A Whole New Travel Experience

After years of NYC cabbie experiences, I have developed quite the animosity for the irate drivers of those quintessentially New York yellow beasts. So when I first arrived in Kenya, it was with great interest that I learned about the public system of minibuses called “matatus.” However, for most foreigners it is either a love or “oh god, never again, do you have a death wish” type relationship? During my orientation, our guides warned us against the dangers and drawbacks of matatu travel, using everything from a skit to explain pick pocketing techniques to an explanation of the mamba’s (conductors in a sense) hand gestures. My mother would never approve; I could not wait for my first matatu journey.

The Swahili word “matatu” literally translates to many three, but essentially means 30 cents, denoting the cheapest way of travel for the masses in Kenya. On the streets of Nairobi, two types prevail, the smaller matatu, usually a Nissan minibus legally carries 14 passengers and the larger mathrees, buses that can accommodate many more passengers, dwarfing there smaller brethren. Each runs a particular route, with handwritten placards denoting the number of the matatus route. However, many will operate on two different routes depending on the time of day and ability for profit. Good luck finding a route map, though, asking locals for information and simple experience will have to suffice.

Though they make up a larger public transportation system, all are privately held, reflecting the owner’s style with individual paint schemes and decals and blasting music. Matatus generally come with a white exterior, though many trick out with specialized rims and decals placed along the windows. The décor ranges from English premier league to obnoxious symbols of American wealth- Hummer, Loius Vuitton and others. Many adorn back windows with biblical quotations, a symbolic display considering many passengers pray for safe arrival once inside.

In the tradition of cabbie driving, matatu drivers take aggressive driving to a new level of art. Sans seat belts passengers whip back and forth as the vans dart through traffic, making two-lane roadways into improvised six lane bypasses. Anything that resembles, a short cut, even goat paths, will suffice if a little time can be saved. Armed with horns more appropriate for freight trains, drivers use one hand for steering and the other for warning everyone they’re coming. If one is lucky enough to find a matatu with a large television screen mounted in front, then the hardcore Kenyan rap video becomes a welcome reprieve. However, the two seats next to the driver give a candid view of the insanity that is Kenyan driving. When sitting in the middle, one is left in the precarious position of witnessing approaching danger, while having nothing to grab on to. Either make friends with your seat mate or reach for the driver and risk pulling the van back into the path of the tractor-trailer he just cut off.

As matatus approach stops, called stages, the conductors hang out the middle window, reaching along the outside to open the door. As passengers file out, the conductors shout the prices and beckon customers to their rides. Using a hand system to advertise route prices, one finger or closed fists bumped together equals 10 Bob, two fingers is 20 Bob, closed fist held high represents 50, and one extended pinky a 60 Bob ride, the conductors make impassioned pleas, and often try to drag customers towards unwanted routes. Before one learns the real prices of rides, reflected in a constant flow of supply and demand, often mizungus will receive inflated prices. However, when called out on the trickery, a smile and shrug often accompany the correct price.

On the matatu lines, foreigners remain easy targets for unscrupulous conductors and others looking to skim from one’s pocket. One morning, during rush hour, the twins and I waited patiently as matatu after matatu passed, too filled for all three of us. A small crowd had gathered, waiting for a cramped ride to work. When a fairly empty one approached, Louis bargained the price for all three of us and as we entered a surge joined us, pushing into the van and separating us. As I sat in the back corner, a well dressed man asked me to slide over, claiming an injured leg that did not seem to bother him when he ran to join us (a classic move as we had been taught). With close to 20 people inside, another man in tatters sat in the gap, blocking the exit, and each of the twins either sat upon someone of acted as a seat herself. Next to me, the man in a pressed button-down, pulled out the newspaper and I read from one eye about a recent string of inside job armored car heists. We ambled along to our stop and the conductor tapped on the window indicating a stop. As a stood up slightly, I nudged the man blocking the way, but he played dumb and did not move. I then felt a slight tug on my pants, moved the paper aside, just in time to see the well-dressed mans opposite hand retreating from my pocket. A few obscenities later and hard shove to his companion blocking my way; I was outside, money still intact. I stood next to the window, extending a customary international relation gesture (yes, Top Gun fans, that one), as the man and his bad leg slid across to the other side.

Luckily, for me, the man still needed work on his trade, but Yvonne’s did not fair so well, loosing 500 shillings, but gaining a story for the cost. Despite the dangers, matatus remain the cheapest and most thrilling way to move about town.