The Culture

Sunday.

For a normal citizen, you may not understand this: the reason why conductors find it hard to sit and enjoy the ride is that there is nothing weirder than watching a fellow colleague at work. You there sited wondering,

“I don’t do this, shit! Why is he doing that? What? That worked? I’ll start doing that. Why haven’t I ever thought of that?”

Such traumatizing thoughts. To avoid this, you will find conductors standing willingly close to the door, not that there are ‘no seats’, they just cannot.

It’s not normal for me to be home on a Sunday, it even doesn’t feel right but hey, the lion in me just wants to sleep. I can smell the brokenness that’s about to hit me from a distance. What to do though? It is not like I chose not to work, besides all machines require regular maintenance, some more than others. It’s been 2 days of going back and forth to the garage and back home. “Sai tunafanya wiring ndani, tufunge speaker na kila kitu kesho” the garage mechanic tells me with a heavy Luhya accent. You’d think I own a car as I interrogate the guy and bargain on different prices, but its part of my job. I’ve used this vehicle more than the owner; chances are he’s never set foot inside the vehicle. My driver has even attachment issues with it. I still believe he talks to her, it’s a “she” by the way. I’ve heard him once, he claims he was on a call, on a Sunday morning after carwash, he’s drying off the windscreen while having a one on one with her (the car). This is the level of trust between PSV operators and owners and yet you can’t trust us with twenty shillings change? The audacity!

I haven’t been working, so no income for me and I’m in Nairobi, chiee!! Here we pay for everything including garbage. The city council guys be like, yes, we know you don’t need this anymore but you either keep it or pay us to go dump it for you wherever we decide. I’m not worried though. I’m too relaxed for a broke guy. I work with people who look out for each other, people united by that maroon uniform. The system is designed in a way it favors everyone even those not working. Am sure you all have seen conductors or drivers coming to the matatu you are in and demand for money. Some of you have been asked for fare by some dude arguing with the conductor,

“leta mia”

“Aki sina, nimetoka garage”

“Niitishe muthiii?”

“Madam Fare”

The main conductors give you a nod approving yes pay him or else he isn’t leaving here. You pay, the guy alights and everything continues as usual. I don’t know why we all lie about not having money. We are all here out here claiming how broke we are, competing on who’s suffering more. I still don’t know why though.

“Usiitane karibu na gari Juja, nimeweka watu Machakos” he says to me as he runs towards a bunch of guys at Allsopps. Machakos surely? Gari ya Juja. In this business one thing I’ve learnt is to do as told and ask questions later. This is too funny to not ask questions though. How did he even convince about five people that this bus is headed to

Machakos? I run after him laughing. I need to learn his ways.

“Bro hii ndo inaenda Juja, wanne pekee” I say this to the guys he has been convincing while guiding them to the vehicle. They oblige and minutes later they in and we back to “hunting”

“Uliweka aje watu wa Machakos kwa gari?” I finally ask while laughing.

I still believe the matatu industry is some kind of religion as long as you wearing the maroon uniform and we know you; you’re eligible for free rides for a lifetime and you’ll never starve. The unity among PSV employees it’s on a whole new level. I’m not working due to unavoidable circumstances and they all know. It’s that time of the year when we all stay home for close to a week and wait for the garage guys to work their magic and bring as back a more improved manyanga, with everything working as it should. Rumor has it that they’ll be bringing back the screen to life. Not that we spoilt it or anything, it’s that we’ve never found the on switch and neither did the mechanics.

Our previous mechanics decided to play maze with us, and made the drivers part a real “cockpit” with so many switches. Yes, they had the right idea but forgot to mark the one connecting the screen differently so, we were always playing a game of luck when we find a new switch. I’ll miss this.

Just the other day we were in traffic, as usual I was having a lit story with my driver, and I noticed a switch,

“Ile ni switch ya?” I ask. He switches it on and I go running to check if the screen is finally on, disappointment.

For a matatu guy, going one week without working will definitely mess up all your accounts dropping everything upside. Today I am what we call mushuhaa, some sort of “mtu wa mkono” courtesy of my nigga Sam.

“Mimi nilikuwa nataka seti, wakauliza kama nafika Machakos nikasema eeeh, pap watu sita. Ni tufike Juja niwaambie driver amekataa kwenda.” he tells me.

I can’t help it at this point, tears are rolling down and finding it hard to breath. I have to bend and support myself. It’s been long since I had such a good laugh. Minutes later, we are at Githurai, genuinely looking for four people. We end up with ten, blessing, and our journey to “Machakos” begins. I still don’t get how these people didn’t sense anything; I need such level of trust if I’ll ever get into a relationship in this life.

“Sasa wa Machakos utalipisha aje?” I ask Sam as the driver changes to the middle lane at Kahawa.

“Si tuko na wewe hapa? Wacha nikuonyeshe” he replies and starts collecting “tithe” as he puts it. His driver agrees with him and plays a gospel mix, no wonder our Machakos guys have no pressure. I so want to know how this will work out so I smile and wait as instructed.

“Weka By-pass.” He shouts.

Swiftly I open the door, lock it in way it can’t shut, whistle and spank the vehicle as loud as possible. The driver hoots back twice, message received. I start waving to motorist behind us indicating that I’m changing lanes whether you like it or not. Yes, it had to be a vitz guy. It’s not like we like bullying them, they just have a tendency of being in the wrong places. Sometimes I feel like a cool FBI agent on a mission talking in codes and executing missions, kushukisha highway. This is why matatu industry is addictive. Once you are in, leaving is hard.

“By pass ni hapa, Juja, Ruiru, Kimbo thirty bob,” I say out loud to none in particular.

“Juja?” I ask.

“Twende nayo” I say this to the driver and tap the vehicle. He starts to pull out. The same strangers staring blankly at me start running to me,

“Kenyatta Road ngapi?”

“Thirty bob” I answer back while spanking the vehicle for the driver to stop. Two more people board, a man and a woman, sitting opposite the Machakos guys. Confidently Sam goes and ask for fare from all them including the Machakos guys. So far so good, our journey is peaceful and a few minutes later, we are at Kenyatta Road and the two passengers from By-pass alight. The Machakos guys look and each other, nod and even buy sugar cane from the vendors.

“Wacha wakule miwa wapate nguvu ya kupigwa na butwa tukifika Juja”

I can’t help it my ribs are even itching. No wonder conductors are rendered evil. We are all chasing the bag. Our methods might differ but the goal is the same. Few minutes later we are stuck at a mini-traffic at Juja while changing sides, time to go back to town. Our Machakos guys get uneasy. They start talking to each other. They now sense they boarded the wrong vehicle. The best way to deal with such situations is confronting them first, this way they got no chance to ask questions.

“Kujeni mwende na hii, kadereh amekataa kufika mwisho” Sam says.

Hell breaks loose. One of the ladies stands and start ranting in Kamba. We have no idea what she is saying but she looks pretty mad. We are just standing there looking at her like two lost kittens asking for sympathy. We all know she has no option but to alight, but for security reasons, we can’t just say this to her because it’s “disrespect” as they call it.

Surely kati ya wao na gari nani alikuwa anaenda Machakos?