The Wrong Bus

In October 1995 I had moved to London from Cape Town for a short sabbatical period from my academic work. I was doing a group therapy course In Finchley Road and only knew one route home from Liverpool Street station to my bed-sit in Hackney. It was the 22A bus. Like many foreigners from Africa, I was not prepared for the bitter cold that was part of early November, and waiting for a bus was agony. So, one evening, when the 22B came along, I hoped on, pleased to be out of the wind after an interminable wait at the appointed bus stop.

In the evening gloom the journey was somewhat familiar, until the bus, nearing what I thought was my stop, turned up a street I didn’t recognise. I wasn’t too concerned, after all what could be the difference between an A and B? I had my London A-Z book with me and would navigate my way home. I settled back into the warmth of the upper deck.

‘This is the last stop,’ the bus driver announced.

I was almost the last passenger to get off, there was an older woman behind me who walked slowly using an orthopaedic stick. It was dark and the streets were empty. I looked for a streetlight so I could find where I was in the small print of the map book. The woman approached me.

“What you looking for?’ she asked in a deep rasping voice.

‘I usually take the 22A bus and now I am not sure where I am’.

‘You shouldn’t do that my dear, this is not an area you want to be in. It’s not like the 22A’. She said half laughing, half threatening. ‘That’s posh Hackney... this is Clapton Pond’.

The emphasis put a chill down my spine.

‘How do I get back to the 22A route?’ I asked.

‘Well, if you walk with me, I can show you.’

We set off, this odd couple. Me with my A_Z under my arm, she with her stick and shambling gait. She had long white hair and wore a thick multicoloured wool coat that reached below her knees. I had to lean down to hear her, she was smaller than me, and her accent was hard to understand.

‘I have lived here all my life’ she said ‘and lots has changed. It used to be kids playing in the streets and doors left unlocked, you can’t do that now.’

She paused to catch her breath and looked directly at me.

“You should never get the wrong bus, no knowing what might happen.’.

We walked on, I started to recognise some of the landmarks, the shop where I bought pita breads and hummus late at night, just after I had arrived from the airport.

‘I am okay now I can see where I am, there is Graham Road ahead of me and I can walk from here. I live near the school and church. Many thanks for your help,’ I said.

‘Okay love’ she replied ‘Sorry I walk like this, I am slow, I was stabbed in the back you see, just up that road there. It affected my balance. You take care now’