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Sallah day is supposed to be joyful. It’s the Muslim festival known for celebration, family, good food, and rest. But nothing could have prepared me for how that particular Sallah day would end. It started like a normal Friday, and I had no idea I was walking into the worst day of my life.
My workplace is far from home so far that I leave on Monday and don’t return until Friday. It feels like traveling every week, and I usually sleep at work during the weekdays. So, as usual, I packed up and began my journey home that Friday, looking forward to rest and being with my family. But the moment I reached the bus stop, I noticed something was off.
The place was overcrowded full of people, noise, confusion, and worst of all, heavy traffic. I stood there for a moment, unsure of what was happening. Public buses were scarce, and the few that stopped were charging ridiculous fares. Prices had more than doubled. It wasn’t like I was traveling to another state just heading home but even that was becoming nearly impossible.
I waited for hours, hoping things would clear up, but nothing changed. The sun was setting, and it was getting late. I had two choices: wait endlessly or start walking. I chose to walk.
That was the beginning of the real struggle.
I walked nearly 13 kilometers, just trying to reach the next bus stop where I might get a chance at a ride. My legs were trembling, my body sore, and my spirit nearly broken. When I got to the next stop, I was crushed to find an even bigger crowd and no buses in sight. It was like the entire city was stuck in the same nightmare.
I waited there for another hour, barely able to stand, when finally, a Good Samaritan came and offered a few of us a lift at the back of his vehicle. I was beyond grateful. He dropped us at yet another stop, but again traffic everywhere, long queues, and chaos.
At that point, it had become a fight to get on any available bus. Literally. People were pushing, shoving, and squeezing in from all sides. You had to be smart, aggressive, and also protect your phone and belongings because pickpockets were everywhere in that madness. By some miracle, I managed to get into a bus heading home.
I didn’t get home until midnight. Exhausted, sore, and starving. My legs felt like they didn’t even belong to me. The pain was unbearable, and the moment I lay down, I passed out. I didn’t even eat. My mom had to use hot water to massage my legs while I slept. I was so far gone, I didn’t even realize what she was doing until the next morning.
When I woke up, she asked how I was feeling. I told her I was still tired, but better. She said, “That’s because I massaged your legs with hot water last night.” Honestly, if she hadn’t done that, I might not have been able to move the next day.
It wasn’t until later that I learned the cause of all the madness people had been traveling out of the city for Sallah, which led to a shortage of buses and insane traffic. If I had known, I would have stayed at work that night and traveled the next morning.
What an unbelievable day.
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