By the Idler-in-Chief
You definitely know that it is Christmas time again in Nyagenke, that generous city which welcomes millions from everywhere and then watches them flee at the mere sight of 25th December approaching.
One minute, the upcountry Nyagenkeans are stuck in lifts together, pretending not to notice each other’s breath.
The next minute, they are bolting for the exits as if the city has announced a compulsory family reunion tax.
This annual retreat to “home” is conducted with remarkable urgency, as though Nyagenke itself were the hated relative.
As I type, roads leading upcountry now resemble processions of repentance, with vehicles crawling bumper to bumper, not because of traffic jams, but because everyone is carrying the entire contents of their lives.
Mattresses are once again enjoying a ride on rooftops, tied with ropes whose knots were learned in childhood villages; saucepan lids are flapping in the wind, and plastic basins are gazing down at passing lorries like grandchildren.
The image below shows a Ma3 sagging under the weight of human hope and sponge mattresses, overtaking a truck with the confidence of someone who has already paid double fare.
Public service vehicles are now enjoying what the king’s economic (mis)advisors might call a boom, but it’s not far from daylight robbery.
You see, fares have risen so sharply they now require altitude sickness warnings, and conductors no longer shout destinations but auction them, because demand is so high that even political campaign lies are fully booked.
It’s that moment when “One more passenger” has been replaced with “one more mattress.”
Those living beyond the polite edges of the suburbs of Nyagenke have left in their numbers, locking their houses with the sensitivity of people who know burglars are also travelling upcountry.
As a result, estates are suddenly breathable, footpaths have reappeared, and stray cats look confused by the silence.
For a brief, magical moment, Nyagenke estates now resemble what is shown in glossy investment brochures, but do not be fooled.
The Central Business District of Nyagenke has not decongested but has become a ceremonial corridor for the Great Escape.
Vehicles pass through endlessly, noses pointed toward ancestral land, engines humming the global anthem of Christmas migration.
Streets and avenues have been converted into immobile queues, and the CBD is no longer a place of commerce but a waiting room with traffic lights.
This, one might argue, is the season that should truly test the Governor of Nyagenke, not with colourful speeches about smart cities or painted pedestrian lanes, but with the question of how streets became parking lots without anyone applying for permission.
You see, the annual madness arrives on schedule, yet every year it is treated like a surprise attack.
The psychology of the Nyagenkean traveller is fascinating.
It’s that moment when people who avoid their neighbours all year suddenly announce, with deep emotion, that they are going “to be with loved ones”.
Judging by the speed of departure, one wonders whether these loved ones are waiting with open arms or stern questions about life choices.
Still, the journey must be made since Christmas, after all, is about tradition, sacrifice, and sitting on a mattress in the back of a minibus for twelve hours, and making it trend on TigTog.
As Nyagenke’s certified idler and self-proclaimed Ambassador-at-Large, I think the entire phenomenon deserves global recognition.
My argument is that if pyramids and waterfalls qualify as wonders, surely the Nyagenke Christmas migration does too.
Nowhere else does a city empty itself with such discipline while remaining jammed as the heavens open and turn it into a small ocean.
Surely, this is an 8th Wonder of the World, complete with ropes, luggage, and spiritual resolve.
Those people who put things in the Guinness Book of Records, take note: no one moves here in Nyagenke, yet everyone leaves.
Yet, by January, the Nyagenkeans will return, lighter in luggage, heavier in stories, and ready once again to complain about traffic.
Until then, let the city of Nyagenke rest briefly, like a host whose guests have finally gone home, only to begin cleaning in anticipation of their return.
— babahezel@gmail.com