Final Touches.

Saturday evening.

“Hii gari kujia Tuesday kila kitu itakuwa ready, utapata ata ikiguruma, mafuta full tank ready to go,” Waingo says to us with a heavy Luhya accent, moving his hand appropriately to emphasize his point. We know some parts he is lying but we’re all sure that Tuesday, mama’s touching the highway again. I can’t wait for next week to start, as the Premier League makes its long-awaited return, heralding a new era of thrilling and unforgettable moments on the horizon. It comes a time just like that slay queen,mama requires touches here and there, make up kidogo. But here we refer to it as ‘riko’

“Waingo umetuwekea hii gari sana, ama ushapata customer?” my driver asks jokingly.

 It’s advisable to have such tête-à-tate with your mechanics because you never know who’s fishing and where they’re fishing. The dark guy just smiles as two other mechanics finish installing “something” in the vehicle. Waingo, as we all know him, no one actually knows his real name, has decided to enchant us all as a magician, with his latest act revolving around our cherished manyanga. Everyone had been monitoring and keeping track on progress of the vehicle apart from its driver. He placed a bet all he had to do was stay away from the vehicle till Waingo was done working his magic. This was the only way possible to prove he got no attachment issues with the vehicle and so far, he was winning. Not to break any rules of the bet, we are trudging to town, hoping to find a ride.

“Nimeitiwa kagari ka weekend, tuchukue?” he asks me.

“Kagari kagani?” I ask back. God knows I need work. At this point am not choosy. I’ll work with anything. Am sure haters out there were waiting for this day, conductor wa manyanga after kuringa hivyo vyote sai huna gari haina ata radio?

“Kagari tu, tuchukuwe Sunday na Monday alafu Tuesday tu launch,” my driver replies. By now, I am so sure he is talking about the oldest car I know of. We’re beggers, we can’t be choosers and from his tone he’s rather informing me than asking.

“Ni gari gani?” I ask again, unable to hide my curiosity. He just laughs.

It may be difficult for a normal citizen to relate to, but from my perspective as a conductor, I consider this feeling to be degrading only when compared to the feeling after you have been deputized. When you’re no longer the main in the relationship. I can already picture the crew laughing at me, finally “jogoo ametembea na vifaranga” translated to the queen’s language might mean different, but to these streets this is me hiding from everyone in town. I can’t wait for Tuesday and silence everyone. Waingo better not disappoint.

Sunday.

It’s around 6:00 pm and being a Sunday, people tend to hate working, siku ya wapoa  

“Makanga wa gari mzee, unarudi town?” Sam asks.

Instead of answering, I start complaining about how my day has been, how I miss hearing a beat play and not having to wait in line! Johnte hears me complain and comes running. Among us, he was the last person to start working with a manyaga and as you have guessed, I never gave him peace. At some point we boarded the vehicle secretly as passengers and started complaining about how old the vehicle was, hadi tukalipa fare apeleke gari car wash at least, then later that night we ambushed him and got our money back. For the better part of the day, I had done well hiding from him, but shetani ni nani?

“Hawa makanga wa gari mzee wanakuwanga na kelele sana,” Johnte says loudly while tapping my shoulder like how “odi” guys do. There is there no universe I’m winning this so I just smile nervously, desperately trying to change the topic.

“Narudi moja ya mshahara,” I finally answer back.

This is the problem of working with “wheelbarrow”. You have to shout extra hard for customers to board and there are no dramas while on board. Technically, all you’re dealing with is old folks who just want to get home, nothing more.

I serve a living God who comes to my rescue, “Johnte ita gari uingie shimo,” the stage manager shouts in kikuyu as he approaches us. Johnte pulls out his phone and calls his driver and starts walking to the petrol station, for those who are familiar with the Odeon part of town.

“Niingie Juja?” I ask him, diverting all attention to him. Sadly, Johnte hears me and shouts,

“Hiyo gari mzee haiwezi fika Juja!”

This is the problem with men. When one is being roasted, they all have to chip in and somehow laugh a little louder. For unknown reasons, every PSV worker who heard Johnte walks towards me, forming a small crowd. A lit roast session is the right word of what transverses next. Jonhte walks back and starts narrating how I never gave him peace,look who is laughing now?

Tuesday should get here already. I’m too young for this. I have always been the one roasting people. Little did I know these niggas hold grudges. Were it not for the cop who came and chased everyone away for causing traffic, the roast session would have gone a little longer. It had even started getting personal. This was the highlight of my day; I can’t wait for Tuesday and silence haters out here.

I am Muigai Chege and on Tuesday, I’m shaking Nairobi.