Why a Good Brassiere is as Important as a Helmet and Other Stories

I don’t know why I am a last minute person, but I am. I am headed to the CBD then outside town, but no worries, right? It is only four-thirty in the afternoon. Also, the journey has not even began. I am standing at the stage. All matatus coming are hosting live concerts with the craziest boom twaf sound systems. Ladies and gentlemen, there are times when you have to admit to yourself not just your real age, but also the capacity of your organs to endure certain stresses and pressures of life. Look, my ears and heart can’t anymore, so I wisely ignore all of them moving discos and wait for one that is good for my fragile heart. 

When one stops and the conductor asks, “unaenda siste?” I say yes but not with your matatu. Me si I have told you before that I am born again so I do not like telling lies? He asks why and I say siwesmek hiyo disco. Two young girls who have just alighted laugh and reassure me that I am not old, that they were also haboring regrets about boarding it. This kind of affirmation is what I need in life, honestly. So for the public record, I am not old. I am old-ish.

“Unadai?”

“Ah. Zi.Zi.”

A brief conversation between a man and a passing teenager smoking bhangi.

The bystander, me, is trying not to choke from the smell of that thing.

“Wanafikiria hiyo ni raha. Na wakishikwa sasa?”

I nod in acknowledgement. He takes this as license to continue. I am then fed a whole, slightly informative thesis about these boys who pretend to have no homes but are actually stubborn run aways who refuse to live by the rules at home.

Another discotheque slows down. Out come three excited boys. They can’t be older than fifteen. 

“Do you know that’s what they do everyday? They jump from one matatu to another learning how to dandia."

“Wait, what?”

Another license.

“He! You didn’t know? Haiya! That’s how they pass time since covid started and schools were closed.”

I watch the boys cross over to the opposite side and sure enough, they stand at the bus stop seemingly waiting for another bus to dandia back home or wherever. 

“So it is like some sort of internship? It doesn’t look like these makangas are discouraging it!”

“Imagine these boys are training to be kamageras. When schools re-open, they will refuse to go back because where is the fun in that?”

It is a while before a decent matatu for the aged swings by. Thirty minutes later, I am aboard an out of town bound matatu. I am sitting pale back seat. But guys, be careful what you say. I seem to have angered the back seat gods the other day when I talked about the back seat being the only non VIP seat these days. But mi sikuwa na ubaya. Imagine they came to punish me. They made sure that I was running late so sitting at the back would be the only option if I was to make it to my destination before darkness descended the earth angalau. Fate accepted, I sat and prayed for a safe journey. 

PS: I should have prayed for a comfortable one too. This is the story of a lady with a big bossom and pain.

Traffic on Mombasa road at this time of day is fire to be basked from afar. The driver, in all his infinite wisdom decides instead of exercising patience and following the other vehicles, to take an alternative route – a short cut if you will. This route would have us going to Marsabit and back before we join Mombasa road again. The road to Marsabit is even afadhali. This short cut has potholes that sends the back benchers, two men and a lady, flying in the air. 

While the men only think of protecting their heads and perhaps backs, this lady is suffering quadruple injustices. Is it the head I will protect or the back? Or the twins?

I know ladies – especially us who have been blessed with nice big boobs will relate. Sometimes you just want to wear a nice bra that won’t feel like you are wearing one, you know, to make sure they are not hanging huko kwa stomach and causing shoulder and/or back aches. A lot of times these ones leave the twins enough room to dance and sway. Of course there is a disclaimer. You have to make sure your activities are on the minimal on these days. Yaani uko tu. Just there. Dancing and swaying. No vigour. Otherwise, do wear something akin to the breastplate of righteousness because wueh! These soft tissues do not take violence well.

So in short, kwa ufupi kapsaa, I wasn’t prepared for the violence the back seat inflicted. By the time we were joining Mombasa Road at Airtel from Bunyala Road (someone explain to me how this shortcut helped anyone) poor babies were looking at me as if I knew what I was doing coming into a war without a breastplate. But in the midst of pain we hugged and they forgave me. It is not like they have anywhere else to go (Muhahahaha). We are stronger together.

Kind appeal to the male species or small chested sisters: Next time you see one of us headed to the back seat because there is no other option, si we exchange? Offer us your seat. Watu ni kusaidiana.

Matatu Methali of the Day: It is true what they say, nyuma haiko sawa 😭

Ever wondered what it would feel like to have a scented mask? and other stories

 

Good day beloved human! You good? Great! I am awesome, thanks for asking.

I want to stop writing about matatu and Covid but that's all I see these days when I get into one. If it is not a conductor spraying your whole being, including organs with 'sanitizer,' it is the label on the seat cautioning you against sitting at a certain space. So bear with me, at least this week. Hopefully we shift a lil next week, donge?

Right.

I don't know if I had told you about this neighboring county I had been frequenting of late. Away from the town centre, matatus have been operating normally. Nothing like social distancing...every seat is occupied. Me I went there with my Nairobiness and I was given eyes, not just by the operators but by the passengers too. It's like my voice was too deep or my miniature Bantu knots reminded them of miss Rona. Whatever it is, everyone made it pretty clear that I should shut it and enjoy the ride.

But si Corona ni ya Nairobi tu?

But pray tell, even you how can you enjoy the ride when the matatu has come from towns bordering Tanzania and every few minutes someone lets out a cough and your shoulders are brushing ovyo ovyo? Headache! But I reached the town centre in one piece, or many - we will need an xray to confirm what's happening on the inside.

At least at the town center they grudgingly adhere to the rules imposed by the ministry of transport. On this particular day, I was in the company of someone who had not gone further than the town center since the first Covid case was reported in the country. She was so sceptical of venturing into the sick ward that is Nairobi. It came as a pleasant surprise that people actually sat one one on a seat as opposed to what she had experienced with the connecting matatus. Even the fact that they spray you with this unknown sanitazer impressed her. She still topped up with hers though, just in case.

Enroute, she kept asking questions like,

"How is Nairobi? Are there many people out in the streets? Are they wearing masks?"

How do I reassure her while laying it bare how Nairobi is just Nairobi? People are like ants. They are up in your space like nonsense. There is nothing like 1.5m social distancing on matatu queues. In short, in the paraphrased words of the cabinet secretary of health, we are treating this disease nomaree without a care in the world how abnomaree looks like (my mind is currently struggling how to include my anger about #CovidMillionaires in this story and why Kenyans are mostly desensitized to what the government is telling them about the pandemic).

I checked with her at the end of the day. She survived, albeit slightly dazed. I doubt she is planning to come back to the cirry in the next six months. For real. 

The rest of  my day was spent smart mouthing a conductor who kept telling commuters to give him small small money, "Hauna pesa ndogo?" Me in all my wisdom I asked him why he wants to impose poverty on us. We are rich. We don't carry small small money, but by all means give us back our small change without disturbing our peace. All this while wondering why no one has thought of making scented masks that you can activate desired aroma as need presents itself. The guy behind me was carrying something that smelt like expired or rotten bones. See how the scented mask would have come in handy? I just press for pineapple scent and the world is fixed.

I am happy to see that ladies are still using their big bags to carry a bunch of bananas they just bought at the stage. Why waste money on carrier bag when your handbag can gerrit?

That's all for today, see you next week? Great!

Matatu Methali of the Week: Kumpiga chura teke ni kumuongeza mwendo

5 New normals + my Blackberry's 10th year memorial

 Wassup?! You good? Me I am good. 

I was in one of the towns bordering Nairobi recently. Wueh. That place showed me things. From being arranged like biscuits in a matatu (and tuk tuk on another occasion) to a wasp tormenting passengers and refusing to leave the car as if it had paid fare. Over there it's like for them COVID 19 us a rumor please.

But to say the truth this COVID caught us by surprise and adjusting to these new normals for everyone sitting by themselves in mats may take time getting used to. Mimi enyewe I am trying not to complain much because I am mostly seeing good things. For example:

1.  Theft

I want to believe pickpocketing in matatus has been on the decline, and I am here for it! I remember quite vividly (thanks to Facebook memories too) the shock I had after being relieved of my Blackberry on the 10th of August 2011. Knowing me, I would still be owning that phone. It would have been our decade long anniversary this year, but I am conducting a 10th year memorial instead. As soon as I stepped out of that No. 8 matatu that fateful night, something in my spirit whispered, "You have just been pick pocketed." Sure enough. My phone was gone. I watched the bus fly off into the night and wondered why this same spirit was silent when the fool was sliding his filthy fingers into my pocket. In hindsight though, I recall the spirit making me aware the human next to me constantly trying to access an invisible object from 'his' pocket. I ignored and continued to watch the rain drops slide down the window romantically. See my life. Needless to say, we don't keep phones in pockets no more. We carry them in big gunny bags where one has higher chances of extracting a maize cob or a bomb before they get to my phone.

And when I don't have access to the gunny bag, I just sit on the aisle seat and place my phone on the next seat. It's vacant anyway.

I still remember you my Blueberry. This one is for you.

2. Wandering Eyes

It is now harder to snoop and read your neighbor's text messages, book, newspapers and any material that we were privy to pre-COVID. I must explain to judgy James and Judy that we do this to encourage reading culture in Kenya. We can't be encouraging Kenyans to read and put restrictions on where and how 😂Now one has to learn to mind their own business which is really an inconvenience to people who have made a career out of not minding their business in public transport. What are we supposed to do for content now? How are we supposed to satisfy the daily udaku quota? Have mercy!

Thankfully, the loud speakers are still in business - you know the people whose only volume preset is 'loud?' Those ones. So on occasion one boards the same matatu and you are sorted. Pity if they have to alight before you or vice versa yet the story had not ended. But yeah, we will take what we can get in these perilous times.

3. Fare

The cost of transport has obviously gone up, with fare being twice what it used to be pre-COVID. I can understand the economic impact of having to carry half your capacity but some of these operators are just greedy. Surely. Otherwise please explain  how someone who lives in Kasarani is paying the same fare as one who lives in Kitengela. It's ridiculous. Now we can't even laugh at Rongai people, (btw fare ya Rongai imefika ngapi?) we are now empathizing and saying "serikali!" because most of the times I think the government should regulate public transport. This privatization is messing our pockets a beg.

4. Man spreading (and other contact sins)

Men have continued to spread. That has not changed, unfortunately. Us women folk are however celebrating the relief that comes with not having a random human's thigh rubbing against yours. Let us not forget the random elbow 'accidentally' brushing your boob too. Aol!

Now we can also spread ourselves free! Covid nyale!

5. VIP status.

We are all VIPs in matatus now, all except the backbenchers that is. Those ones are still sitting three three. On top of that, the roads still have potholes so they have to endure the constant back aches and other back seat related risks.

The  most VIP seat is of course the one next to the driver. 

How I stick my head out of the window when seated with the dere... 

You can now imagine he is your chauffeur and instruct him on the route and road safety rules. You are also breathing less Covid air compared to the other passengers. If you are lucky, your chauffeur will be chatty and will tell you all he knows about about this pandemic and why the cabinet secretaries are taking all of us for fools. You will say "by the waaaaaaaay," as he continues enlightening you about the need for a side hustle, his plans for the future and gikmakamago. When you finally get to destination, he will wish you a good day or night and wait for you to step out of the car before driving away.

When you sit with the rest of the herd huko nyuma, you always risk leaving a limb in the matatu because they are likely to die if they let both of your feet touch the ground before they fly away.

I wonder if matatus and Subaru drivers have zoom meetings to discuss their zooming tabias. Zoom was probably invented in Kenya as inspired by these two.

Ah. Now I am rambling 😂 but my ramblings are usually intelligent, so you are welcome.

Otherwise? Si I see you next Monday?

Matatu Methali of the Week: Ukitaka stage ya kumi hamia Githurai.

Removing cobwebs in the living room edition

Hey! How goes it? If you are reading this it means rona has not sank its ugly fangs into your skin yet. Yey! But wueh! What a weird couple of months it has been! Glad to see you here. Even me I am glad to see me here...after 5 months...cough cough (This is a 'I am a little embarrassed' cough. Not anything life threatening). Cough! 

Otherwise, like I said up there, this is the removing cobwebs from the living room and check up edition. I would love to get a wave from you at the end (that will cover the check up part). The cobweb cleaning part starts now... 

I am bored in the house so I decide to go to one of the malls in the neighborhood for some window shopping.

Free advice: If you are going for window shopping just carry your eyes and feet. Leave your hands and wallet at home. Otherwise, you will spend on; "ah. I better take this now that I have seen it. Who knows how many people are looking for it. I may not find it next time..." or on "wooow. I had not budgeted for it but this cup just speaks the truth about me and chocolates." The list is endless. So yes, leave your hands and especially, your wallet at home.

The 'window' shopping lasts about three hours. Time is so sneaky. You focus your gaze elsewhere for two minutes, time supersonic's two hours ahead. I swear that is what happened. By the time I got outside all  thoughts of walking home had been trashed. I cross the busy highway to go get a mat.

On the other side, a kamagera approaches me and asks where I am headed. Kamageras are the guys at the stage who help conductors find commuters for a small fee. They are the ones who shout "wawili ijae!" but when you enter you find that there are only two of you in the vehicle - you and the poster of Mariah Carey or Jua Cali on the roof. 

I ignore this particular kamagera because, wueh! The fumes that come from his mouth threaten to suffocate me to death. No way I am doing my best to avoid rona then small small let these fumes that I can hear penetrating my surgical mask and dissect my liver kill me. Adagi! Whatever this guy had drank, strength to his kidneys. 

"Madam kwani hutaniongelesha?" 

Silence. 

"Unaenda wapi siste?"

"Silence."

"Hata unaringa na umevaa kama conda. Nkt." 

Low blow. I was wearing  maroon pants that I only use during field work, miles away from Nairobi. But Michuki (Rip) surely, you just decided we will never wear maroon without being stereotyped again? Isorait. 

I hear you laughing. Stop. It's not funny. Ok. Maybe a little. Even me I chuckled kidogo as I took my place at the curb next to other commuters waiting for transport. 

I wait a whole thirty minutes for a matatu, wapi? All of the ones stopping want me to go to Ruiru, Meru, Marsabit, Thika, Somalia - anywhere but home. At some point one from my route slows down a couple of meters from where I am standing. Relieved, I start running towards it. I hate chasing matatus, but this is the first one that has stopped since I began my vigil approximately 30 years ago. Plus, it isn't a 14 seater. You know me...I don't do 14 seaters unless the trumpet has cried and it is the last matatu going to the rapture meeting point. I am not missing heaven because of my knees. La hasha! Anyway, I ruuun and as I am almost touching the bus' smoky rear it suddenly starts snaking away.

 Alaaar.

The conductor starts gesturing that the bus is full. I slow down and watch as it speeds away. I have many questions, top on the list being they didn't know the bus was full when they stopped and the conductor beckoned me? Yaye. I am born again, so I will not call them useless. 

You guys think the walk of shame is that walk you do when you are from your best half's place wearing the previous day's clothes. No. I don't even know why y'all call it that. Next time you do that walk, put a spring to it. Kwani? Si it was a great night? Glorious even? Strut it! The real walk of shame is the one you have do back to the stage after you ruuuuun after a mat and it leaves you for whatever reason. You pass humans thinking to themselves and because you are a mind reader you see their thoughts saying, "Usain bolt has come back." You give them the look for "mind your business, Kimani" and begin phase two of the wait.

Ah. I should tell you about the couple that passed me some minutes after I got to the stage. A tall guy and a short mama reaching him just above the waist. They were holding hands and before I could say "awwww" the part of my brain that does not know romance, asked loudly, "hawa waogopi Corona?" But what is rona in the face of love? I remember noticing the lady wearing Bata ngomas and a cute dress that made her look like a doll. She also had long braids that hung past her butt. The guy tilted his neck towards her to listen to her stories. Awww. I watched them walk away till they disappeared into the hurrying evening masses, seemingly immune to what was making the rest trip over themselves.

I would spot them from my matatu seat kilometers later, still walking at the same pace, same bliss. Literally lost in their own world. I just concluded that what I am missing in this Nairobi is a tall neck tilting man to hold my hand and listen to my stories as we slowly walk home. This would have saved me not only time (would it have though) but also the twenty bob I ended up paying to a stop that was not even home.

Who am I kidding? Which hand would have been held yet I had bought the whole mall?

But just imagine. What if all of us had that man, or woman who enjoys long walks? When some of these matatu thugs add fare, we just hold each other's hands and walk home...mos mos. Matatus would not joke with us the way they are used to. 

Amen.

Sanitize! 

Matatu Saying of the Week: Kama uko na haraka itisha ambulance.