Maria Meets the Narrator at the Bus - The Perse Upper School 11+
Source passage
The bus came to a standstill and all the passengers spilled out as soon as they could. It was Friday, end of the week, end of the month, end of the year, and the trip from WindHoek to the north was hot and unending. Unlike previous times, I remained in my seat until the bus was empty. Then I gathered my belongings and moved to the door. Through the window I could see Maria scrambling to claim my two suitcases.
The heat of the late afternoon sun hit me as I alighted from the bus. The warmth outside was different from the human heat that I felt inside the bus. Now the smell of sweat and over-spiced fast food seemed like a distant memory. The welcome smell of meat that had been in the sun too long filled my nostrils. I could even hear the buzzing of the metallic-green-coloured flies as they circled and landed on the meat hanging from the trees and the makeshift stalls. Circled and landed, circled and landed...sellers and buyers were busy closing the last deals of the day. The air was filled with expectancy.
Writing instruction
Continue the story from the narrator's point of view, once Maria greets her as the narrator gets off the bus. You don't need to write the entire story, just the next section.
Things you could include might be:
- Describe more of the setting
- Explore the narrator's feelings
- Describe what the narrator does next
💡 Writing Tips
- •
- Keep the narrator in first person, as in the extract.
- •
- Start just as Maria greets the narrator.
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- Extend the market setting with sounds, smells and movement.
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- Show mixed feelings about returning or arriving.
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- Write only the next section of the journey.
📝 Sample Answer
“You're finally here!” Maria cried, gripping both suitcase handles as though someone might snatch them away.
I laughed and stepped towards her, but my legs felt unsteady after the long journey. She put down one case and hugged me tightly. Her shirt smelled faintly of soap and woodsmoke, familiar scents that made the busy roadside seem less strange.
“Was the journey terrible?” she asked.
“Only the last hundred miles,” I said, and she smiled.
Around us, traders were folding cloths over their stalls. A man called out the price of his remaining fruit. The metallic green flies still circled the hanging meat, while dust rose around the tyres of departing buses. Beyond the market, the sky was turning orange and the first evening shadows stretched across the road.
Maria lifted the smaller suitcase before I could protest. “Come. Everyone is waiting.”
Those words should have comforted me. Instead, I felt a little nervous. So much time had passed since my last visit that I wondered whether I would recognise the faces and voices I remembered.
We walked away from the station along a narrow path between the stalls. Maria talked about the family, pointing out what had changed since I had been gone. I listened, surprised by how quickly the rhythm of her voice became familiar.
At the corner, she stopped and pointed towards a cluster of houses.
“There,” she said. “We're almost home.”
I tightened my grip on the remaining case and followed her.
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