Most Kenyans or people who live here in Kenya will laugh at that title and respond with something like, “Aren’t they all?” The truth is, yes, they are all quite an adventure in the make up. Matatus assume in many cases that they have the right of way in Kenya. Often times you will be traveling in a Matatu and they will pass another car even with head on traffic coming directly at you. Last Friday I was trying to get up to RVA for the weekend to see some old friends and watch the soccer teams participate in a tournament with other local schools. I’ll tell you more about this in my next post. But for now all focus on the Matatu ride and journey to Kijabe.
First off, I left the ANU school grounds about 2:30 pm. I climbed aboard a tuk tuk with five other ANU students. Four of us were crammed into the back seat. Tuk Tuk seats are way smaller than car seats. It was a squish! We made it to the junction with the main road called Magadi road which then takes you to Langata road and then from Langata road you can get to many places in town. The matatus at the junction will take you all the way to one of the main Matatu depots in town which is based at the Nairobi Railway Station. Everything was normal until a spot which is normally about 6 minutes from the depot. All of the sudden traffic was at a standstill (I later found out that some were stuck in this jam for five hours). So our Matatu driver looked ahead and took the last turn possible before the jam. Off we went on a road that took us in a big circle around southern Nairobi. The problem was that we weren’t the only ones doing this. The normal ten to fifteen minute drive to Railways, as they tend to call it here, took about an hour and half. I had gone to this depot in good trust after a friend here told me I could get a matatu to Kijabe from there. I should have known by the look on his face he had no idea what he was talking about! I got to the depot and asked what number matatu I could take to Kijabe. They told me there were no matatus at the depot that you could take to get there. But they pointed me in the direction of a large green building that had some matatus I could take there. I walked over there hurriedly, for by this time I was already going to be a tad late to Kijabe. When I got to the green building, I found the line of matatus I thought would take me to Kijabe. Unfortunately, they didn’t! A driver pointed me in the direction of a boda boda on the street corner that could however take me to the place where you catch such a matatu to Kijabe. I climbed on back and he held up his helmet inquisitively. He said, “Will you wear this, or do you want me to?” Quickly I responded I would most definitely wear it. I have taken this risky form of transportation often in the more rural area around ANU, but never had I taken it in the city. An ANU student actually died this past year taking this form of transport. The city is full of all of the crazy Kenyan drivers one could desire. I hopped aboard and we dotted in between traffic for about fifteen minutes till we arrived at the correct matatu depot. This depot is not very depotish in nature as it really is only a few matatus at any given time and is designated only for Kijabe and surrounding areas. Many people who need to visit family and friends at the AIC Kijabe Hospital often gather here for a lift. Upon hopping in, I chose a seat in the front of the back cabin, i.e. not up by the driver. The front of the cabin is generally less claustrophobic. I also chose the outside seat by the door so I could get air when I wanted. Kenyans get cold easily. They also consider cold 75 degrees and below, so when matatus get stuffy, I like to have an escape to fresh air. We started out, and immediately I could tell we’d too be part of the crazy Friday afternoon traffic. It was okay though, because soon we’d be to the main road, the A104 which takes you up to Kijabe. Or so I thought.
My first sign that this matatu was worse than most appeared as I saw raindrops begin to fall from the big, dark, clouds which I had spotted as I previously circled through South Nairobi. As the rain drops started, the driver and his compadres up front noticed the windshield wipers weren’t working. What would we do? In the western half of my brain, I figured maybe they would have us all switch matatus since that is rather unsafe. However, the African half of my brain soon began to reason through the brainwaves with the chaps up front. In the traffic jam, one of the passengers up front got out and put the left wiper (in Africa the non-driver’s side wiper) straight out. in other words, pointing directly out like an antenna searching for a signal from the cars, buses, lorries, matatus and others we’d be driving behind. Problem solved! The left one stuck straight out and the right one cleared the drivers side of the windshield. But, after a few minutes of success, the wiper on the right failed to work. The obvious solution? Hit the windshield as hard as you can until it begins to slowly move into normal working order.
Those clouds I had witnessed previously, were as ominous in their contents as they were in their aesthetics. It was a torrential down pour. As we reached a new flyover in town, I began to see the rivers of water flowing down the road. These rivers continued almost until we reached Kijabe. So the next exciting aspect of the trip was found directly stationed to my left. The sliding door to the matatu was not sealed properly, if at all. Every single river or puddle we passed trough meant that I would get splashed. As the rain poured down, our bodies heated the inside of the matatu. The windshield was soon covered with the moist, warm air from our bodies colliding with the cooler air outside. I pretty much feared for my life the entire trip in ways above and beyond the normal fear I feel when in the bounds of a matatu’s shell. However, these drivers are experienced. They have driven through the deluges of of Nairobi and other places in Kenya before. There is a weird faith that I am able to put in them. A faith that I know what they are doing with our lives as we hustle upon the tarmac of Kenya’s roads.
We made it to the turn off at Kijabe. Every time we would stop on the way to release passengers and receive new ones we were inundated with the pervasive crowd of business people at the stops longing for you to purchase some roasted maize, sausage, fruit, vegetables, toys, etc. I would have purchased some maize, for I love that stuff, but I had a big lunch before the journey. Good thing, because it was a long one! We reached Kijabe in the familiar fog that gathers in those high areas in the hills. I thought we’d actually go down to Kijabe, but it was just a stop at the turn off. I’d have to find another means down. Thankfully, Deborah, a teacher at Kijabe Boys High was there to help me coerce the taxi drivers for a cheap ride down to Kijabe itself. We found some fellow travelers and we meandered our way in the taxi down the hill to the infamous school in the clouds. In all, the journey took about four hours to complete, a trip that can take as little as an hour or so, just as it did upon my return Sunday afternoon.
This is Kenya
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