The city of London and its funny, more relaxed side

We scuffled into the bus.

It was mid week ; nothing to worry about except rushing home at the end of another slave day. We smirk at flies, rats and hyenas chasing dirty food, but we hypocritical humans are forever chasing money. The chap in front of me was having difficulty getting in. I bent to help his massive luggage which caused people behind to wait. Seemed like he was pulling a tractor in.

London buses have a queueing system. Consequently, everyone respects waiting; one of the loveliest, unspoken rules of this marvellous city. I have been to countries where passengers would even punch your ribs and spit on you to be in a bus. Yet that particular day another bloke behind me was having none of the London etiquette. You could smell the alcohol.

“Why. Is it. Tttttaking... (belch) ssssssssooo, lo-ng?”

In London you have to be cautious while replying to strangers. You do not know their state of mind. I scanned the man. He was sweating profusely; big belly, and dark, dark glasses. Not the ones you see the eyes, but those we use to call “TV” in Tanzania, back in the 1980s. They make you stare at yourself. Like facing a mirror. Glare at your own damned face.

Mine was deadpan; no hint of judgement or malice. You have to keep a neutral expression in such situations.

He yelled: “What! ...(belch and cough ) you- you- you looking at?”

Mouth reeked of that typical daytime beer.

I pointed at his shoes.

“Your shoes, mate. They are NICE!”

Which made him grin.

“Nobody. No...bbb... complimented me today, so I shoo shoo , should...say thanks.”

That melted the ice.

A good rapport followed. Happened that he knew the chap with the huge luggage. The duo ended up sitting together.

“Your wonderful glasses. Are they Ray-ban?”

They both laughed. Ray-ban is a well known expensive brand of sunglasses. The other chap wore similar “TV” shades. The pair resembled comedians. I was thinking of the famous actor Amitabh Bachchan. They were sort of mechanics, builders; khaki shirts, soiled jeans, rough, semi dirty. Hard working men.

“Cannot afford Ray-ban, mate. These are ordinary one-quid shades from Pound-land,” his not-so-drunk pal explained.

Pound-land is a popular cheap goods, shop chain.

The glasses appeared decent to me. To be honest, most ordinary folks in London wear the cheapest clothes bought from one pound shops, or second hand stalls, we call mitumba dukas in Dar es Salaam and across Africa. I have met really wealthy folks, with 1970s and 80s wear, known as Vintage and well? Fashionably beautiful. Secondhand, cheap cars. Old 1960s and 70s LP records. There is too much excess in rich countries and some of your ordinary well-off people do not waste their money on brand new expensive stuff. Even the everlasting Bible acknowledges this, in Ecclesiastes chapter 5 : 19-20:

“When God gives someone wealth and possessions, and the ability to enjoy them ...they seldom reflect on the days of their life, because God keeps them occupied with gladness of heart.”

Gladness of the heart, indeed.

The two pals were now , intently, starring at me. At ease. Minding my business. Watching streets of London slog by. Warehouses. Cafes. Subway. McDonald’s. KFC. Pret de manger. Barclays Bank. NatWest Bank. TESCO supermarket; pharmacies, high apartment buildings, old 19th and 20th century modernised Victorian residential houses, lots and lots of cars, pedestrians, cyclists and e-scooter zooming on. Street life.

“You, Jamaican?”

I shook my head.

Any black, brown, African must be Jamaican in London. Just like any Arab-looking individual in Paris tends to be viewed as Algerian.

“Nigeria?”

London’s majority Africans tend to be Nigerians and West Africans.

“You have to try harder.” I took off my hat and mask.

“Ahhhhh! Ethiopia?!”

Almost , I spat.

“Somalia!”

This bus scene drove me back to Rio de Janeiro. Late 1980s. Early days in Latin America. Someone would always try to guess where I was from. Hardly any Tanzanians in Brazil so they could be excused. Few Africans from Angola, Senegal, Nigeria.

But, London? 2021?

London has everyone from the universe. Three hundred languages. Name any country, accent, food, dance, customs.

“You must be Punjabi speaking from India. Maybe Pakistani. ” I announced.

“How do you know?”

“From your accents and mannerisms.”

They were impressed.

I said I was East African. Many Asians.

“Oh. We have family in Uganda and Tanzania...”

History. History. Herstory. Many Asians left East Africa after Idi Amin expulsions in 1971. A long saga.