The bus lines: The Mmashoro hop-on

Thulaganyo Jankey | Wednesday August 19, 2026 06:00

Standing at the Palapye bus rank waiting for a bus in those temperatures means your limbs stop belonging to you after about four minutes. You aren't even waiting for transport anymore; you’re waiting for a rescue team. Never doubt the wisdom of an Auntie who knows her buses. She saved me from turning into a human ice lolly! She had specifically recommended – read instructed – I use Mokoka Transport for my trip. In conditions like that, getting into a Mokoka bus isn't just boarding public transport—it’s an evacuation into luxury as I soon discovered. We passed Serowe without much incident and then we stopped at Mmashoro. A man with the confidence of a CEO, the aesthetic of a runaway and a fragrance that legally requires a hazardous material permit hopped on.

Decked out in ‘Eau de Trouble’ (a delicate blend of diesel fumes, sweat and unearned confidence) and Nike Air Force sneakers his entrance spewed trouble vibes.

In a public bus, the customary ‘Hi’ or ‘Dumela’ is a truce. It means: I acknowledge your existence, I will not invade your personal space, and we shall ride in peaceful silence. His was ‘hi baby’ and immediately I knew we were in for a very interesting bus ride as he sidled next to a lady across the aisle.

The lady had her headphones on, minding her business, completely unbothered. Until the ‘Hi Baby’ missile landed! Sitting across the aisle meant I was picking the conversation from ringside, VIP if you like.

Front-row seat across the aisle, popcorn mentally in hand, ready for the circus. He thought he was stepping up with prime, top-tier footwear to seal the deal. She didn't fail to notice the sneakers; she performed a full forensic investigation without even taking off her headphones.

Her Verdict: Those shoes weren't Air Forces; they were Air Farces. The stitching was screaming for help, the tick was bent like a banana, and a simple DNA test would have revealed they were 90% plastic and optimism.

This leads to The Bus Ride Rule: Never attempt a ‘Hi Baby’ while wearing sneakers that look like they were assembled in a hurry during a power outage. The ladies always know. Especially ladies with headphones!

This man’s confidence needs to be studied in a laboratory. To go from looking like a walking hazard at Mmashoro to proposing a life-long commitment before the bus even hits 80km/h is a level of delusion usually reserved for reality TV. Brotherman threw the ultimate desperate play: ‘It was love at first sight.’

The lady didn't just reject him; she deployed pure, cold logic. Asking if ‘love at first sight’ was actually just ‘convenient proximity to the last open seat’ is a lethal counter-attack.

Instead of getting a romantic connection, he accidentally walked into a high-school ethics debate on the true definition of love—and lost horribly on all points.

When the bus pulled into Letlhakane, he decided to pull out the heavy artillery: the classic oil-dunked chicken and chips – the Dijo Bagolo special. In long-distance bus culture, buying a woman bus rank greasy chicken is basically an engagement ring.

It says, ‘I care about your survival, and I have P30 to spare.’ The lady politely refused and said she wasn’t about to eat anything that could cause her stomach to flare up during a bus trip.

So he was left to eating a bag of rejected, hyper-greasy bus rank chicken alone while under the intense, disapproving glare of the woman he just confessed his undying love to.

This is a special kind of pain. Every bite of that soggy chip tasted like defeat, but he had to finish it—he wasn't about to waste his money and his dignity.

Calling bus rank chicken a health hazard isn't just a rejection of his snack; it was an indirect attack on the entire bus population. Half the passengers were sitting there, fingers coated in grease, suddenly feeling personally victimised by her public health warning.

That moment was a psychological war zone. In one sentence, she managed to reduce the entire bus from a community of happy commuters to a room full of accused biohazards. Before her comment, everyone was happily united in the sacred tradition of the long-distance bus feast.

Greasy fingers and the sweet scent of cheap fried chicken—this was peace. The second she dropped ‘stomach flare-up,’ a collective freeze swept through the aisle. Mid-chew, mid-bite, people just stopped.

Every single person eating a Dijo Bagolo special suddenly looked down at their hands like they were holding radioactive waste. You could see the internal panic: ‘Wait... IS my stomach going to flare up between Letlhakane and Rakops?’ The only logical reaction for the bus was to side with the guy out of pure self-preservation.

Suddenly, him sitting there silently devouring his oil-soaked consolation prize wasn't a defeat—it was an act of defiance on behalf of the entire grease-loving community! She was sitting up there on her high-nutrition horse with her headphones, while the rest of the bus chewed faster just to prove a point.

He hopped off the bus at a small village called Toromoja and the feeble wave from the lady aptly captured the outcome of his adventure – mission unaccomplished.

There are people who are living proof that total brain failure does not always lead to physical death. He was one of them. (For comments, feedback and insults email inkspills1969@gmail.com) *Thulaganyo Jankey is a training consultant who runs his own training consultancy that provides training in BQA- accredited courses. His other services include registering consultancies with BQA and developing training courses. Contact him on 74447920 or email ultimaxtraining@gmail.com.