Nairobi Traffic Episode two

A few passengers complain that the bus is taking too long to fill up. What I expect is a reply from the young men screaming for people to board. Something like “ladies and gentlemen kindly bear with us we only have four empty seats, we’ll be leaving in a short while” the actual reply reminds me that human thinking and common sense can never be common.

One of the guys walks to the drivers cabin and says “dere ipande” within a second, the music that is already too loud is pumped up tens of decibels above human limits. The reaction from the passengers is automatic and shocking to me, everyone forgets to complain about the slow pace of boarding and hold their palms tightly over the ears to protect the eardrums.

This is a perfect example of the colonial  divide and rule technique. By the time the ears adjust to the thunder, the few remaining seats are occupied. The character on the driving wheel has been doing his mad dance on the throttle since I boarded. The vehicle is Stationery but the accelerator is constantly engaged in quick succession leaving the entire vehicle vibrating along in a seriously uncomfortable way.

I forget to mention that all this time the bus is positioned in the middle of a very crowded street. Getting the vehicle out takes genius, courage and a lot of bullying. Well eventually we sneak out into the main road which as usual with Nairobi traffic is at a standstill.

The crew decide to “talk” to a traffic police officer who allows them to use a non designated route, a short cut out of the town that is reserved for vehicles plying other routes. Well we’re cruising on the wrong side of a street, screeching to a halt several times to avoid running into oncoming traffic with the horn blaring warnings and the crew shouting curses while hanging precariously on the sides.

By the time we are rejoining the highway, I have tasted blood in my saliva, I have held my heart in my hands at least three times and my pressure can be viewed from my veins and the sweat beads on my nose, brow and neck. The certainly crazy man on the wheel plunges into stalled traffic at break neck speeds. I shut my eyes and ask the Lord for forgiveness and wait to meet Joshua and Caleb.

After a few seconds of nothing happening, I open my eyes expecting a hand shake from the apostle Peter only to discover that we are cruising along Kariokor market on the new highway built by the Kenyan government. The lady seated next to me inquires whether I’m feeling sick and looks very sympathetic of my experience. She tries her best to start conversations to distract my attention from the road.

By now I have counted at least ten near misses with other vehicles and more than a dozen traffic rules violations. My neighbor tells me that the owners of the public transport buses work on cohort with the traffic officers and they are seemingly above the laws of road use. The police only disturb private road users.
I’m visibly shaking by the time I alight at Githurai. The buses do not stop, passengers alight as they move along. I had to get instant training on what to hold and what leg to use. I stretch out my left leg {to be continued in episode three}

Nairobi Traffic episode one

It is after one of those classified escapades that I decide to have a taste of Nairobi’s public transport. This funny guy advises me to try Githurai 45 Matatus. Little did I know he was starting me with the hardcore stuff. He drops me off at a bus terminus called Tusker (no one I consult around seems to know the origin of that name). The last instructions he shouts are “watch your wallet, watch your money, watch your everything, and have the exact fare in your hands, then he drives off with a cunning grin on his face”
The first thing that hits my ears are the loud shrills, shouts, chirps and all manner of noises from hordes of young men (I think I see a lady too) screaming 45!! 50!! Githu, Roysa, fije with fists raised up high towards the sky. There are almost a hundred busses crammed into a tiny space and all picking clients at the same time in a very haphazard way. The combined noise of this confusion must be 300 decibels; I wonder how people survive this daily.  My orientation decodes that 45 is the route number, 50 is the price and the other words are stages and bus stops along the way and repetitions of the price in sheng.
I instantly position myself along a wall, curiously scanning everything around me, and obviously pressing my back pocket firmly away from pickpockets as I watch other passengers were boarding. One of the touts comes to me, briefly inquires of my destination and directs me into the bus I had seen him hanging from in the shouting march manner. I pause for a split second as I step into the bus to admire the body works. This monster has been remodeled to look like a second edition transformer. Bearing photos and names of obviously famous people and screaming paintworks, the beast looks really awesome say for some scratch marks on the tips.
The inside is something else, from the door the music is too loud it stuns me for a millisecond, my heart is racing so fast by the time I get a seat. I can feel my blood throb with every thundering beat from the tens of speakers and woofers all over the vehicle. I taste salt in my teeth and I think I am going to puke, I grab my seat and close my eyes tightly until the feeling wears off. All this while, passengers are boarding oblivious of this stranger under culture shock.
From my seat I can count at least ten television screens broadcasting music videos, I spot a cctv camera and through a slot on the paneling that separates the drivers cabin from the rest of us, I can see a tiny screen constantly oscillating between music videos and a live feed of what’s happening in the passenger area.  A few passengers complain that the bus is taking too long to fill….. {to be continued in episode two}