Flashback...

 January 2008

I panic a little as I look up at the clock. It is almost home time. It hasn’t been a busy day at work, just some UN and Red Cross workers and a few locals have been coming in. I am lost in thought as I take the inventory, you know, New Year resolutions and all.

The streets are awfully empty these days. My colleagues and I walk in silence, careful not to attract unwarranted attention.  At my stop, I bid them goodbye and get into the matatu labeled ‘Whitehouse.’ It takes a little longer to fill up. It has been like this the past week. A few more minutes and we are off.

I have been trained well.

“If someone speaks to you in Kikuyu, just nod and iiii, eeeh; otherwise, don’t speak to anyone.”

“You’ll be fine. You are light skinned so you can pass for one.”

So I sit, hoping and praying to God that no one will turn to me asking about…well, stuff. The radio is tuned to Kamene FM. I can’t speak the language, but I can make up a few words. My thoughts shift to earlier today at lunch time when a Red Cross guy walks in and tells us that a man has just been hacked to death. He was from the wrong tribe, of course.  I get home safe and breathe a sigh of relief. I can see the relief on my parents’ faces too. It has been a tense couple of weeks, with groups of people pointing at our house with pangas and machetes.  I was supposed to get home a bit early so I could help mum pack. We are leaving tonight.

May 2016

I am in a matatu scrolling through my Face book timeline and I see people arguing about the IEBC demos. I panic a little. I haven’t had enough time to practice. I can only say ‘iii’ and ‘eeeh.’  I’m sure it won’t be as bad as last time…but just in case…

Matatu Chronicles: Uganda Edition, Part 2

PS: Read part one here.

The sun and her sisters were already up as we made our way out of the Uganda National Theatre where the Mash bus had parked. As soon as I disembarked from the bus, I felt different. Actually, that is a lie, the only different thing was that I had accidentally switched on the roaming button on my phone, left the data on and Safaricom and/MTN had eaten all my airtime. Great! No chance of posting ‘I have arrived, #vacaythings’ on Instagram. My knees were killing me, and I was definitely sleep deprived, so I couldn’t wait to put my feet up and get a shut eye.

We have a few boda boda bikes in Nairobi; (speaking of which, have you seen this ad on TV, “Boxer inaokoa?” SMH. Story for another day) where was I? Yes. We have a few bodas in Nairobi, but they are in strategic places, you wouldn’t find them everywhere in the capital city. Kampala gave me quite a shocker. It’s as if the ratio of bodas to people is 1:1. You know the way every student is required to bring a hockey stick on the first day of high school? I suspect Ugandans are asked to bring a boda on their first day in town! The number of bodas grew as we made our way to the ‘stage’ (terminal sounds funny) and I was soon whispering a prayer with every turn. We got there alright (thankfully) and paid Ush. 2000 (sigh)

See this life...

.  

Their Bus Station equivalent is huge! There were all these Nissans with blue lines round their waists and the sign ‘Taxi’ on their heads.  Most of them looked thirsty and beat up. They stood there waiting, as the men next to them advertised them to the masses milling around. I have always wondered, do matatus feel violated, with people hitting on their sides and behinds all the time, having to contend with all manner of humans all up in their space? I think we should stop with all this violence.
Side note: Just in case you are wondering, what the real taxi are called in Uganda, I got you. They are known as 'Special'.

Anyway, turns out the Masajja matatus were moved to another stage and to my absolute horror, I was to endure another bike ride to the other side of town.

At this point, I am just following my cousin’s direction because, well, I am new in this place, and I can’t speak Luganda to save my life. So we hop on and I tell you that ride got me confessing my sins, considering my headstone epitaph and appreciating speed governors all at once. The manner in which we snaked through traffic, always cutting right through seconds before a car whizzed by in top speed or pulling the brakes just in time was terrifying. Please, I hear some of you saying that sounds like fun, exhilarating and that I should loosen up a little and enjoy. Well, my parents are still waiting for a granddaughter (because they have two grandsons already) and I am sure there would be no smile on my face if I end up a ‘Death by Boda’ statistic. Seriously though, I think the ever convenient bodas should somehow be regulated, especially going by the fact that in the biggest referral hospital’s accident wing, 90% of the cases are boda boda related. Again, we got there alright, paid the Ush. 2000 and I quickly got away with my life, phew!

Over the next few days I would notice a few things; like the way the conductors don’t poke at your necks and shoulders saying “Centi hapo mbele”, People power dictates that they pay when they get to their destination. Woe unto the conductor if on a slow day, they are given a Ush. 10, 000 note and the person needs Ush. 9000 in change.  One of the things I appreciated most is the drivers and conductors etiquette, something their Kenyan counterparts could pick up on. The Ssebos know well enough not to bite the hand that feeds them, and that was quite refreshing! One strange thing though, is, apart from the trans-border buses,  there were no, at least I didn’t see any,  big commuter vehicles, just the Nissans. I think they are much smaller than the ones we have here, because my knees and neck were cursing at me for taking them through all this torture. Am I really that tall? Don’t answer that.

I am the one on the left sitting sideways :( the struggle!! 

Generally, all flaws aside, the Kenyan matatu culture is quite cool and unique, the most diverse in the region, I think. We have pimped up rides, (I saw on the news the other day that they now have water dispensers too) that more often than not let a stranger in on what Kenyans value, what music they are listening to and what’s trending. Some are so comfortable we wish we could live in them.  Heck, we even have methali stickers to offer us life lessons. There is none of that in Uganda, or at least in Kampala where I spent most of my time. Kwanza, the gava apparently banned radios, why you ask? Because the drivers couldn’t hear the traffic police officers. Why do traffic police officers need to be heard? Because on their first day at work, the officers are given brand new pure white uniforms and wait for it, a whistle. Yes. So one had to go, and in the end, the radio got quite a blow from the whistle. I hope the officers are paid well. That seems like quite some work.

I had a good time huko,..but if I am going to spend an hour or two in traffic, I better have some good music, WiFi and enough legroom to make it all worth it. So, it feels  good to be back home!

Matatu Chronicles: Uganda Edition

Happy New Year person!!

I hope you are having a great one so far!

2015 was a good year for My Matatu Chronicles and the team here (urrrm, that’s just me) is ready for a bigger and better one! Amen?

We start on a Diaspora note this new year. I spent the first few days of 2016 in Uganda, and came back with a few stories for your pleasure (if you like :) ) It is going to be a two part series, I hope you enjoy it! If you have been on this route and experienced it differently, let me know! Now dig in!

****

The journey started at 10:30PM. I boarded the Mash cool bus, but was utterly disappointed that the leg room would give me nothing but misery for the over 10 hour trip, and it did. I made a mental note to save for a flight next time, but then, we wouldn’t have a matatu chronicles article, would we? It was too dark to scrutinize the passengers, except the 7 foot man who just laid out a mattress on the aisle and slept. I counted my blessings then, at least I fit into that limited leg room! We had a pretty uneventful trip to the Kenya-Busia border, getting there at 4:30 AM. My cousin wakes me up and tells me, “Hapa ni masaa! I hope uko na biro.” Lol! I always have a biro (pen) with me.

The border was quite a buzz. Buses were offloading passengers and getting checked. We had to go queue up at the office to get our passes. Those who had passports only had to get it stamped and they were on their way. The rest had to fill a form to get a temporary pass. My cousin then goes, “Hakuna haja ya kuchafua passport na stamp za E.Africa! Let’s get a temporary pass.” But alas! There was a form missing, so we had to buy an alternative one that would cost us Ksh. 300. The excuse: Nairobi had not sent or done photocopies, something… Hapo naona ni kama tulichezwa. Haidhuru.

Once we had gotten hold of the forms, some guy directs and accompanies us to a place where we would get a photocopy of the ID and some passport photos taken. I was impressed at how helpful everyone was at 4AM. We get there and there is already a bunch of people awaiting the service. I overhear someone ask, “Ni how much?”

“Four hundred bob!” came the reply.

What? Four hundred Kenya shillings for four copies that will be taken at 4am with cobwebs around my red swollen eyes?  Come on! No wonder we were literally chauffeured to this place. Brokers had to get their share! My cousin tells me to pay up, but I swore I was not going to pay four hundred bob! Asi! I took the photo then handed the guy a five hundred shilling note and firmly said, “Usitoe more than two hundred kwa hiyo pesa.” Now, on a normal easy day, I am told I have a serious RBF (Resting Bitch Face). You can imagine how menacing I looked then, my 6 foot self, sleepy and stressed. Hehe! It worked! I was given back my three hundred bob change and I galloped away before they realized I was bluffing, because I wouldn’t have done anything if they had charged me four hundred. Time was of the essence, and it wasn’t like I would walk to Kampala if the bus left me cos’ of four hundred bob.

Back at the office, I look at the photos and again, make a mental note (seems like I’ll be making lots of these) to have passport photos and photocopies of my ID in every purse I own. Turns out I only needed two photos, what a waste! I am keeping the other two as souvenirs though. I have often heard that there is always drama at the border, and sure as daylight, there was! At one corner a high-pitched voice was summoning two ladies who had tried to sneak into Uganda. The border official they had tried to cheat was bad news. She was short (they always have a temper :D ) and had legwarmers on that somehow made her look even more brutal. She bundled them into the office, sat them down and gave them an earful, telling them watalala ndani if they didn’t explain what mischief they were up to.

By the time I was getting my first stamp, they were nowhere near resolving the issue. Their bus conductor had come to check on his clients and was now in the mix trying to help sort this out so they could move along. Kampala was another 3 hours away.

I crossed over to the Uganda office, where I had to fill up another form and get an entry stamp. `I then realized that I had left my pen at the photo booth. Yaani my first action in Uganda was to borrow a pen. This Indian like character ahead of me bailed me out. I’ll need another blog post to describe him though (chuckle)! I finally got my entry stamp and started back to the bus. My cousin advices me to change some of the Kenya shillings I had to Ugandan shillings to save us time once we got to Kampala. I decided on Ksh. 2000 and asked him what the rate was. 32 bob. You should have seen the smile on my face once I was handed 64,000 Ugandan shillings! Sema kuwa baller! That lifted my spirits immediately! I stuffed them into my wallet and walked back to the bus. I drifted back to sleep soon after and was only awakened by my cousin when we got to Jinja, to see the River Nile at dawn. I almost shed a tear. It was the most beautiful thing I had laid my eyes on in a while. I made a mental note (again) to travel at the same time next time so I can behold the sight again.

The first thing I saw when I woke up again was a pick up full of green bananas. I smiled. We were in Uganda alright. It was 8:30AM.

The day I met Babu Royal Swift

“Gari iko poa, dere yuko smart, konda ni msawa lakini abiria ni sumbua. Iko nini?”

I saw this in a matatu a while back, and only recently did it make sense for me…because let’s face it: Magari mob hazikuwangi poa, dere hakuangi smart na konda huwa ako tricky. I don’t know what it is with Ngara-Eastleigh matatus, but after 7pm, things take a serious roundabout sharp turn (what?) Conductors are intoxicated, drivers are rude, and the matatus are as rickety as a cricket (again, what?) But Alas! This past Saturday, the Lord had me board this excellent matatu plying the Mombasa road route. I have not been the same. 

Someone had suggested that I go get a matatu at Railways Bus Station, but I think the man upstairs was guiding me a good one, because as soon as I got into one Babu Royal Swift, I reached! First point of excitement, LEGROOM! Sufficient legroom! Only six footers will understand why this would take someone to cloud nine (apart from Bro. Ochola’s prowess, of course.) Halafu konda was clean, he was even wearing a Bluetooth device! Imagine. I am sure dere alikuwa nayo pia. I felt safe. 

Rarely do I encounter such kondas. This one was calm, cool and collected. He did not shout, “Pesa mkononi, na mjue sina change. Coins tafadhali!!” Sigh! On my ride to town this morning, there was a sticker, “Ujinga ni kutoa thao na fare ni mbao.” You would never find such on Royal Swift. Here you find the ones that say, “Customer is king” or “Hakuna stage ya ten bob” or “Why settle for less, when you can have more?” I leaned back on my clean bedbug-free seat and smiled. 

When we got to the Nyayo Stadium roundabout, Safaricom sent me a text, “Dear Customer, your Data Bundle is almost finished. Dial *544# to check your data bundle balance.” Lakini Safaricom wako na ufala! Just when you are about to update something meaningful like the pure awesomeness of Babu Royal Swift, they do this. Then ghafla bin vu! I see this;

Name: Babu

Password: babybabu01

Could it be true? Second point of excitement: WIFI! Wait, does it work? The Rongai mats have usernames and passwords but almost never work. I hear their sockets work though; at least you can charge your phone. I tested it, OMG it works! WORKING WIFI! Sema kuupdate picha tatu Instagram zikifuatana, and linking them to all social media profiles?! You know how Instagram sucks up data bundles? I wasn’t about to take chances! I looked around and wondered why everyone was so calm even with such a gift, given freely, like salvation (I was later told, wamezoea. That Route 33 matatus are always stepping up) I was having such a good time with this super fast wifi that when the konda shouted,”Sameer!” I felt like telling him, “Si hapa!” I alighted and asked him if he knew where Purpose Centre Church is. While he was busy pointing at corners and instructing on which dirt path to take, my last photo uploaded. Ha! Oh, did I mention they also had surveillance. Weh! 

See the camera on the right?

So apparently us people from Ngara, Parky and Eastleigh have been missing out, eh? Isorait. I hope someone from the Eastleigh Sacco reads this.

FAREWELL ROUTE 24

“Leo itabidi umepanda hii ya mbele kaa uko na haraka,” Omosh tells cheerfully me pointing at a Citi Hoppa. The Kenya Bus Service he was helping fill up only had two people, while the Citi Hopa had about two seats to be filled. I was running late. You simply can’t be late for your last day at work. It’s uncouth. So I went ahead and boarded the other bus.

Have you ever given thought to the kind of impact the route you use has had on your life? Well, I have, but today I thought about it kabisa! Matatu Chronicles was birthed while I was using this route. Two and a half years…

Omosh is the first person I greet every morning, after my family and building caretaker. His work ethics has always impressed me, a perfect example of “Whatever your hands find to do, do it with all your might!” He is so good at his job, that commuters plying the Bomas-Karen route just look out for him or his voice and blindly (lol) board the bus he is in-charge of. He then pockets fifty shillings and moves on to the next bus. Often, he is able to fill up to three buses before the Citi Hoppa Company fills one. To be honest though, I have always preferred the Citi Hoppa, the drivers and conductors don’t just abandon you or hand you over to a 14 seater where your knees suffer from… never mind. Story for another day; but somehow we are still bewitched by Omosh’s smile and courtesy. That said, The Kenya Bus Service (KBS) drivers and conductors should change their ways. They are doing Omosh’s efforts a great disservice. 

A Kenya Bus Service Bus :D Photo: Courtesy 

Then there are the passengers.  They have made great subjects for the numerous rants and raves on this blog.  Unwillingly of course :D They almost feel like family. There is this tall guy who I have always found intriguing, but was too much of a coward to say hello to.  He is very tall dark and handsome, and we have lots in common. Like we’d both hit the roof if we didn’t bend just a little. Maybe the perfect pick up line would be “Hey, do you believe just how limited the leg room on these PSVs are?” and we would hit it off. Note to self: Boldness is a virtue.

Its not just the guys, there is this lady who always waits till we are past Hardy Police Station then fishes out fresh mandazis. The bus is usually half empty and so the aroma wafts freely, no unnecessary barriers. It is not her fault. She is not aware of my #FlatTummyQuest and how her wheat goodness just sets me back.  I let her do it. Its not like I can report her to the Kenya Bus Service, “Hello, does your company have a policy against people who cause mental, physical and aromatic trauma to other passengers? Oh yeah? I’d like to report someone.”

Since I am almost always the last person to alight, I have made it my business to know everyone’s stop. That way, if they sleep or forget, I can alert the conductor on their behalf, seriously.  

The conductors. These ones have been mostly pleasant, you know, except for when they see I am wearing white and then go ahead and transfer me to a filthy 14-seater matatu just because there are only five of us left in the bus. Or that one who always scolds me for paying my fare using a thousand shillings note, “Sasa unataka nitoe wapi change hii asubuhi yote? Ona hizi one thousand zote mumenipea! Mtangoja!” I would then give him that look that holds as many trophies as Serena Williams has for sending my antagonists to land of no return. I see the female conductors’ well done hairs, darkened nails and fingers and wonder when this job became so ‘normal’ for ladies, and yet they do it so well! They do not complain, they let both of your feet land on the ground before they hit the bus and yell, “Tukienda!” Yes, we need more of them! Part time job anyone?

Citi Hoppa busses Photo: Courtesy 

Who else has memorised all the billboards along their route? Noticed the infrastructural changes on the roads? Oh, do tell; did you meet Mr. or Mrs. right on your commute? How many books have you completed? How far along are you on that candy crush game everyone is playing? (PS: I have never played it, and I am not judging you…but what is so fascinating about crushing candy?) I remember reading The Secret Life of Bees, The Abortionist Daughter and a host of other books including A Thousand Splendid Suns most recently.

The scenery. Inspiring. I see all those posh houses everyday. I must work harder. #MoneyGoals. I have also come to the conclusion that when  finally build that house, there must be a basketball court.

Why am I telling you all this? It is not making sense (this is where you tell me, “Of course it is!”) I will not use this route everyday anymore. The chronicles might change a tad bit, not too much though. I just won’t be updating my Facebook status with a check in of ‘Karen Country Club’ while the bus rushes past the establishment. Change is real, and it is happening. I’ll let you know when I get another route that I can be faithful to for a while. Until then, enjoy your route, it may have more lessons and prompts than you have cared to look out for!

Death...

I waved 'good' morning at Omosh and the other guy and got into the bus. Damn it! All the window seats were taken! I started walking towards the back of the bus, scanning each of the remaining seats and the people already seated, you know, to see which spot would fit my jaluo behind :D I found a spot, still a little too narrow, but the best of the worst. It was only when I had settled that I noticed him, right there at the door.

I had seen him before, I think in the same No. 24 buses. He is slender and tall, his height made even more apparent by the way he hunched to avoid the bus roof. Today, he held his black accordion and gracefully played 'a number'...I remember the lyrics, "Nimemuona Bwana, nimemuona bwana, nimemuona bwana, anapendeza."(I have seen the Lord and He is good)

There was something about his voice...

My mind wandered to 8:35AM when my sister's number came up on my Samsung. I knew what she was going to tell me, but I answered anyway, hoping that I was wrong. I was right. I hung up and broke down, alone. I can't remember the last time I broke down so loudly. I muffled my mouth with the leso that was lying on the bed and let it all out. After a while, I cleaned up, left for work, my eyes still bloodshot. I was sure nilikuwa nimelia share ya leo yote...

His voice was so good! I don't know...maybe because in this whole bus he was the only one who seemed to understand that I was in pain. That I needed reassurance that God is still God, even now. I sang along, having grasped the lyrics and my eyes welled up again. A young lady took the last seat at the back and we left.

Msanii, as he called himself stopped the singing and in a brief sermonette, reminded his 'congregation' that life is a gift. I was holding my current read "The land of a thousand splendid suns" to my chest and scrolling on my phone. "Wengine wenu leo mliamka and the first thing ulichukuwa, was a novel. Wengine wenu simu, wengine....." Wait! This guy was using my stuff as props for his message. I think. I will have him know that I didn't grab anything as soon as I woke up, well, except the toilet door. My bursting bladder wouldnt have let me do anything else. On a normal day, I probably would have taken offence, but today I just smiled. Today wasn't a normal day. For the first time in a long time(ever?), I gave sadaka in a bus.

I needed to take my mind off things, so I opened the novel. Chapter 19. What are the odds? Mariam's brothers have just died in the Afghan war. Death. Mariam doesn't feel the way I do though. She was not yet born when they went off to join the army...
I knew him. I remembered his fedora, his pin stripped suits, his trademark pinch...I quickly reached for my handkerchief before my neighbour noticed anything.

The Nyayo Stadium roundabout is a mess! Pardon me, a river...

My grandfather. He is dead. I can't believe everyone is acting so normal in the matatu. It is not a normal day. Not for me.

We cried for Soddom...

"Shukisha hapo Seldom!"

Wapi?

Seldom!

The tout hits at the door with his steely hands and shouts, "Dondoa Soddom!"

"Wewe! Sio Soddom, Seldom!" At this, everyone, well, almost everyone, bursts out laughing. The old man wasn't impressed that someone would turn a decent Seldom to Soddom.

"Wee Mzee, shuka. Si umefika?"

"Lakini ujue hapa si Soddom!!" He said as he alighted. "Wee unajua Soddom na Gomorrah kweli?"

I understand his fury. If you've read the Bible, you know that Soddom and Gomorrah were THE Sin cities. All the bad things you can think of happened there. So to tell this old man that he's going to a place with such a name, was sort of an insult. I tried not to look at the woman next to me, but I could feel her sides vibrate. Someone was amused.

Away from the side shows though, we, Kenyans, are officially a paranoid, scared and tired lot. We have resigned to fate, a Que Sera Sera attitude of sorts.This is especially with respect to the recent terror attacks on public institutions. First it was the attack on the Westgate Mall where a little over 60 people lost their lives, and most recently, a similar attack on a university in Garrissa  where we lost 147 of the most promising lot of young people. These events shook us as a country and even though the security agents are always giving speeches saying, "No stone will be left unturned" and "We shall not be cowed by the cowards", we still can't shake of the feeling of constant danger. This was evidenced recently in a matatu I had boarded home.

The driver had just pulled out of the bus stop and was navigating through the oh so so terrible traffic on our way out of the Central Business District. We had stopped for about a minute when we heard a blast! Suddenly, the hooting stopped and was replaced by screams and chaotic scampering. Before we could figure out what was going on, a woman seated on the opposite seat to mine said, "Wee tufungulie tushuke. Tutakufia hapa", all this while trying to push her not so slim frame to the front. Someone asked her where she was going and told her to calm down, and two or three others chimed in, "Saa huko nje unaenda kufanya nini? madam tulia..." She went back to her seat, seemingly confused and terrified, like the rest of us. Then it happened.

A cough here, another one there and then, "Open the windows!" "No close them" Hii teargas itatumaliza. It was teargas. The county council officers were trying to disperse the notorious hawkers from the CBD, and their brilliant idea was to fire teargas canisters and 8pm, a time when the Nairobi streets are teeming with both human and motor traffic. Needless to say, we couldn't have been more relieved when the roads opened up and the driver quickly whisked us to some fresh air (NOTE TO SELF: Always carry a wet handkerchief :D) You can imagine how much tension was still hanging in the air until someone at the back shouted,

"Shukisha hapo Seldom!"

Hawkers in running battles with city council askaris
Photo: Internet

QUOTE OF THE DAY: Hakuna stage inaitwa "Hapo dere!"