Back to stories list

Buzuba Mbondakaunka Kudolopo The day I left home for the city Ubushiku nafumine kung'anda ukuya kukalale

Written by Lesley Koyi, Ursula Nafula

Illustrated by Brian Wambi

Translated by Chester Mwanza

Language ChiTonga

Level Level 3

Narrate full story The audio for this story is currently not available.


Ka bbasi kashonto kakaima mumunzi wesu. Zintu zyakabikwa bwindilila, zyimwi zyakacili ansi. Ibambi bantu bakali kupunda mazyina amasena nkwakali kuunka ma bbasi.

The small bus stop in my village was busy with people and overloaded buses. On the ground were even more things to load. Touts were shouting the names where their buses were going.

Icitesheni ca sacha mumushi wandi pali abantu abeni nama scha ayaisula. Panshi ninshi pali nafimbi ifyakulonga. Bakaponya ninshi balependilila ukuleya ama sacha.


Dolopo, dolopo! kuya kumbo. Ndakanvwu muntu ulapunda. Njenjiyo bbasi njindakeelede kutanta.

“City! City! Going west!” I heard a tout shouting. That was the bus I needed to catch.

” Kukalale! kukalale! Abaleya kumasamba!” Nabomfwa bale punda, iyi esacha nfwile nanina.


Bbasi yakudolopo yakalimukuzula, pesi bantu banji bakacili kuyanda kutanta. Bamwi bakabika ma katundu mujungusi a bbasi. Bamwi bakatanta anzizyo.

The city bus was almost full, but more people were still pushing to get on. Some packed their luggage under the bus. Others put theirs on the racks inside.

Sacha ninshi ilinamukwisula, nomba abantu bacili baleisunka ukwingila. Bambi balongele ifipe munshi yasacha. Bambi balongele mutushimbi mukati.


Bamwi nibakapa tikiti, bakayandaula akukala. Bamakaintu bakali abana bakabakalika kabotu.

New passengers clutched their tickets as they looked for somewhere to sit in the crowded bus. Women with young children made them comfortable for the long journey.

Abalenina baleipatika pakuti bafwaye apakwikala mucintu bwingi. Bana mayo abali nabana balikele bwino palwendo pantu lutali.


Ndakalisyanikizya kukala munsi ampulungwido. Muntu wakakede munsi lyangu, wakajisi cipepa ca nyanzabili. Wakali samide nkwabilo zyakaindi akajansi kajujukide.

I squeezed in next to a window. The person sitting next to me was holding tightly to a green plastic bag. He wore old sandals, a worn out coat, and he looked nervous.

Efyo naipatikishe kwiwindo. Ebonapalamene nabo balifukatile icola ca katapa katapa. Bafyele indyato ishakale, ikoti ilyasapuka nokumoneka abasakamana.


Ndakalanga anze a bbasi, ndabola ndayeye kuti ndizwa mumunzi wangu, mondakakomenena. Ndiinka ku dolopo impati.

I looked outside the bus and realised that I was leaving my village, the place where I had grown up. I was going to the big city.

Nalolesha panse ya sacha, ukumona uku nesha umushi wandi, umushi uonakulilamo. Ukuya kukalale.


Ikubika zivwunta kwakamana. Pesi basambazi bakacili kuyanda kunjila mu bbasi kuti basambale. Aumwi wakali kupunda nzyasambala. Mabbala amwi akali kundisesya.

The loading was completed and all passengers were seated. Hawkers still pushed their way into the bus to sell their goods to the passengers. Everyone was shouting the names of what was available for sale. The words sounded funny to me.

Bapwisha ukulonga nabantu bonse baikala. Abakushitisha ninshi bacili balepitana muli sacha ukushitisha amakwebo yabo kubantu. Cilamuntu alepunda ifyo aleshitisha. Ifingi fyalensekesha.


Basilweendo bakaula zyakunwa a twakulya. ibakanyina mali mbuli ndime bakali kwiide kulanga.

A few passengers bought drinks, others bought small snacks and began to chew. Those who did not have any money, like me, just watched.

Bamo bamo bashita ifyakunwa, nambi bashita ifyakulya nokwanba ukulya. Abashakwete indalama ngaine twaletambakofye.


Bbasi yakaima, basambala bakaambilwa kuti bazwe.

These activities were interrupted by the hooting of the bus, a sign that we were ready to leave. The tout yelled at the hawkers to get out.

Ifyalecitica fyaisa fulunganishiwa nauta ya sacha, iyi uta yakutila twalaima nomba. Kondakita epakupundila bakashitisha ati bafumine panse.


Basambazi bakatalika kuzwa kumwi kabalimbana. Bamwi bakacili kupilusya mali akali kwiindilila, ibamwi bakacili kusola kuti basambale.

Hawkers pushed each other to make their way out of the bus. Some gave back change to the travellers. Others made last minute attempts to sell more items.

Ifyalecitica fyaisa fulunganishiwa nauta ya sacha, iyi uta yakutila twalaima nomba. Kondakita epakupundila bakashitisha ati bafumine panse.


Bbasi yakatalika kweenda. Ndakalanga ampulungwido. Ndayeya ndati hena ndiyo jokela kumunzi alimwi.

As the bus left the bus stop, I stared out of the window. I wondered if I would ever go back to my village again.

Cilya Sacha ilefuma mu chitesheni. Nalengela pawindo. Nasakamana nati bushe nkatala bwele kumushi nafuti.


Nitwakeenda musinzo, mubbasi mwakatalika kupya. Ndakasola kujala meso kutegwa ndoone.

As the journey progressed, the inside of the bus got very hot. I closed my eyes hoping to sleep.

Cilya tuleya, muli sacha mwakaba. Naisala amenso ukuti ningashipulako.


Mizezo yangu yakajoka kung’anda. Hena bamama balaba kabotu, Hena bakulana bangu banikutilila zisamu nzyekasyanga.

But my mind drifted back home. Will my mother be safe? Will my rabbits fetch any money? Will my brother remember to water my tree seedlings?

Nomba amano yandi yabwelela kung’anda. Bushe bamayo bakabafye bwino? Bushe bakalulu bandi bakambweshesha indalama? Bushe ndume yandi akulaibukisha ukutapili ifilimwa fyandi?


Munzila, ndakatalika kuliyezya izyina ya busema nkobakali kukala baiisha mudolopo. Mukacindi kashonto, ndakanvwa tulo akoona.

On the way, I memorised the name of the place where my uncle lived in the big city. I was still mumbling it when I fell asleep.

Munshila naya neswatila amashina yancende ukwaleikala bayama mukalale. Ncili ndetamanshila naponenamutulo.


Nikwakainda maoola ali mafwuka, ndakabuka akunvwa bantu kabapundilila basilweendo baunka kumunzi kwesu. Ndakabweza ka bbeke akuzwa mu bbasi.

Nine hours later, I woke up with loud banging and calling for passengers going back to my village. I grabbed my small bag and jumped out of the bus.

Panuma yansa pabula, nabuka pakunfwa icongo, baleita abantu abalebwekelamo kumushi kumwesu. Nasompola akacola nokufuma muli sacha.


Bbasi yakali mukuzula akutalika kuya kujwe. Pesi cintu cipati cakali kuyandika, nkuyandaula ng’anda yabaaisha.

The return bus was filling up quickly. Soon it would make its way back east. The most important thing for me now, was to start looking for my uncle’s house.

Sacha yalebwekelamo yaya ileisula bwangu bwangu. Nombalinefye yalaima ukubwekelamo kukabanga. Icikalamba uli ine nomba kwamba ukufwaya ukwikala bayama.


Written by: Lesley Koyi, Ursula Nafula
Illustrated by: Brian Wambi
Translated by: Chester Mwanza
Language: ChiTonga
Level: Level 3
Source: The day I left home for the city from African Storybook
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.
Options
Back to stories list Download PDF