugged his father. “Dad, I appreciate you more than my heart could say at this hour. Whatever you have for me I know it’s the best as you are my best dad in the world.” The father and son grinned and hugged once more. The crowd applauded. “My son, my own beloved son, I as your dad, I want to see you living a happy life till to the end. As a man I know what makes a man happy. The medicine of a happy life to a man is a bubbling woman, who cares about his man from his stomach to his daily needs.” He paused deliberately, allowing his message to sink. The son grinned, but he had no clue where the story was leading. He stared his son again and looked into the crowd. He strode two steps and spread his right arm over his son’s shoulder.
“Son, the very special gift I have been secretly preparing for you,” he paused once more and looked his son closely. He hesitated a while but decided to kill off the message. “In that room” he pointed it with his finger, “which we have always called the queen’s room, there is an angel, a beautiful girl, the daughter of my best friend, and today I pronounce you as her husband. Don’t ask of the lobola as everything had been put in place.” The crowd applauded but the son was in shock. He shivered and forced a smile.
After he gained his momentum the son delivered his own speech. “ I want to thank you dad for a such wonderful a gift. I deeply appreciate as it almost paralyses my nervous system,” he spoke slowly with intentions. His dad smiled agreeing with his son. “But dad you know that the entire of my life I never worked or sweat. This place to be what it is today; It is the sweat of the servants and the servants have been my aids in every social aspect of my life. So, as you know dad, I am your pampered lazy son, spoiled from bottom to top. Did you ever thought of how I am going to work on this woman? “Dad, please, try to understand, I may sound ungrateful but my major question lies on the truth about this girl.”“Which is?” The father asked anxiously. “Is she pregnant?” the son finally asked. The father collapsed with shock.
A lovely boy named Zuze worked for a white farmer in 1930s in Zimbabwe. He had always worked hard and delivered the best results, and his master was pleased with him. He promoted him to be the tea boy. He did all sorts errands in the farmhouse. One day the farmer, Mr Smith, called Zuze to his office. Zuze went in to meet him and discussed at length the developments of things at the farm.
“I have called you”, said Mr Smith and paused for a while as if he was hesitating to say out the words while his eyes were squared upon Zuze. “I have got some task for you and the task is very simple, I want you to start collecting our farm groceries from a local shop dealer, Mr Brown. He is a good friend of mine and I trust you to do the job well”. Upon hearing the good news, Zuze, smiled and nodded his head in agreement. That’s all I want to say to you, Mr Smith spoke and dismissed his servant, Zuze. Zuze was delighted and he was eager to start the job as soon as he could.
The following day Zuze woke up early and as usual and he took a shower in the iron-corrugated bathroom, which was next to the farmhouse. He whistled a joyful song as warm water streamed down his body. He was happy and the early birds joined him in his singing. “Mother Africa, you are so beautiful,” he said and wrapped up himself with a big towel that the farmer had bought for him a year ago. He went in his thatched bedroom and put on his best clothes. After looked himself on the mirror he smiled with a smile of satisfaction.
He left for the local shop and did the grocery errands with Mr Brown who liked his enthusiasm and thought it was infectious. Mr Brown had always communicated with his friend, Mr Smith through letters. The first few months Zuze did his job with a touch of excellence. Then one day after he had collected the grocery, he felt tempted to eat one of the loaves. He pulled out a loaf of bread and sat on an old log, which was lying under a huge fig tree. He scrupulously ate it all. He felt energised and continued with his journey to the farm. At the farm, Mr Smith, was waiting anxiously but this time with a purpose. Mr Smith had begun to worry for Zuze that he had taken so long to come back to the farm than other days. This kind of worry had strained him each time he checked his wrist watch he thought Zuze might have fallen sick on the way, but he was surprised to see him from a distance that he was in a gaily mood. He received him and asked for the letter from Mr Brown.
Zuze handed over the letter. Mr smith read the contents of the letter. Later he packed some of the food in the pantry and discovered two loaves of bread were missing. “It should have been a dozen of loaves?” he spoke to himself loudly. “Did I miscount?” he wondered and started again recounting the number of loaves and he did for several times until he was satisfied that two loaves of bread were missing. He had made up his mind that he would write a letter to Mr Brown and ask why two loaves of bread were missing. He wrote the letter that afternoon and gave it to Zuze the following day to deliver to Mr Brown. Zuze carried it and delivered the letter. Mr Brown was shocked and he replied explaining that he had given Zuze a dozen of loaves. In his reply he had suggested Zuze might have eaten it. He asked Mr Smith that he should question his servant about the two loaves. He was sincere and apologised and that he added two extra loaves for his friend.
Zuze was given a small parcel of grocery that day to take to the farm and with a letter to deliver to his master, Mr Smith. When Zuze arrived he handed the letter to his master, Mr Smith, who quickly tore off the envelope and read the letter. Silently he moved closer to Zuze who was watching him like a hawk.
“This letter is saying that you might have eaten two loaves of bread that went missing yesterday. What do you say of this accusation, Zuze? Mr Smith asked and looked straight into Zuze’s eyes. “Did I hear you well, Mr Smith?” Zuze shook his head in disbelief. “You said this letter told you that yesterday I ate the bread?” “Yes it is as you said, Zuze,” Mr Smith said and stepped a distance away from his servant and observed his body language. Zuze paused and thought of the bread he ate and that there was no one around but the letter saw him. “It was a beggar’s belief that the letter had eyes and a mouth to speak,” Zuze thought of it silently. “So, Zuze, did you eat the bread?” Mr Smith queried him. “If the letter said so, I will say yes because there was no one other than me and the letter.
Mr Smith looked at Zuze with incredulity. He had trusted him and he had breached that trust in a short time. “Can I have the letter, Mr Smith?” Zuze asked as he extended his hand towards Mr Smith. “I want to check on the letter and to know what else it had said about me?” Mr smith quietly handed the letter to Zuze. “Zuze”, Mr Smith called out, “Bring it back to me once you finished reading it. “Ok, boss,” Zuze spoke and walked away to a nearby bush.
Zuze retrieved the letter from his pocket and started to give a lecture to the letter. “Everyday,” he began. “I handled you well and carried you in my pocket and never treated you bad. I always treated you with respect. I have always taken you to Mr Brown and Mr Smith in good shape. I never insulted you nor spied on you but today I am going to teach you a good lesson then you will know who is Zuze.” He spoke whilst the other hand was busy pruning a small branch of the tree and he finally branched it off.
“My name is Zuze and I am going to beat you up. Then after that you won’t spy on me. Do you hear me?” Zuze started to beat the letter and each slash on the paper was tearing off the letter. “You see, you are not even strong enough to defend yourself yet you are good at reporting others”. He beat it until it was no more. “You see you just disappeared from the surface of the earth easily and I am still standing. You are no more and I won’t carry you in my pocket forever.
When he finished he turned around and saw Mr Smith close by and shaking his head. “He is dead. I killed him. He thought he was a notorious guy.” “Whom did you kill?” Mr Smith asked with a curiosity tone. “Your spy is dead, Mr Smith, Zuze said with a triumphant voice. “Who is my spy, Zuze?” Mr Smith was now more inquisitive. “Oh, the letter-it is dead. I beat him to pieces,” Zuze responded and pounded on his chest with his fist. Mr Smith looked around and saw the bits and pieces of the letter scattered everywhere. Once more Mr Smith shook his head in disbelief. He cursed himself. “How on earth did I assume that Zuze was literate and competent?” His assumption had gone wrong and the caution bells were ringing. Immediately he knew it was time to teach his servant basic literate skills.
“Zuze,” Mr Smith called his name. “The letter you destroyed was not a spy. Mr Brown wrote the letter and in his own words he had suggested that you might have eaten the bread. “Wait, Mr Smith,” Zuze said with an authoritative voice. “Earlier, you said the letter had told you that I have eaten the bread, isn’t it? So if the letter had said that so where does Mr Brown comes in? I don’t understand it at all.” “Well”, Mr Smith tried to explain. “There is a plain paper, he pulled out a plain paper from his pocket. Look here, Zuze can you see anything on this paper? It’s white”. “Good. Are there any small drawings you have seen on this paper?” Mr Smith asked again. “No.” Zuze said. “The one you killed did it have some small drawings?” Mr Smith asked. “Yes, and the drawings were of different shapes and black in colour,” Zuze said with enthusiasm. “Very Good Zuze, you are spot on. The small drawings of different shapes were the words that came out from Mr Brown’s mouth and drew it on the paper. The small drawings of different shapes drawn by Mr Brown became the letter because they carried a message. The message he composed from his heart and he is the one who thought you might have eaten the bread. So I was able to read each drawing and I understood it.”
Zuze was amazed his mouth was wide open with awe. “Is that small drawings a language of white people only for them to communicate?” He asked with interest and he wanted to know more of what he was missing. His master, Mr Smith, was a kind man. “No, it’s not a language for white people only. It is a language for all mankind”. “How could I learn it? Zuze asked and came to sit next to his master. “I am sorry, he apologised. I was feeling hungry and tempted to eat the loaves of the bread. At first I thought I would eat only one but it was very delicious.” “I have forgiven you, Zuze, but you should have said it yesterday and I would have understood you. Look where we have reached today because of lack of transparency between us,” Mr Smith said.
“As from tomorrow, Zuze, I am going to teach you to draw the words and when you are good enough, I will promote you to become a teacher. It is from there that you shall start to teach other farm workers to write and to read. This farm will be a prosperous one. I am going to build a local school so that every child would benefit.” Zuze was thrilled with the news and it spread like a veld fire that Zuze would be a teacher in some months to come. It pleased the community and when they met they sang and danced with the joy of appreciation for the new things to come. Zuze and His master developed a strong bond and their plans were successful and everyone benefited.
A black couple went in Jameson Hotel, in Harare, for a nice meal. The husband as always wanted to impress his wife and ordered the meal of the day. The couple chatted amicably as they waited for their meal and sipped their wine. After 20 minutes of waiting the food was brought to their table and started eating. In the middle of eating they saw a white couple entering the hotel and ordered their meal and they came and sat next to their table. In few minutes the white couple meal was delivered and it looked more delicious and attractive than the black couple’s food.
They black couple started to eat slowly and throwing side-glances over their neighbours. The white couple finished their food in time and the husband called out for the waiter: “Same order, waiter,” the white man called out. “OK, boss, the waiter said and rushed to the kitchen. Immediately the waiter brought the food on their table and the black couple noticed that the white couple were on delicious and attractive meal again.
The black couple was yearning for this kind of meal and as the saliva drenched on their lips. In the end the husband from the black couple called out: “Same Order,waiter”. “Ok, boss” the waiter answered back and dashed into the kitchen. After few minutes the waiter brought the food to the table of the black couple. On glance the husband and wife bounced back with shock. The husband was up before time and pointing to the waiter with a shivering finger. “I said Same Order, and you brought the same food, we have eaten, sadza and chicken intestines. How could you treat us like that? I brought here my wife here to eat the best. Do you understand young man? The husband was now manhandling the waiter on his throat. These white chaps, he spat out saliva and roared with anger, they called out “Same Order” and you brought them delicious, attractive, meal and not us. This is our country, and we should not be treated less like this, these are foreigners whom you give a lot of respect. Now I am going back with my wife really sad because you could not give us “Same Order.” The waiter had soaked it all and understood that these black chaps misunderstood the meaning of same order. He calmly asked the man to release him and that he could explain in the mother language the meaning of “Same Order.” “I will only release you if you promise to give us “Same Order”. “Ok, I will do it,” said the waiter.
When released the waiter explained calmly in Shona the meaning of “Same Order” and the black couple understood it finally and they had the last laugh in the hotel. Their laughter echoed in the whole building and it was infectious to the extend that all diners ended up laughing with them without knowing the root of this laughter. The husband and wife hugged each other and hugged the waiter and laughed a laugh of lifetime. The waiter finally went to the kitchen and told him to make a similar dish as of white man and he would pay the bill for his friends. A durable friendship of lifetime was created upon that day. Thanks to “Same Order”
She was a lovely, cultured woman with an African heart. She always worked hard for her family and topped the meagre salaries of her husband who worked in a local bakery. In the community she was known as MaSimba but her first name was Joyce. Her husband, Prosper, always called her Joy. She was a joy in his life since the day he set his eyes on her twelve years ago. Their love blossomed and the two never looked back and they were blessed with two lovely children. At first the husband’s wages were good enough to support the entire family but when the recession rocketed in their lives, the wife thought of seeking for a job. In two weeks of searching and seeking she got the job after she saw an advert from an old newspaper, which she picked from a rubbish-dumping place. It was very dirty but she was able to read the advert, and smiled broadly, thanking, Yahweh, and somehow she felt a powerful connection towards the advert, and she believed this was her job, and God had provided for her.
The following day she phoned, the employer, a lovely female posh voice answered her phone call. She explained she had seen the advert and she was looking for a job. The lovely lady on the other end answered her pleasantly and asked her to come to her house immediately. After taken all the details, she dropped the phone down and put her best clothes. She walked out and travelled on the dust meandering road that led her to a tarred road. On the tarred road she waited for a while and saw the expected lift that was described on the phone. The car squealed as it came to a halt. Joyce jumped in and smiled as she greeted the white lady whose hands were tied on the stir wheel.
The two women were happy and the white lady had liked Joyce and showed her whole house, which seemed like a museum. “You will be working here, cleaning, mopping, hovering, ironing and cooking. Never mind about the garden, we have a garden boy who regularly comes here twice a week.” She stopped talking and looked at Joyce, who looked stunned with entire atmosphere. The house was very beautiful and exquisitely decorated inside and out. The gardens were breathtaking and for a while she thought it was a paradise. She thought of her own house in contrast, and thought it was only two bedroom flat with bare floors and less in it, but they always content with their lifestyle. It was the rise of the cost of living that had forced her to go and look for a job. Joyce realised later that the white lady had stopped talking and looked squarely in her eyes. “You have a beautiful house,” Joyce said, “ I love everything about it, the interior and the exterior décor are of excellence,” she added and winked the white lady mischievously that the two ended bursting in laughter. “Thank you for the compliment. I loved Africa and God had guided us to what we have. I wouldn’t thank him enough.”
Later the two ladies were drinking the refreshing Mazoe Orange and the delicious Lobels biscuits as the sun heat of Africa penetrated through the perforated veranda. Joyce had got her first job and went home rejoicing. The husband was happy and children squealed with happiness when they heard their mummy talking that she will be working for a white family and that in the future the children will visit at work and have a braai together.
After eleven months of working, the white lady was thoroughly impressed with Joyce’s work and their relationship was in good swings. She thought of extending an invitation, to Joyce and her family to come for pre-Christmas gathering that she always held with friends and relatives at the end of the year. Joyce was genuinely thrilled with the invitations and she couldn’t wait to go home and tell her husband.
When she got home that was her first statement on her mouth and they were excited and started slapping each other on their backs with happiness. They went to bed very late contemplating upon the day they will sit and eat together with the white people at the same table for the first time in their lives.
When the day arrived, Joyce woke up early and made sure all her family will be looking elegantly before the host and after that she dashed for work. Upon arriving she busied herself in the white lady’s kitchen and prepared all the meals, drinks and setting out the tables immaculately outside the house. It was whilst she was cooking and then it dawned to her that her husband had never used the cutlery and at home they have always used their naturally God given forks (hands). It gnawed her throughout the preparation and wondered how would she save her husband from embarrassment. A new thought floated in her mind and Joyce laughed as she made the final preparations
When she went outside, more and more people were trickling in and the merrily atmosphere had just begun, and there she saw her husband and children arriving and she ushered them to the tables. Her husband sat among other guests and laughed cheerfully with other guest as if they have met before. He was surprised with the flawless of the party and how ease the whites colleagues were to him as they intermingle and exchanged humour.
Finally it was time for people to start eating, and the white lady asked Joyce to bless the food. Joyce stood up as all eyes were on her, and thought this was the time to rescue her husband from embarrassment. “Can I pray in Shona?” She asked, but her question seemed more direct to the white lady but it was open to everyone. “Yes, go on” the entire guest chorused. She sighed with relief and looked at her husband with a language they have always understood each other, and the husband nodded his head as he smiled.
Joyce began to pray in Shona loudly: Let’s all bow down our heads. Baba, she coughed, let the spirit of God guide you as we partake this special meal. To your left hand, baba, you will use the fork, and to the right hand, the spirit of God will tell to use the knife always and the spoon is for the soup, says the Holy spirit, baba. If you did not understand, baba, wait patiently and watch everybody eating, in Jesus’s name and Joyce finished the last words in English. “Amen” Everyone chorused. When she opened her eyes, her husband’s eyes were on her smiling confidently with appreciation. “I never known…” Joyce’s husband stopped in the middle of conversation and realised all ears on the table were prickled up, “ that you are a prayer warrior and saved a wretch like me.”
A man who lived in a densely populated of African suburbs, Isaiah Jokoni, was happy with his life and he had a descent house and a descent job . He loved his job greatly as a mechanical engineer. One day he found himself late for work as he sped up to board a commuter omnibus at a nearby local bus station. By the time Isaiah arrived at the bus station the minibus was nearly full with one vacant left for one passenger. Isaiah smiled and thinking how luck he was as he squeezed in at the front seat next to the bus driver. He was drenching with sweat and Isaiah realised that he was not immune to the African summer heat wave although it was still in the morning and everyone was starting to feel the heat. Isaiah wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hands. He opened the window in front to alleviate the situation and opened as well two top buttons of his shirt, allowing the air to cool him.
When Isaiah got settled, he pulled out his mobile from his porch bag. It was one of the latest Nokia phone he had bought in the last two weeks. He stroked his phone as he thought of texting a message to his boss letting him know that he was on his way though he was running late. Isaiah had finished typing the message when the mini bus stopped at a red traffic lights. He was about to press a send button when the phone simply disappeared from his hands. Isaiah had not seen how it happened but the rest of the passengers had seen the thief coming and the thief had pretended like someone who was about to cross the road.
“It’s the thief, It’s the thief,” everyone shouted in despair and anger on top of their voices. Some were pointing in the direction where the thief had gone whilst others banging on the windows and drumming on the floor with their feet. The man whose phone was stolen , Isaiah Jokoni, was silent for a moment and when he gained his voice he called out in desperation: Press Send! Press Send! Unfortunately his words were swallowed by thick air as the thief faded away into the crowds.