Day Nine - Matatu Fever

July 20, 2012 (Sam)

      Getting around here is an interesting venture. It’s not like in the states where everyone has their own car (or their own two or three cars). In the states we take for granted being able to get where we want when we want on our own time and in our own way. Even our public transportation system in the states, for those who use it, seems to be pretty reliable. We have bus schedules and set ticket prices and preset destinations. And we just assume that these things will run, as designed, like clockwork.

      In Kenya, the opposite of dependable has one name: matatu. Matatus are privately owned minibuses, about the size of a small minivan, that are used as the main form of transportation in Nairobi. Even though they only have 14 passenger seats (if you can call the minuscule amount of space that each rider is allotted a seat), "touts" often attempt to maximize profit and efficiency by cramming as many passengers inside as they can fit (in America, we call this “going green”). Today, we rode in a matatu with 18 people. I am not joking when I say passengers were sitting on top of each other. When they run out of seats, people start hanging off the sides of the matatu as as it flies down the highway, ramping over speed bumps and passing other cars while going uphill.

      Matatus, although they have been forced to clean-up their flamboyant paint-jobs considerably in the last years, still each sport their own unique slogan. “Playboy Magnet” “Con Air” “Eschatology” “Fly High” “Pot-machine” “In God We Trust” and “10% Flossin’, 90% Hustlin’” to name just a few. 

      Back to unpredictable: prices for mutatu rides aren’t set. The cost will vary depending on how far you plan on going and what time of day it is, but as with everything else here, when Kenyans see wazungu (“foreigners”) prices go up. They also don’t collect the fare until after you’ve started your ride. So they may tell you one price before you get in, but when touts start collecting fare halfway through the trip, they’ll try to charge you more. We had to chase down a tout after a short ride yesterday because after we paid him, he walked off without giving us our change.

      It’s also not uncommon to see a matatu jacked up on the side of the road spewing brake fluid or with a plume of black smoke shooting up from under the hood. I had the pleasure of sitting in the front seat next to the driver one day on a matatu ride back to Rongai, and between my knees getting cracked by his stickshift every time he changed gears, I noticed that every light on the dashboard was glowing orange and the oil pressure gauge was flailing around like a dirty sock in the wind.

      Matatus are also the prime place to get your pockets picked, your backpack slit open, or your purse emptied. Thieves prey on matatu riders, especially unwitting Westerners. We’ve been warned by countless people, Kenyan and otherwise, to never let another passenger open a newspaper next to you. This is usually just a strategically placed obstruction that will allow someone else to rummage through your belongings that you’re clutching tightly on your lap. Crooks will also intentionally knock or bump into you to throw you off your guard. Next thing you know, your wallet is gone. We’ve also been warned to never get on a matatu unless there are other passengers. Never be the first person to board. This is the easiest way to become a victim of international kidnapping.

      So far we’ve not had too many problems. Nothing that a little wariness, vigilance, and a back-up plan can’t protect against. That, and perhaps some well-founded mechanical knowledge.