How CindeLaura Lost Her Shoe

Words: Chebet Birir

My journey from Eldoret to Nairobi begins at around 5pm. Being the last minuter that I am, I had spent the better part of the day running errands that should have been done earlier. So a night trip it is.

At the Northrift booking office, the booking officer is engaging me in conversation.

"Madam nikumbushe jina yako tafadhali."

In my head I am wondering why this guy is pretending to know me yet I have never ever seen him before. Heniwei, I tell him my name is Laura. Dude starts spelling out my name as he writes it down like  “ELO-OH-ARA”

Me: No no no…it’s L,A,U,R….

Booking Officer: Ooh madam! si ungesema ni LAAAURA si LORA.

I might have looked okay but deep down I had shot this guy dead. How can he pretend to know me and yet he can’t even spell my name? Na pia sipendi kuitwa madam! Why do they like calling people madam?

Me:Hapana vile inaandikwa sio vile inasemwa. Anyway, umenipea seat gani?

Him: (weirdly) “Number one madam.”
I laugh because I have no idea why this guy is whispering.

Me: Sawa nipe change basi (I had given him a thousand bob and the fare was 800 bob). It was that simple for me. I mean narudishiwa 200 bob tu. That was until Mr booking officer complicated things.

Booking officer: (Talking to a young guy who standing next to me the whole time. I later discover that he is also waiting for his change). Kijana uko na mia nipee huyu madam change?

The kijana:Hapana boss, sina.

Booking Officer: Haiya madam (at this rate enye naitwa ‘madam’ I want to remind him my name but again I can’t risk being called LAAAAURA! Let me just bitterly embrace the name ‘madam’). Sasa hata naona mnakaa na dereva pamoja pale mbele. Chukua hii mia tano madam, halafu umpee mia.

He has lost me. Ashanipoteza. Me and anything to do with numbers is kaput! Anyway, nilihesabu vidole vya miguu na mikono na vya jirani ikafika 200, nikampa hiyo 200 but I still was not sure that it was the right change!

We begin the journey and the guy tries to engage me in some small talk

“So uko Moi Uni ama?”
“Hapana,mi ni mmama nilimaliza shule kitaaaambo”
“Ooh,mimi niko fourth year Moi Uni..."

Sisi hao tukapita RUPA’s Mall, halafu Cheptiret. I then remembered I have earphones, nikaweka music and closed my eyes to avoid further conversations and awkward moments. Kidogo kidogo nashtukia gari imesimama na hatujafika Nakuru stop over (if you have used Northrift before then you know Nakubreeze).
Kumbe the guy told the driver to stop because he is feeling nauseous. He taps me and says “Excuse me kidogo nishuke, sifeel poa.” Me I panic and jump out of the car because he might throw up on me.

I don’t even get time to put my shoes on (Mi hutoa viatu nikitravel because my usually swollen foot swells even more when I sit for long hours, mpaka the shoe can’t fit).

The guy comes back and I ask him if he is okay and he says yes. I tell him sorry and go back to my music.
As we approach Nakuru I know we are going to stopover for a few minutes so I start looking for my shoes.

GHAFLA BIN VU! Punde si punde! I can’t find my other shoe!Je ne trouve pas ma chaussure! Maagere kweiyot nyuu!

I am panicking! The driver and the guy try looking for it in vain. Everyone in the shuttle now knows nimepoteza kiatu, so they are all trying to figure out how that could have happened. We conclude that it must have fallen off when I jumped out for the guy to go puke.

Guy: “Oh no! That’s my fault! Ayam sorry.”
Me:No worries. I hope wanauza sandals kwa shop. I will just buy new ones.

It then dawns on me that it’s past 9pm and all shops are closed except the restaurant.
In my head I am thinking vile,

1. Nitatembea Nairobi town bila viatu at 1 am (Hii sasa ni walk of shame ama wendawazimu)?

2. I don’t have any extra cash on me. I am totally confused right now.

I decide to call my friend nimwambie shida zangu kama kawaida. Before I even finish dialling the number, someone taps my shoulder.

"Sasa? Nasikia umepoteza kiatu?”
“Eeh but haina shida (Issa lie)."
“Hapana I have an extra pair of sandals here. Wacha nikupe kama gift.”
What? No way! I honestly did not expect that, so I ask how much I should pay her and she’s like “Nooo…Like I said nakupea kama gift, so do not pay anything. I hope they fit.” I take the sandals and put them on. Not quite my size but bora mguu iliingia kwa sandals.

There's more! Imagine the guy bought me chocolate as an apology for making me lose my shoe. I am not really a chocolate person but you should have seen the smile on my face, lol! The driver told me he will look for the shoe when he goes back to Eldoret(not sure if this was a consolation or a diss because nobody would have stolen that shoe, that shoe was 3 years old)! I was kind of attached to it though. I mean we all have that one pair of shoe that you could wear everyday, no? Okay we are different, so nisiskie mtu akisema ati ooh the sandals you were given were better than those shoes you had,ati ooh you were mistreating your shoe! Hiyo kiatu ilikua tu sawa!

Moral of this long winding story? People are still nice and humanity still exists!

Kitabu Ya Free Ni How Much?

Heheee! Kenyans! We have been caught! Tunapenda vya bwerere. We love free things oh! But there is nothing wrong with that if it won't leave you with small small embarrassment at the end.

Haya. Story story, story come.

I am running very late for a meeting that was to begin at 11 am. Bado kidogo ifike saa sita. Kencom Bus Stage is a buzz of activities as usual. Buses from different companies queue up to ferry the hundreds of Nairobians who always seem to be going somewhere important. Sio Kenyatta Market, Nairobi Hospital, Ngong Road, Yaya, Kawangware and my favorite, mwisho wa gari.

There was a time mtu aliniibia siri. Ati Citi Hoppa always fills up faster than Double M and KBS. I can't recall the reason, but I always remember this when I am running late, like I am today. Mimi huyo kwa Citi Hoppa. The only problem with these buses, yep, you guessed right - legroom. Aki mimi hakuna gari mi hutoshea except Double M. Yaani. God bless the manufacturers and management. Anyway, I find a window seat and settle as I wait for it to fill up we go. We are soon on our way.

Around the same time the conductor starts collecting the fare, this very well dressed guy stands up and begins talking. I am busy drafting apology texts so I miss his introduction. He looks like a preacher. I will catch up with the sermon in a bit. Kidogo kidogo I hear him say, "What's wrong with you people? Yaani I am giving you something for free and you are just looking at me? Kwani ninafanya makosa?"
Eh. He has me at attention with the word free. What is this people are being given? Books. What kind of books? Mathematics text books for primary and high school kids. Ah. I don't need those. You guy, this is the thing that saved me from fully cooked embarrassment. Si people are told to lift their hands if they want books! You state the level and you are given. Si people are lifting their hands like we are good mannered kids of Braeburn, Brookside Brookhouse and the ilk.

My neighbor turns to me and asks, "Yaani this man woke up, wore this beautiful suit, akachomeka na jua, jumping from one matatu to another to come give out free books? Hana kazi ya kufanya?" I respond with an exaggerated "by the waaaaay..." Meanwhile, the guy is there telling people how educating a child in Kenya is hard and if someone like him authors a Math book, we should not deny our children a chance at a simplified instruction book. Eh. I contemplate taking for my neighbour's kids. Maybe this gesture will get us talking like nyumba kumi initiative suggested. But hata sijui wako class?

A message enters my phone. I respond. I look up again. Now we are being given envelopes to keep the books. This guy thought of everything! Ama which NGO is funding him? Yaani philanthropy plus plus. #ForTheChildren. "Don't take an envelop if you don't have a book," he says with a chuckle. After the dishing out of envelopes, he lectures people again about spending time with their children teaching and solving equations together.

A woman, who I can only see her blonde hair and the age mottled dark hands holding the headrest of the seat infront, asks if he has an English text book.
"Mimi nilipita tu hesabu. Kwa hivyo ya Kingereza itakuwa ngumu kidogo. I don't have those ones. Wee chukua ile niko nayo."

I am trying not to judge a book by its cover at this point but, buda! Anyway. Let me leave this good samaritan alone. Me what have I done for humanity today?

Looks like there are no more takers. Guy closes the charity shop and says, "Sasa kama umechukua kitabu utaniachia tu mia ndio na mimi niendelee na kazi."

For a moment there, people think he is just asking for donations and giving is optional. Wapi? Guy is charging them a hundred bob for the books! Haha! I must admit, Kiswahili ya huyu jamaa na Maths ziko in the same Whatsapp group. Smooth! Me I start laughing! Unbelievable! Yaani this guy has studied the psychology of Kenyans. How we hardly ever buy or trust local products (except Chapa Mandashi baking powder, matchboxes and KDF. Of which even matchboxes we don't quite trust. I recently saw a post on Facebook where someone had counted the contents of a box only to find that there were 55 sticks out of the stipulated 60). But if given for free, our standards fly out of the window as fast as roaches scramble when a bulb is switched on in the middle of the night.

Murmuring can be heard in the bus. People are holding on to the books. Guy is insisting. One man decides he will not feel shame on me in this era of social media trending posts and pays for his. Two more follow suit. Others return. Embarrassment is so thick in the air you can cut a piece and serve with vanilla ice-cream, ndio ipoeshe aibu. The akorino lady infront of me seems devastated. Yaani nimecheswo?! She gives hers back. Mtu anarudisha na bahasha imagine! Angalau angewacha bahasha we console ourselves with.

The blonde-haired mama is now lamenting how he is unfair. You know she was the first one to lift her hand aki? She had even packed her book in her bag vizuuri. Lakini even this guy, how could he hoodwink woman old enough to be his mother? He broke her heart. I am sure she is still interceding for him. "Oh, may the Lord forgive our children." Come to think of it, this man and his kind must be the reason why a heat wave is slowly melting our skins. Sahi we are almost down to the third layer, hypodermis. Let us all just join Pastor Ng'ang'a in the wilderness and pray for this nation.

But man must eat, isn't it? Nairobi will show me things.

Team #BuyKenyaBuildKenya.

PS: Halafu hii tabia muache. Ni kabaya!
Lazima msome gazeti kwa matatu? Mkifika nayo home habari kwa ufupi itakuwa imerefuka? Tumefinyana na wewe umekazana na kufungua pages.

Kenyans, we need to do breathing exercises

Heee! But even me I am not serious! Has it really been a year since I wrote here? Alaar? Apologies. But even you people, you should have poked me or something! Is this to say you didn't miss me? Or that you can live without me? Haidhuru. Otherwise niko tu.

PS: I still don't own a car. And yes, I still board matatus. Uber pia once once. I know there have been rumors that I now own a black BMW and gikmakamago. While I want to clarify that this is not true, I would also like to say AMEN! To this thought.

Since it has been a whole while, let me beat for you a story. Dramaa!

If you have lived in Nairobi a day, and you use matatus, you have probably been warned against using your phone in the matatu, donge? I know you have. There are even caution stickers on matatus, "Chunga simu. Jirani yako ni mwizi." Yet everyday, I see people tempting akina Njoroge with their glowing six inch screens. Apparently even kabambes are not safe, but afadhali you can get a five hundred bob kabambe these days.

So this particular Tuesday, nimetoka Bible Study. It is about 10:30pm. Si you know I am still in that reflective introspective mood because roho alishuka?! I enter a No. 6 and scan the bus, as usual. We need a seat with at least 80% leg room compatibility to my long frame. This particular ride looks like it was built to favor the shorter frame - as most of them are anyway. I settle for the seat right next to the door. That will at least allow me to stretch.

It is a while before the matatu is full. Weeknights are slow. Most people are already home. The conductor calls to the driver, "Kaende!" and we hear the resultant chong'iong'ong'io bruuuuuu sound from the ignition key being turned on and the bus begins pulling out. Ghafla bin vu we hear, "Iphone yangu!"

Smh! I know y'all read that in a high pitched soprano. Repent. That is racism of gender. It was actually a man with a proper bass. Now, go and read it again the right way. Good. The bus is already moving and the guy sitting behind the driver stands and watches helplessly as iPhone disappears into the night. He sits down and says defiantly,  "Haitamsaidia!" Meanwhile  people offer their condolences and for a few minutes a discussion about Nairobi, matatus and phones ensues. A woman behind me is saying she doesn't understand why people have to use their phones in matatus. Wait till you get home!

Kumbe kule front seat, behind the dere, the victim has began feeling the pain. He asks the driver if he had seen or recognized the thief and the driver responds in the negative. The guy insists that the driver must know the thief, because how can someone come to your office to steal and you don't see him? Even better, stop him? He is engaging his neighbor in this logical exploration of truth and comes to the conclusion that the driver must produce the thief.

At this point  I am thinking the trauma has began kicking in. Maybe hata ilikuwa iPhone X. What's the latest one? That one. But even you, if you own such a phone, I hope you have insured it. Mine cost 20k and it has life insurance with benefits extending to dependants like charger, phone case and memory cards. Plus, eh. Why are you in a matatu at 10:30pm? If you own such a gadget, unajipea tu curfew ya 7pm roho safi. It is what it is.

Passengers are now telling him that he is being irrational. It's no one's fault. Well, maybe his. Why was his window open? Is he new in Nairobi? Even New Yorkers know - when you come to Nairobi  buy a kabambe if you want to use your phone in a matatu.
Things are escalating. A few people are alighting at Guru Nanak Hospital stage. Suddenly, the guy stands up and declares he is going to report the matter at Pangani Police Station and that the crew should get him there. Wololo!

The conductor shuts the door and also declares we are all going to the station. Declarations are being made left, right and centre in this kingdom! Wacha now a sea of voices rise up. People are now shouting, "Wacha ujinga! Tupeleke nyumbani!" Wengine wetu tunaamkia kazi! " "Kwani hiyo simu yako ni oxygen?" Long story short, we find ourselves at the Pangani Police Station gate.

Me I still introspecting. The spirit has not left me. Nimenyamaza kama maji ya mtungi. My neighbor must be the meek type. He is just clutching his shopping tightly. I suspect his dinner is in there. Samosa, fries.

We are now at the gate. The victim alights and the driver and conductor follow. Wait, did I say he alighted? No. He approached the door and pushed the conductor out. Wawuuu. Dramatic much?! Things have now escalated a hundred per cent. Everyone wants to talk and be listened to. Tempers are flaring. People are being abusive. A cop enters and every one is like "Afande! Afande, huyu mtu ameibiwa simu town, why are we here?" Anafaa akubali hii ni ajali."

After lots of back and forth, the cop orders that we are taken home. There is however one problem, the driver has also decided to file harassment charges against the iPhone baba. So there is no one to drive us home, not until he is done recording a statement. Again, no one is breathing.  Kelele! Finally, the conductor takes the reigns. In my head, Carrie Underwood's number, 'Jesus take the Wheel' is playing.

I don't know if it is the tension or pressure  but for a while there, it looks like the conductor is in a driving school class. People are still shouting, "wewe endesha vizuri!" "Piga Kona hapa." Eh. At this point  I find my voice and tell everyone to shut up! Their rants are not helping the situation one bit. If anything their exasperation is creating more problems.

The bus goes quiet except for one mama who looks like she is high on some cheap stuff. She is getting off at the next stop but she wants to keep shouting in Coastarean Kiswahili. You know how annoying that sounds? I face her. "Madam shuka utuondokee na hiyo kelele yako. Hata sisi twataka kufika salama."

Now she wants to argue  She stands up and I chuckle as the thought of my six foot self over the five incher crosses my mind. Lol. Ninaweza maliza mtu, only the Holy Spirit has enabled me to practice self control in such times. Plus, who wants to go back to Pangani for assault?

I get off at the next stage and wish the others going to Eastleigh journey mercies. Wueh. Worra night!

But seriously Mkenya mwenzangu. How are you doing? Mentally? Are you always at the elastic limit waiting for provocation that will have you breaking? Let me tell you what I saw in that matatu was not healthy at all. If someone was carrying a gun or knife, there would have been injuries my fren.

So right now, breath innnnnn....
Breath outttttttt...

Again...

Repeat every often, with an awareness of your present state of mind. That release will help, somewhat, as we think about how to deal with Nairobbery.

Have a stress free day, will you?

See you soon (promise)!

We Are Not Boarding!!

Ok, we did, but then we alighted. Here is the story...

One of my favorite gospel artists, Todd Dulaney was in town the other day.What?! I don't think I have danced that much during a concert. It was truly an amazing experience. I also realized that Safaricom has too much money aki. Too much. They gave out about 70,000 bob in airtime plus two Samsung S8 phones in one night! Plus the event sponsorship! Cheii! Meanwhile, they can't let us redeem accidental bonga points in peace. Isorait. Muhimu ni uhai!

So the concert ends at about 10:30pm and we hang around till 11pm at the Citam Karen Sanctuary to let the crowd fizzle out. Kidogo kidogo we decide to request for taxis. Sema surge! So we decide, zi, we will take a matatu to town please. Meanwhile, it is freezing cold huko Karen. It had been raining and then Karen is leafy leafy suburbs, you get? Biting Cold! I still shudder to think that people huko majuu survive for months in below 0 degrees temperatures. God bless you.

Hapo outside the gate, there are of course cars exiting to different destinations. I consider borrowing lifts but the others look at me weirdly. Sigh 🤧 There was only one City Hoppa bus and the conductor is shouting, "Nairobi mia, Nairobi mia?" First of all we were still in Nairobi, not Rongai, angesema tu tao mia. Secondly, Nairobi gini? Mia! Issalie! One of us is ready to pay the a hundred bob to tao. The other two are unsure. Me I am sure silipi! Afadhali in an Uber or Taxify I will have enough legroom and will only be sharing oxygen with one other person, or three, ikienda sana. Haya. Now there are no drivers available. That bus fills up and leaves. A second one arrives and declares the same price, "Nairobi mia!"

Oh Lord! Bless us with cars! We beg.

It is now 11:30pm. We decide to board. Once inside, uchungu catches me seriously. Lol. Guys, I am not cheap. I just know how far an extra 50bob can take me in this life. Turns out I was not the only one. I begin chochaing the rest of the passangers that we need no pay 100bob to tao. That if we all decide this is hujuma and give the conductor 50bob each, there is nothing he will do. As long as one person doesn't crack and decide they don't want drama. There is always that one person. Kidogo kidogo, people we actually garner up the courage to step out of of the matatu in protest.

We are not boarding! Unless it is 50bob!

Ha! I have never been so proud of Kenyans in recent times. Of course there were about four people (traitors!) who stayed back, but they soon caught on and alighted. Sasa negotiations begin. The conductor stands his ground. We stand ours. He even tells us, while showing us a bunch of 1000bob notes that he already has money for his boss and that this trip was inconsequential. We are like, "Si uende basi!" We ask him why he is charging more yet it is obviously off peak hours and there is literally no traffic on Langata road. Ati ni usiku. Lol. Kwani the price of fuel doubles at night? Later, as we draw closer to a handshake, he goes down to 80bob. "Zi! 50!" We retort! Saa hiyo it's like 11:45 hapo. They deliberate kiasi with the driver and decide they will leave our butts to freeze out there. We are like, "Si muende!" Lol.

They don't. The driver just moves two inches forward and starts calling out again, "Nairobi mia!"

At that moment, one of the traffic marshalls at church tells us, "Guys, stop haggling with this one. Walk down to Galleria. You will find Rongai Matatus for 50bob. Anafikiria mnaokota hiyo pesa?" Sisi hao! As we leave, we notice another group walking towards the bus and we convince them to join us. They do. We walk to Galleria Mall stage, about 300m away. We were high on something alright. Six minutes to midnight. Nothing strange about a group of 40 young people walking around at that hour, sindio? We reach the Galleria stage and the weight of our actions begins sinking in. We are not panicking. We are just praying that Rongai town's 24-hour economy doesn't fail us. The concert was all about victory and we were certain of victory. Ha!

Lord please let this be a happy ending!
We didn't have to wait too long. A 14 seater matatu soon stops and declares tao ni 50. Tukasongeana. The rest of the guys wait for the next one. I hope there was a next one. Hehe. (Someone confirm) On our way to town, we see the City Hoppa stopping to pick passangers. We almost want to shout, "Don't pay 100bob! We didn't!" If they did, they would cancel out all our efforts towards ending the extortion tendencies in the matatu industry, one matatu at a time.
Seriously though, I am so proud of the brand of Kenyans I saw on Friday night.
Dear Kenyan who is almost giving up on this country, hang on. There are a few more who want to see a better Kenya. A Kenya where the next person appreciates the fruit of your sweat and helps you wipe the drops off your brow with fairness. There are a few more who know that a single person has the power to influence change, and that sometimes, people are just waiting for that voice of courage to call and lead them to action. You will suffer a few inconveniences here and there, but it will be nothing compared to the pride you will feel as change begins to waft in.

Bonus: The matatu that picked us up was from the Eleventh Hour Sacco. What a way to live up to its name! *Cues in Eleventh Hour tune by Betty Bayo* Tetenteten!

Have a lovely week, won't you? Remember to speak up. You will be glad you did!

My matatu ride inside a plane

A few weeks ago, a family member travelled by air for the first time. When I asked how the flight was, they responded,

"Kama kupanda shuttle."

I was left wondering if they meant that it was super comfortable or that they didn't see the difference between a matatu shuttle and the aeroplane. I have not been on a plane for the past 5 years, so I was looking forward to this particular one this week just in case I have to wait another five years. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Anyway.

I have noticed that a lot of times when people post pictures of passports and boarding passes on social media, the class section is always covered. You may think it's angling for creative shots but no...it's for hiding. Hiding that they will be on seated in/on the economy class. Why? See suggested reasons below. I found a couple of similarities between matatus and the economy section.

1. Legroom

Do you ever get the feeling that a new bus or matatu comes fitted with just enough seats to allow everyone adequate legroom? Then the businessmen decide, "Comfort for who?"and install 100 extra seats? Well, I think that's what happens with planes as well. Kwanza if you are 6 feet tall and traveling on economy and your flight is meant to take more than one hour, #Resist! Just #Boycott.

2. Manspreading

So si people have hand luggage? And luggage is supposed to be put in those compartments up there? Ehe! My seatmate decided to sit with his many hand luggages which included a smaller version of these Naija bags, a briefcase and some sling bag there. Imagine! Meanwhile kumbuka tu tuko economy, legroom ni tricky! So I suggested (In English) that he put at least two overhead. Kumbe msee haelewi English. IssaFrencher! I try hand signals but by the time he gets the point, compartments are full. Don't ask how those things were arranged between his legs, therefore facilitating extreme manspreading. Sigh. I suffered. But not too much. I kept making random internal guesses on what he was carrying that he couldn't part with. What I found extremely hilarious though, was how the flight attendant tried to push the naija bag under the seat but it wouldn't budge. Reminds me of how conductors do that in matatus when they run out of space in the boot.gg

3. Language Barrier

Maybe this just happens to me, but have you ever travelled on a matatu where a random human decides to talk to you in a language of their choice that is neither English nor Kiswahili and expects you to understand? Me? Many times! And they insist even when you respond with a "sorry?" In their heads, they think you don't know sorry in whatever language they are insisting on. Again, let me shine the light on my seatmate.
As indicated earlier, I think his first language is French. Let me tell you how this man wanted to beat stories with me in French. Me I am not understanding. And I try to 'tell' him so. I should have taken them French lessons in primary school seriously. He points out the window and asks something in French, I shake my head. Repeat. Looks at me with eyes of "but why are you seated next to me if you can't speak my language?" I look at the time. Walalala. Twenty more minutes! Wait the food trolley reaches us. He orders coffee then asks for juice. After coffee and croissant combo, he realizes he might not want the juice after all. He offers it to me, again, in French. I think I have understood him and say no. He continues speaking. I think he doesn't understand why I am declining this gift. Ah. He hands it to the attendant who looks at it woefully.

4. The Hapa ni wapi people.

The place askers. We have all encountered them, no? They are usually pretty harmless curious sweethearts until they poke you from your sleep to ask you, "tuko wapi?" Again, mine is a pretty informed guess. I think my seatmate asked me where we were while cruising at sijui how many thousands of feet. Believe it or not, I looked out to where he was pointing and answered "Entebbe," and he nodded in appreciation. At least I did something right this time around.

5. Glued Shut windows

I used to get offended when I would find that matatu operators have glued the windows shut. Then I realized they were protecting us from those phone stealers on the prowl during traffic jams. Si aeroplane windows also don't open? The only difference is at least there is AC in the plane where you can inhale recycled air, as opposed to matatus where you just recycle air. Period.

I have therefore come to a conclusion.   Stop envying people posting images of passports and boarding passes. Sometimes kumbe it's economy class which can be a struggle. The way you felt the days you would used a 14-seater matatu then a 10-seater shuttle overtakes you and say in your heart that one day you will reach that class, is the same way you will feel when you enter a plane and you have to walk to the baaaaaaack past the first and business classes. Humans never stop wanting or reaching for more, which is healthy most of the times. Just be sure to enjoy the good things at your current station as you eye 'better' things.

Bonus: Yogurt slurping monster! People are given spoon for drinking super thick yogurt but trashing happens. Then begins the loud prolonged slurpation and lip smacking. Let me just tell you won't miss a person or two who reminds you of that guy who buys food at every stop and chews as loudly as they can causing you to either salivate or feel extreme anger.

This plane has landed! See you next week!

Pedestrian woes in this our Nairobi

If you are anything like me, you always do a mental prep and give yourself a pep talk before going into town. Bible verses work well...

"Psalm 56
[13]For You have delivered my life from death, yes, and my feet from falling, that I may walk before God in the light of life and of the living."

When you survive the matatu madness and manage to get the conductor to give you complete change, you know you have only won the battle, the real war awaits. You now have to walk among fellow mortals and stay alive. Why is this of great concern? I am glad you asked.

1. Humans. They that move like bulldozers. It is very easy to lose a shoulder on these streets. People are running sijui where. Most Nairobians walk fast to look busy and to fit in. Imagine!! Otherwise, how would you explain their stopping abruptly (no hazards or nothing) to read the newspaper headline. Meanwhile, that human following you has to reenact some moves they see in movies so they don't flatten their faces on your back. These ones are in good company too; the ones who again, stop in the middle of the street to tie their laces. But why!!! I want to include short people who use their umbrellas on sheltered pavements while it is raining in this category, but I risk losing friends in the process. Seriously though. Why? If you only knew how many stomachs you have butchered while at it, you will repent for the sins of your forefathers too.

2. The small mkokotenis. Guys, have you ever seen how confident these hand  trolley operators are? You would think they are driving a Mercedes. In fact, I am convinced they think they are, because some of them even have number plates. Woe unto you if you find yourself in the CBD in the evening during rush hour when most of the country buses have arrived; business is fast and urgent.  You should see them weaving through and past our poor feet as we also try to avoid the bulldozers, their grips firm on the 'steering wheel.' The only warning they give is an irritating shout seconds away from you or none at all. So, while watching out for pickpockets and bulldozers, one needs to keep an ear out for the Mercedes trolleys. All senses need to be activated. Ukikaa mbaya, utaenda home bila shoulder na mguu.

3. Hawkers.They who have infiltrated the CBD like a plague now own the pavements! I often find myself playing hop scotch while trying to avoid their wares. If you are one who sees the glass as half full, their wares will look like artwork on the ground. Beautiful colours and shapes forming a collage of sorts. However, if you are in a hurry and just wants to walk home or wherever in peace, you will find this very annoying. I hated Maths, yet here I am calculating angle thetas in order to avoid nyanyas and inevitably, a glory of abuses. Oh, trust me. You don't want a hawker to draw attention to you. The colleagues jump in for solidarity forever and the shame is something you don't want.
We need a Moses to deliver us from this plague.  The pavements are our inheritance and right as pedestrians. We resist you hawkers! Let my people go!!

4. Last, but definitely not least, motorbikes! Ghai! What is peace of mind? It is overrated. The bikes, just like hawkers, think the pavements are too wide to be used by humans on foot only. They use them as escape routes when they can't fit in between the buses and matatus. This, after trading insults with the drivers. Even as a passenger, one feels it would be safer on foot, but you quickly change your mind when you see your fellow hustlers scamper for and to safety. I can't say much about these, I am traumatized by the number of times my mother has been hit. It is for serious.

I have a couple more hazards on my list, but I feel my blood pressure rising with every paragraph. So I'll stop and maybe let you add more in the comment section. Indulge me for a few more seconds as I tell you about a first. I conductor rolled his eyes on me and said "Oh my God!"
I know what you are thinking. No, it was a man. It is all my fault though. I was pestering him for a five shilling discount and preaching to him how he should be humble and let God use him. He was so cute! He had dimples! It is my opinion that a conductor who has dimples can't afford to be rude or too firm. Smile for us!  So I fished out that card and played it! It worked! I just complimented his smile and voila!! Five shilling discount! Not before he rolled his eyes on me though.

See? There is hope.

Have a safe week, won't you? 

Jua ya mvua and other stories

During the 2007/08 post election violence period, I developed a habit while using public transport; secretly spying on my fellow passengers and being extra watchful aboard public transport. Things were bad, and because I was of and from the 'wrong tribe,' I had to be extra careful. I have narrated before how my colleagues would offer advice on how to make sure I made it home safe and sound.

They would, for instance, tell me to avoid any eye contact with anyone. I was encouraged to mind my own business, even feign sleep if possible. When people from my tribe began fleeing the county, the perceived owners started getting more comfortable. Only one language was spoken in matatus, and no, it wasn't Kiswahili or English. The knobs on the radios stayed put as well on selected venarcular radio stations. I was born, bred and raised here. However, I could only speak in and understand my native language, English and Kiswahili. I could only catch a smattering of other Kenyan languages, greetings and the like. If someone was to strike a conversation with me in the said language, I was to;

a) Act disinterested, but not in arrogance.
b) Feign deafness
c) Just listen, nod and say "eeh" or "iii."

As you can tell, I survived.
Barely.
Story for another day.

And so, the habit developed. I size up everyone the second I enter a matatu. Here in Nairobi, it has served to help me be more vigilant, what with  smartly dressed thugs everywhere. This is partly why Matatu Chronicles was started. I had too many observations. Some down right hilarious, others scary. I began recording smells, sounds and auras around me. In 2014 for instance, the most dominant smells were of mandazis, perfumes, colognes and stuffy air in the mornings, and fries, groundnuts and sweat in the evenings. I mostly need a life.

Today, I am headed to Nairobi West in a 14-seater matatu. As usual, head and legroom are a myth for me. I stay hunched over at the second last row. I had hoped to cover a couple of pages on my current read, Red Helmet. Yeah. That's not going to happen.

The woman next to me is a reader too. She is on page 66 of "How to make your marriage a life long love affair." The gold jewelry she has on compliment her chocolate brown skin. She must have thought about the outfit too; black trousers, a black pull neck and a black and brown animal print loose chiffon top. I steal a quick glance up. A short weave with brown and gold highlights. While trying to guess her age, my eyes rove to the young lady two seats ahead.

She is handing the conductor her fare. Her dark skin glows as the mid day sun's rays find her face. I am sometimes jealous of my melanin endowed sisters. The way they just glow when it is hot, as opposed to some of us who turn red and pink and in my case, rock a sweaty nose too. She has on what looks like a thousand kilograms worth of hair falling from right above her forehead to just above the curve where her back meets her butt. It looks heavy, for real, but she holds her head steady so it does not seem to weigh her down. Such is her boldness that I can's seem to gather the courage to suggest some edge laying gel for African hair, (also natural hair on these streets) since the one she has on is killing it! No, not the Urban dictionary definition. Her edges are not laid and the gel is caked white. Sigh.

The sun on this Tuesday afternoon is that one for the rain, that is, "jua ya mvua." I'll explain for the non-Kenyans. Every single Kenyan, whether born today or in the 1900s knows of this specific type of heat the sun emits a few hours before it rains. Here, we rarely rely on cloud cover and characteristics to predict rain. No one wants to stumble on the NASA tallying centre up there. We don't trust the weatherman either, not since the legendary Nguatah Francis left the airwaves anyway. Whoever gives the weather girls updates has been taking us for a ride a while. Now we just sniff the air for the sweat concentration and feel our foreheads. The number of umbrellas in the matatu today reinforces the accuracy of mental forecasts.

The conductor is wearing a USA cap. I drift off to the USA for a couple of seconds. Surely, even with this Trump guy, they must be having a better time than us Kenyans. I conduct a head count of the relatives who might offer me shelter and start thinking of where I will get the fare. I am holding ten thousand shillings in debt collection when a grave thought suddenly stops me in my nerve tracks. Putting up with relatives for a period exceeding three days can be such a pain! Hands up if you agree.

Day 1: Shangwe na vigelegele! Welcome visitor! Please have a seat! Drink? Here, let me wash your feet and can I offer you a head massage?

Day 2: Breakfast is served. Do you shower with hot, cold, or lukewarm water? Cold? No...We don't want our people saying you came and caught diseases here. Don't worry about the clothes, kuna mama was kufua. Do you eat spaghetti?

Day 3: How long are you staying by the way? Oooh. No, no reason. These spoiled brats of mine just wanted to know how long there were supposed to give up their bedroom. Kids! Don't mind them! Do you often drink smoothies in the village? You seem to love the avocado and kiwi one going by how you have been drinking it, ha ha ha!

Also, winter is only exciting during Game of Thrones which I stopped watching hapo season two.

"Wale wanashuka mwisho kujeni!"

We are being transferred to another matatu. No cause for alarm. Happens often in Nairobi. It is well with my soul and knees too, because I manage to get a seat in the front cabin with the driver. Now I can read a page or two. The story is about an executive city girl who falls in love, and marries a handsome guy who works in a coal mine somewhere. In short, manzi wa Nairobi, ule anaown biashara zake massive Westy afall na mguyz wa kuchimba gold kule Shimakhokho. Imagine! Na wamarike! Alright, the book is exciting!

The driver's continuous clicking distracts me. He is upset at the conductor for not counting the passengers that were transferred. They are too many, yet the transfer period has ended and the other matatu had made an about turn. He shouts instructions in a native language the conductor understands and soon,  the excess passengers are out trekking with him. There is a cop at the roundabout and it is too early to get caught and the driver asks who has the money to give these lazy cops. We wait for them a few metres from the roundabout. The person next to me alights and I am joined by a light skinned lady who looks flushed after walking in that jua ya mvua. She doesn't seem upset, not by the fact that she had to walk like that for no mistake of her own or that the conductor who was more urgent in his steps kept urging her, "Madam harakisha twende!"

I have just realized I might have began this article on quite an alarmist tone. I'm sorry. Ni intro tu. Nothing horrifying happened during this ride, on the contrary. I didn't have to haggle with a conductor for my change, or share a space with a man who spreads his legs wide. There were a few whiffs of concentrated sweat to endure, but that's jua ya mvua's fault, isn't it?