“Ahhhhhh..” I could feel and hear myself relax. I sat under the tree shade on my wheelchair watching the beautiful sun setting behind the Sawenja hills. It had been a long day. Children of about my age passed before me running and playing. “How I wish I had my legs back.” I thought. Tears started rolling down my angelic cheeks as I recalled that terrible fate that came upon me years ago. That incident made me lose my two legs. The incident happened years ago but to me it only seemed like yesterday. Vivid images of blood oozing out of people, the sound of screeching brakes and smell of fuel that had filled the air that day appeared to me. Yes, I had been involved in a bus accident. These memories kept forming trains of thoughts in my mind.
It had been a bright sunny afternoon. Birds flew from tree to tree humming their melodious tunes. It was peaceful and relaxing. I was outside playing soccer with my friend Ali. I had recently moved to Kenya from Italy with my mom. “Ali. John. Come here. It’s time for lunch.” My mom called out. The aroma filled the house as I approached our house. It made my stomach rumble.
I gobbled my food. “John, I want you to take this to Ali’s grandmother. She’s not feeling well.” I was more than happy. I couldn’t care less if Ali came or not because his grandmother gave the best stories. Without hesitation, I took the bag and some money for the bus.
The bus stop was filled with children and their mothers. I guessed it was because of the slow transportation we had. I couldn’t care less. I was listening to my favorite song, Bad blood by Taylor Swift. After one hour of waiting for the bus, I had almost lost my patience. But fortunately a bus came. It did not seem like It was in good condition. Smoke came through its hose pipe and loud music was being played. It was full but people still boarded it. I managed to find a spot and sat.
The engine coughed and before we knew it we were in the road. The bus smelt like alcohol. It seemed like someone in there was drunk. Suddenly the bus started wobbling. Oh no. it was the driver who was drunk. There was a truck in front of us and we were headed for a head-on collision with it. I tried to stop him but he gave me a piercing look through his front mirror.
Women and children tried to stop him by begging him but their efforts bore no fruits. Some of them jumped through the windows. I tried beating him up but in return he slapped me so hard that I cut my lips into two.
Then suddenly BOOM! The bus had hit the truck. Glass from the windows broke piercing every bare skin I had. I was sent flying through the air and fell with a thud. Heavy metal pieces from the bus came crashing on my legs. Pain pierced through me. My heart was beating so hard like the tom tom drums of Western Africa. Blood oozed profusely from the passengers like faulty taps. The smell of fuel filled the air. People’s bodies lay down like scattered moths. Before I knew it, everything turned black. I couldn’t even hear my own heartbeat.
“John. My baby what happened? Wake up. Its me your mother. I’m sorry for sending you. Now you have lost both of your legs because of me.” My mom said while tears rolled down her pacific blue eyes. I was shocked to the roots of my existence. My beautiful legs had now gone forever. Ali was beside me. He was crying too. Everyone blamed the driver, my mom blamed herself and I blamed myself for boarding that bus. Who can we really blame?
“John. What’s wrong? Have you been remembering the accident again? Don’t worry everything is going to be alright.” Ali said. He was beside me. He came to tell me that my mom wanted us to go have dinner since it was late. That was how I got into a wheelchair all because of a mistake that the driver made. But should we really blame him? What if he had his own reasons for wanting to commit suicide? But the past is in the past. People learn from their mistakes and that is all that matters.