Who’s bus? (a very long-short story)

Uncle told some curry-munchas, “Hey! Speak English or piss off!

Go back to your own country!”       
Gubba said,

“Hey uncle, don’t be like that. They just International Students,

they’s gunna go back to Bangladesh.”      Uncle said, “Shut up white fella!

This isn’t your land. It’s my land.”              On the bus,

the gubba started speaking to same black mob in their language. Uncle

he angry. “Hey!” he shouted as he strode  to the back of the bus.

"Shut up or speak English!"

“Uncle, that ain’t no way to talk to people. Respect yourself!”

I thought the gubba was gunna die; uncles hands round his neck.

“You took my land!”              Gubba is calm, not scared at all.

“You wanna kill me uncle? It’s ok, you can,”

Uncle’s steaming.      “I’m gunna die anyways. So’s you.”

“What?” says uncle, starting to tremor.      “You heard me. You’re

gunna die,                  everyone on this bus is gunna die… but uncle,

When you die, where will be your land?”              Uncle shakes.

He confused,              “What do you mean white fella?”

“Well, where are you going to go when you die?”                  “Smart arse!

Where are you gunna go?”              “To my Creator up there." He points, "This ain’t my land. You can have it.”                     Both men cry.

I never seen uncle like that. “Sorry brother”, he says.   

“That’s ok.” says gubba. And they hug, and all the bus is praying to God. 

This was written in memory of my Somali friend Jamal (who is actually alive, but could have died when stabbed by an Aboriginal man). I love all mobs! We all gotta to stop speaking White Language and just speak Love.