My Nairobi Matatu experience

During the first weeks of my stay in Nairobi, I was picked by a company car and did not have to worry about the vagaries of the city’s famed notorious traffic jam. But when the offer expired, I confronted the beast that is the traffic jam head on.
I stagger out of bed in the wee hours of a Monday morning, on advice from a colleague who has braved this jam for years, well aware that a Monday is not the best day to make my debut on the clogged Nairobi street.

Venturing out
As I dash towards Westland Market cacophony of touts bellowing out names of destinations ‘Ngara ngara’ and ‘commercial’ pierces through the early morning breeze. I make my way to a tall, dark man, unkempt hair, clad in a thick brown jacket thunderously crying out: Tawu, Tawu, the call name for town. I straightway fix myself through the corridor of the patched white paint and rusty metal Matatu to the back seat. My height favoured my legs to comfortably fit in the miniature space. I sank quietly into the torn cushioned chairs, while my neighbour struggled to twist his legs to get some mild comfort. He leans over the front seat for the rest of the journey.

Now, for starters, the instant shock for a Kampala taxi user in Nairobi is how decrepit the Matatus are. Not that you will find a state-of-the art marque taxi in Kampala, but they are not as rickety as the average matatu on a Nairobi street. Then the graffiti ornamented on Nairobi taxis is the antidote to their battered state.
From inspirational writings to football quotes, these are poetry stars. Do I need to mention they are also like discotheques?--that deafening music is what I endure on every trip. In silence, the passengers party all the way to their destinations. The hues of light from all corners of the matatu are blinding—a reminder that all your party needs catered for.

The ride
The matatu filled in 10 minutes with the driver speeding off instantly. The squeals and bumps are not nice to the ears. We sway from one end of the road to another. At one moment, my neighbour leans heavily on me. Before I can gather my momentum, the conductor stretches out a rocky arm as though to ask for something, the fare, I guess. Being a novice in this, I wait for some passenger to pay his due, so I pick a cue. Touts in Nairobi have that habit of picking fares as soon as the matatu starts, unlike Kampala where passengers pay at leisure, often as they approach their destination. Tout-passenger spats over paying are common.
On cue, I gave him a crisp Ksh50 note (about Shs1,700), and get change of Ksh30 (1,000). The other passengers follow suit, stretching out their fare from different directions and their change being returned promptly.

Ambience
The silence in the Matatu was unnerving. There is no chit-chat, or chatter between the passengers and the tout, a common feature of Kampala taxis where touts freely hit on girls and vice-versa. A typical Kampala taxi tout is a Mr know-it all, from raunchy details about celebrity life, to the finer details of complex fraud cases, to news about football stars, in short a moving encyclopaedia.
The Nairobi tout is the opposite. Recluse, furtive and monotonous, with them, it’s all boring. I notice that the only time the conductor interacted with the driver was when he hit a coin on the rim of the Matatu. I thought we had hit a rock or something. The rest of the passengers were unbothered. Could this be the norm?
The driver pulled over and a passenger hopped out. Immediately the conductor exerted pressure on the rusty door and shut it with a heavy bang. And again the seemingly impatient driver sped off, overtaking numerous matatus, buses and private vehicles.

When we got to the Thika highway-- as I read on the road post, he slowed down due to numerous cars that could not give way. It seemed everybody else was in a hurry to reach their work destinations or businesses. He was forced to drive at a relatively average speed until we reached a busy area—which I figured was Tawu (town) when the conductor hopped out and headed for the Matatu Park (Khoja bus stop). I also bent and jumped out on seeing the rest of the passengers leave. I then made way to the Nation Recent building.
At 6.30pm, I head back for the bus stop and search around for Westlands- fondly called Westie, Parklands Matatu.

I immediately board and it was full in about five minutes. The conductor asked for the fare immediately the Matatu stepped out of the bust stop. Again, I pulled out my purse and handed him a Kshs50 and he returned Kshs10—He charged me double what I had paid earlier to town. I did not ask questions. In Uganda, the conductors usually announce the fares for every destination. Though I deduced, like in Uganda, fares change depending on time. During peak hours, they charge highly due to heavy traffic.
The driver held his steering wheel with a firm grip, driving fast and trying to beat the traffic. In Uganda, we complain. I vividly recall one moment when the driver was speeding and we told him to stop so we could get out. He did and to his shock the taxi as we call it was left empty.

In about 20 minutes the Matatu driver stopped and the passengers moved out, that’s when I realised I had reached my destination. But, I could not figure out the route to my apartment though I could guess it was a walkable distance. I refrained from asking. My Kenyan colleague had warned me, “Don’t ask for directions here. The people you may ask could be thugs and rob you from the other end.” Luckily, I spotted a towering building from a distance; I had boarded outside its gate in the morning. I walked in its direction till I figured my way home. I nursed my Matatu migraine all night!

Why they are different
The next day I was curious. I needed to find out why the drivers were always in a rush. I shared my ordeal with the receptionist at my apartment. She said they just have to. The traffic is alarming. While passengers are in a hurry to reach their work places, the drivers too have to make lots of rounds to meet their target. “Their bosses demand a certain amount of money per day and they have to make enough trips to make that money plus surplus for themselves. They are forced to break all traffic rules,” she said. For Matatus that are in poor condition, owners demand between Ksh5,000 (about Shs170,000) and Kshs7,000 (about Shs235,000) per day and those that are new or pimped demand higher returns.
The joke that matatu drivers have the same mother largely lives to its billing. There are many traits that cut across. The drivers all drive like they are possessed, the touts are rude, the taxis are filthy, its crazy business.

Here to stay
Numbers. With an average of 30,000 vehicles, the matatu transport industry in Kenya has transformed itself from the war remnant it was decades ago to a vibrant, multimillion-dollar empire.
Hiccups. Its versatility, however, has created some problems. For example, drivers have been accused of failing to adhere to traffic laws governing other road users, and many regulations have been enacted by the authorities to tame the industry.
Response. Occasionally the sector has reacted to such maneuvers by withdrawing services.
The facts. These vehicles do provide an alternative mode of quick transportation for the low-income earners of this region.

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