Matatus- The World Turned 90 Degrees

Simply put, I don’t fit. Usually I get stuck somewhere (inevitably) where my knees are in my chin or my head is ducked so I can avoid hitting the ceiling on the bumpy roads. Matatus (the ones I have ridden at least) are anywhere from seven to fourteen passenger (this is usually advertised mockingly on the sides of the matatu. I say mockingly because, in the rural areas, this number can reach over twenty [we have been in one with twenty-five {three were hanging out the side door}]) vans with an appearance resembling something close to an old VW hippie van (that’s the best I can come up with for now. A picture will come later). Each matatu looks completely different. Usually, they have some sort of sticker of a celebrity (we have seen Obama), a US sports team (I have seen the Philadelphia Eagles and the Chicago White Sox), or some phrase. Some are painted wildly (the ones I have not ridden [which are much larger] are usually the ones like this and have themes, usually with rappers [Tupac seems to be the most popular] bursting out the side [a fairly nice paint job is required]). In Kuria, the matatus are station wagons. Supposedly, they are only four passenger vehicles, but they won’t leave without eight. This requires that two people share the driver’s seat. However, we have been in one that has had fourteen. (Five were in the front, five were in the back, and four more were in the trunk. [One in front was a child, but still…])

People hop on and off wherever they need. Occasionally, there is a main stage where you can find a number of them, but then you have to deal with the touts (I may have called them tauds earlier?) who fight over you (sometimes pulling you [never forcefully, more or less suggestively]) to get you on their vehicle (they are paid a commission per passenger they find). The conductor sits in back and hangs his head out the window or (when the matatu is packed [which it usually is]) standing on the ledge with the door open to look for more passengers. The driver’s job is to drive wildly (usually swerving back and forth to avoid potholes and find the least bumpy path. In Nairobi, it isn’t so much swerving as it is forcing, usually to avoid traffic [there is never not a jam] and find the lane moving fastest [on occasion, this requires use of the sidewalk].). The conductor and driver communicate with a variety of taps and signals (usually hitting the roof with a coin twice) to know when to stop (or sometimes, in Nairobi, when they can switch lanes).

In almost every matatu, the music is blaring. (In Nairobi, this can sometimes be coupled with a TV hooked up in back playing the accompanying music video [or something completely random].) Usually, it is something in Swahili that I don’t understand. Sometimes it is American. Occasionally, it is a CD. With the exception of the volume, it’s kind of nice.

My first experience with a matatu was in Mbakalo as Simon and I were travelling to visit the first set of sponsored OVC. We found ourselves passing through the foothills of Mt. Elgon. Large boulders loomed ominously over the small mud huts, each intermingling sporadically across the rolling hills. I spotted men bathing in rivers, women carrying stalks of bananas (balanced on head, both shoulders, and in both hands), and people idly lying under trees. At each stop, people come up to the windows with baskets of fruit and food, displaying their items neatly, arranging them as if bouquets. In larger towns, people come up with other merchandise (locks, socks, movies, drinks, candleholders, etc.). On our trip, Simon treated me to a bag of groundnuts.
When you find a full matatu, the process can be efficient. Depending on the time of day, it can take a while for a matatu to come (when on the side of the road) or people to fill (at the stages). I was shocked the first time I rode one in Nairobi. Not only did the matatu fill only to capacity, it left the stage without being full. Overall, it’s not the most comfortable means of transportation, and it lacks a certain independence that a car affords, but it’s a cheap means of transport, and it gets you where you need to go. It fits with the rest of what I have observed about Kenya, it works.

-Pat