The phone rings at 7 a.m.It's Daddy waking me up in the cold winter morning. I fumble and mutter my displeasure and then fall off into a semi-conscious sleep. I check the phone again to see if I have overslept. It's 7.30 a.m., time to rise and shine. I crawl my way out of bed, relive myself in the bathroom, switch on the geyser and head to the kitchen.
I open the fridge, get out the cold milk and put it on the fire to boil. I open the oats packet and dunk it into the boiling milk. Stirring it slowly, till the milk and oats rises. In the meanwhile, I make myself fresh orange juice, which I absolutely love. Then put the cold bread on the frying pan for it to toast, after which i make myself nice butter and cheese sandwiches for work. I quickly have a nice warm water bath, wash my underclothes, get ready to take on a brand new day.
I stand at the bus stop, jump at the first bus in sight, nudge my fellow passengers, and quietly retreat into a seat (in case I'm lucky). I watch from the bus window the dust flying from the sweeper's mop, patient passengers heave a sigh of relief as they see the bus arrive at the designated stand, the ever looming flyovers that tower down on humanity. I start to keep a mental track of the route and certain landmarks. Gradually, the uncertain and the unfamiliar make way for the comfort of familiarity.
Slowly, I will be calling the buses, the roads, the buildings, the flyovers my own and then I will know that this city has become me.
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