Matatu Shenanigans

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I live in Nairobi and work in Thika, which is 26 miles away (43km).  It doesn't seem like a long journey but this is Kenya and the infrastructure hasn't been developed until recently so that sends commute times through the roof!  However, the highway from Nairobi to Thika is currently under construction by the Chinese (thank you Jesus!) so the long and tedious commutes will be a thing of the past! Until then, I am one of the millions of Kenyans that take public transport every day and that usually means boarding a "matatu".  A matatu is a van that carries between 10-15 passengers and picks up and drops off passengers at bus stops that are simply known as "stage" or by a landmark feature in the area (i.e Shell gas station!) .  The origins of the word matatu are attributed to the Swahili word for three: "tatu" and also the 30 cents fare that was paid when matatus first appeared in the 60s.

My decision to take public transport did not come easily.  Soon after I arrived in Nairobi, my phone was stolen in a matatu and a guy tried to feel me up  so I swore never to take public transport again.  My routine is that Jonathan would drop me in Thika every morning and pick me up every evening...total commute time was about 4 hours and let's not talk about how much gas money we were wasting in our fuel guzzler (+ 10000/-).  I reneged on my earlier decision and decided to give public transport a try.  My total bus fare per week is 680/- so that was pretty awesome and I got to read throughout the entire commute!   Sounds pretty nice huh?  Yup.  That's until you get on a matatu and they decide they are going to take a "different route" due to the traffic!  The first time this happened I coincidentally happened to be the only female in the matatu and all I was thinking was "damn, why didn't I buy a Taser gun before I left the States?" Because as a female, all I'm thinking about in this highly sexual country, in a matatu full of males, going via a different route ...is rape.  I'd been warned about so many things...threat of Mungiki, hijackings, voodoo-type powder blown in my face....so you can understand why that was my initial thought when we started on this "different route".  At that moment, I was thinking that I needed to speak up but if I spoke up they would know that I was not familiar with matatus, routes, direction and that could be a disadvantage for me. My heart was beating madly and I was convinced the guy next to me could hear it so I decided to put my macho face on and start working on an exit strategy in the event that some shady stuff goes down.  I also texted the number plate of the matatu to Jonathan and started naming all the marked buildings we were passing...which was of no help because it would be stuff like "Texas Hotel" or "Crossing Jordan Kiosk" (ok, nomenclature in Kenya deserves a post all by itself).  To cut a long story short, I got myself worked up for nothing because I got to Nairobi unharmed and none of the males were remotely interested in me and my little "terrified" world that I had built up in my head.  However, I've heard horror stories so while I'm more comfortable with matatus and detours, I'm still cautious about who the rest of the passengers are and I pay attention to where we are at all times.


Riding in a matatu everyday affords me an observation deck that cannot be rivaled.  I'm free to observe Kenyans at their best and at their worst! For instance, I now understand that "fresh air" in a matatu is translated as "cold, freezing air".  Kenyans do not like anything cold nor do they like opening windows (and not because of theft!) - they will be in the matatu on a hot day, wearing blazers, sweaters, scarfs etc and have all the windows shut tight.  I make it a rule to always sit at a working window and boy do these guys on my route hate me.  I have sent ladies' weaves flying in an unnatural direction, told a guy to "man up" when he complained that he was feeling cold from the breeze facilitated by my open window and even I've shamelessly lied repeatedly that I was "violently ill and could be sick any minute now"...all in the name of keeping my window open! Sorry, my Kenyan peeps, but truth be told there is no middle ground with y'all when it comes to smells.  It's always one of two things - either they marinate in the perfume/cologne or they choose to not shower/deo for a couple days so the B.O. that hits you is so lethal your eyes start to water and you start to choke:-) Yes, I went there. Sue me.

Kenyans also consider the matatu as their mobile office so they relentlessly use their cell phones during the commute.  While I understand that one may have been waiting for an important phone call, 99% of the other folks just want to show everyone else that they are "doing big things".  So, a lot of cell-phone business transactions are done in matatus and the rest of us have to listen to a guy shouting over the already loud music explain how to maneuver the lands office - of course that's usually males.  The females are usually talking to their girlfriends planning on where they are going to go for "drinks" or "what happened last night at that party" or "what the plan is this weekend".  Our gramps generation never fail to amuse me - they use their phones daily but for some reason they always look shocked that the phone is ringing and act like they forgot where the receive button is.  To top it all off they act like the phone will zap them so they don't place the cell directly on their ears, instead it is positioned inches away. Which in turn makes them repeat "ati?" (what?) a million times because they can't hear the caller! Hilarious.

The worst thing for me in matatus - not counting all the noise from the cell phone conversations, the high decibel stereo, touts yelling and banging on the doors, unhinged uterus's and spinal cords from reckless driving, overcharging when it rains - has got to be the personal space issue! The law states that only 3 people should sit across each row in the matatu but the touts will sometimes force a fourth person which gives new meaning to "packed like sardines".  At least sardines all smell the same...sometimes when I've been subjected to having my body parts smacked against someone else, their odor transfers to me and my clothes! Even the times we have the right number of people, I'm almost always next to a corpulent individual which means their thigh is over me, their elbow is in my ear...all I know is that those are entirely too many body parts to be touching when I don't even know you!

On that note, let me go catch my matatu home!