Imagined response to that first paragraph...
Women: (Encore) Yes we are!!
Men: Now they even want affirmative action in matatus! Eh!
Matatu Owners Association: We shall form a commission of inquiry. We are in the business of delivering quality service to our clients.
Mike Sonko: Sonko rescue team to the rescue! When I become governor, we shall provide portable ladders for our women.Where possible, mini lifts will be installed in every bus. Women are very important to the general well being of Nairobi Country! This is why my running mate's mother is a woman... (There's more. You know politicians and talk...)
These people, whoever is concerned...Have they ever considered how hard it is to climb that mountain of a step while wearing a mini skirt, or one just above the knee? Not just those, but also these pencil maxi skirts that have become Nairobi uniform? Meanwhile, the people (mostly men) in line just think we like making weird body shapes while boarding matatus. Me I think this is also hard for old people and those with arthritis...Serikali!!
There were only two people inside when I finally proved that no step fashioned against me would prosper. A speech was in order, but my audience didn't seem interested. Instead, I hummed to Common and Yolanda Adams' rendition of 'Glory!' as I sought a seat befitting my stature. I found one, and convinced myself that it had better legroom than the three pairs I had just inspected. I sank into it. 10pm. Yeah. The matatu would take more than a minute to fill up.
I retrieved the beef samosa from that fast food joint next to the now closed Ukwala Supermarket on Tom Mboya Street. I contemplated saving a it for later when I got home, letting the aroma waft through the matatu as we rode home...then looking to see who was swallowing saliva longingly. That thought lasted two seconds because I would be among those swallowing hard. Also, hunger.
I bit into the samosa. I am not sure, but I think I rolled my eyes when I tasted no pilipili. What is a beef samosa without pilipili? No, what is any food without pilipili? I reached into the side zipper of my Chanel (Ha. Ha. Ha) bag and felt it. Akabanga chili oil. Yes. Imagine I carry chili oil in my bag! See the way it was about to save my life. A drop was enough magic.
Across the street, hawkers were having a shouting contest. The ones next to Ukwala's orange doors were holding up coats and leggings. For a moment, my mind took a trip up that lane every Kenyan takes when happy thoughts threaten to invade, maize flour (loosely translated to mean the economy, inflation). Imagine the tens of people who lost their jobs when Ukwala closed. How were they making ends meet? It must be hard for them. Good thing it is campaign season and politicians are dishing out 50bobs left, right and center, right? What made me even sadder was that since their closure, I couldn't find that uji flour they used to stock. You know, the one that's made from terere? Why do bad things happen to good people? Anyway, no need dwelling on sad thoughts.
It happened sooner than I expected. The bus was pulled into the highway and off we drove into the loving arms of...well, different people different strokes.
I looked at him and decided he was not going to give me a hard time. He was quite short. Ok, very short and had a kind face (or, I chose to see kindness) and a black hoodie on. I watched him approach my seat and said a quick prayer.
"Lord please let him not be a jerk!" They are all the same, aren't they? BUT. He could be an exception.
I fished out a thousand shillings note, the only money I had on me save for the two shillings in my coin purse. My neighbor was holding a fifty shillings note.
Flashback (Phonecall made moments before the matatu filled up)
Me: (Taking mini satisfying bites on the fast diminishing pastry that was samosa) Imagine I am in a mat with a thao na fare ni forty bob!
Friend who seeks to remain anonymous (I think she would): Aaah. You are finished. But just be humble and smile. Don't raise your voice or engage him when he starts scolding you.
Me: Ok. I'll call you when this is over! Pray for me!
(But why is this a crime?)
If you have ever used Kenyan matatus, you know that the conductors think it is your responsibility to pay with 'pesa ndogo' aka small money aka small denominations. Anything above a two hundred shilling note will earn you, in the least, a deathly look complete with an eeriely dramatic music track (your mind will rise to the occasion and play this on behalf of the matatu). We have accepted this bullying because, above anything else, you don't want to start an argument with a conductor; especially if his sweat is the kind that gangsters use to choke victims to unconsciousness. So most of us go about conducting (see what I did there? No? Ok. Now see) our businesses, constantly reminding ourselves to keep a ka hundred bob somewhere for fare. It is our responsibility (sic) to make the conductor's work easier.
Haya.
He looked at it then at me.
"Sina ingine." I blurted out before I was asked. We all know he was going to ask.
Mbona hukusema ukiingia? Slight agitation noted. Maybe something milder.
I responded with a blank look.
"...just be humble and smile. Don't raise your voice or engage him when he starts scolding you."
"Basi utangoja." There wasn't a hint of death in his voice. It was just that. A statement asking me to wait for my change.
Now, usually, when a conductor tells you to wait, you will know from his tone whether you will wait till kingdom come or just a bit. There are those who will make you suffer and make you feel like a criminal when you remind them that they owe you change. When they ultimately pay you, it will come with a shower of insults and saliva and topped up with that grave look, leaving you feeling all type of things.
As you can probably guess, I didn't have to wait long for my change. In fact, it was given almost immediately. First a five hundred shilling note, then four one hundred shilling notes handed in quick succession.
"Hiyo ni ngapi?"
Awwww! We were even doing the math together. Sigh!
"Nine hundred."
He then placed three twenty shilling coins on my palm and walked back to the front.
I say a thank you, almost inaudible. That he had not started a World War III because of that blessed one thousand shillings was a miracle.
I placed the notes neatly in my purse, savouring how 'heavy' it felt. But we all know how fast a thousand shillings note disappears once it is 'broken.' Oh well! At least I'll have small money for my ride home tomorrow.
***
Side Note: How you respond to a confrontation determines the direction it takes. Lessons everywhere!!
They are not all the same! No, not men...Conductors. Also, men.
Pray, always!
Quote of the day: Ati gari ina joto sana? Shuka upande fridge.
