NAIROBIAN MATATUS; MY PERSPECTIVE

'Mat za Diaspora ni mwenda.' Placing my hand on my mouth as if blowing something between my clenched fists.

When one of my colleagues in Kabete told me that matatus from Rongai are the illest in Nairobi in terms of being aligned to a given Sacco, I thought that was a half-truth and too farfetched. Never mind that I sometimes used the route they plied but never ended up in Diaspora. That was sometimes last year and man, am slowly owning up. This nganyas are the bomb, they ooze a flair of trepidation, have staggered rims, extensions in the front and back, make so much noise to get way, play riddimz and are custom named and designed so that they charge you an extra dime for using them to commute to and fro town. Zi huitwa mat za ma-wire or is it just wire. I am not sure.

That aside, I have devised a plan of ensuring I use very little dough on fare to and from town because mats can be expensive. I ensure I am at the bus stage before 0600 hrs because if I make a mistake of arriving two minutes later, I will pay sh.20 or sometimes thirty extra of the normal amount I pay. The economic times are harsh for me though (Kawaida yetu kuongea vile maisha ni ngumu kama waKenya). Again, I ensure I ask the conductor the amount before boarding because I might just be having a fixed figure in my pocket and if he charges anything extra, he may cause a deficit on my budget and I may be forced to ask for alms which I hate doing sometimes later on.

Again I never leave work till I have done overtime. It is practical. If I leave work before 2000 hrs, I might be forced to pay the extra amount which I am obviously usually forced to pay when it rains. And that means the next day I have to either take tea served at the work place while whistling (kunywa chai bila kakitu) or take goods on credit. Oh kuwa na kakitu means you are liquid in other Sheng parlance. My liquidity is not worth talking about. But as long as I can be able to do one two three, I am content.

Noooo, I am just looking for better prospects. That which will give me comfort. However, I am learning. As a writer cum zetetist, I know the essence of just doing things to have a better perspective. It is crucial to broaden one’s scope of ken because instinctively, there will be a point in time when it will come in handy and you may smile all the way to the bank like a dredger having dug to his first plentiful in terms of the goldmine after patience and perseverance in the adit for long.

Now to the main issue at hand, Matatus. Ever since my car broke and it is now lying in a yard rotting because I am not able to repair it after the engine knocked, I am a mathree user and I love it. (About the car, it is one of those which my oldman had before he retired and since he had a couple, he saw it fit to lend me one to use but before I knew it, it was grounded then I realized there is owning a car and then there is maintaining it).

I lost my first smartphone while struggling to enter a matatu after some niceties in westy by my buddies back then when we were in campus (I had a cool phone then). That reminds me of those rogue and heavily built fellows who enter matatus in trio or tetra and position themselves next to gullible men and women whose innocence sometimes leads them to not only lose their smartphones, but also other valuables they own.

If careful, you can notice as phones or bags are exchanging hands and most of the times, these people are usually working in cohorts with the mat conductors because the vehicle will strategically stop to pick them up in designated haulage areas where they are known to like boarding the mat. What is worse is that they sometimes are armed with pistols and can execute their crimes when being watched in broad daylight because just like any other person, they consider themselves as part of hard working Kenyans who are also out to make a living. Only that theirs is an illegal act. And not many speak for lack of enough evidence or fear.

I have never seen a matatu that has ‘scratched’ a police car or gotten into collision with a patrol car. Considering the way the traffic police like to openly pull aside a mat and they enter the vehicle, never mind that the traffic boss declared it illegal for a cop to enter any vehicle. But Kenyan marshals never issue tickets to traffic offenders. Because they also have to eat, and matatus are their medium of conduit, they ensure all passengers alight before they can start their obviously known extortion quest. Mid-month is the worst, when guys are broke. Hope that someday in the future, lady lack will smile on me and I will witness a scene of where a mat has got into slight collision with a prowl car.

There are those times when you are in the mat and a hot mama comes and sits next to you. What is worse is when she has to breastfeed her tot and you are sitting beside her in these mats having two seats. Mental illusions means that she will stir the hornet’s nest but since you are javving, you need to keep up appearances by feigning ignorance, even though you may wish to be the tot. Most times, you look away but once in a while you steal glances at her doing her thing just to confirm that you are a sane chap. Sitting next to a hot lady has its intricacies, you are suspicious most of the time. You either want to start a conversation but aren’t sure where to begin. You need to be composed. Most of these ladies have huge smartphones which they pop out immediately they sit and Facebook or whatsapp is their idea of catching up. Or they play Candy Crush.

However, a person of my ilk rarely knows how to chat strangers, you start a conversation and I will nod my head or just smile because it’s tricky talking to someone in a mat. Rarely do I take advantage when a hot chic seats next to me. That I have seen many who I have not asked for their cell phone numbers is not in denial. Which reminds me of my former campus mate who wanted to chat up a certain lady he was seated next to in a mat, next to the cockpit. Being a witty chap, he dropped his phone on the floor of the car stealthily and asked the lady to call him since he had misplaced his phone. And that is how he started a chat and easily got a number. I presumed the lady was hot. I doubt if I have the guts to pull this scenario. Maybe, I am not a ladies man. However, never mistake my timidity or lack of aggression. For in Swahili they say, “Simba mwenda pole,ndiye mla nyama.” Anyway, chatting with a stranger can be difficult, unless you share the same objective or mission. A passenger is not one of the two.

So there was this hot mama who came and sat next to me on my way to work. She had this see through tights that exposed her blemish free yellow yellow things which forced me to stare at nothing but the thighs. He wide hips were also curvy and I felt like they were piercing me so much so I was already experiencing carnal illusions. Her sexy busty cleavage was exposed to reveal two firm, round, taut and voluptuous twins which is usually rare in most Kenyan ladies. Her cologne was not only an aphrodisiac you immediately wanted to engage her in public disgrace in the devil’s dance but also it did complement her flawless skin.

Since it was in the morning and we were listening to Matatu FM, I could tell she was also feeling the vibe of Kenya’s women rep, Maina Kageni, because of his incessant opine when they engage the morning conversation. At some point, she decided to play Asphalt. And she was driving it in such a manner that she had to occasionally place her elbow on my uncharacteristically flat chest. That meant she also adjusted her body in a suggestive manner but the macho in me prevented my instincts from taking advantage or reprimanding her to behave. Thoughts of her dressing was enough to tell me she was either in a relationship that was not satisfactory of either she was single. That she was driving and not playing the mundane Candy Crush most ladies love made me wanna take her number. Haisulu sikuchukua. Pole Musa.

God knows how I survived the rippling effects of both being held hostage and at the same time overpowered by the temptations of the flesh. I would have incoherently spoken to her had she started a conversation at the prime. Luckily, I remained sane even though my heart was throbbing and I almost developed goose bumps because she was too fly I almost became timid or chicken out. Leave alone her seductive thick legs giving me parochial thoughts, he angelic face was dazzling and worth a future rendezvous. Man, I survived the ordeal.

Then there is this socialite whose pictures are usually awash on the internet (she is yet to break the internet and go mainstream with her whory job). Maybe, she should go nude by telling her closest male pal leak the nudes then come out guns blazing or try acting a sex tape like the infamous Kim Kardashian with a prominent chap. That way, she will have many followers on Facebook because the carnal desires of men rage sometimes even though they know that it is a whore they are dealing with. Kind of interesting why a man prefers a call girl at the expense of many virgins who want someone to break them. Never mind that men forget the faux pas when their brains sink down south.

The socialite was tall (above six foot), dark complexioned and very curvy although she was not well endowed on the derriere because her hips that were well defined and overshadowed what is not seen. I usually noticed her coming from exercises because of the way she was draped while javving on my way to work a number of occasions. She was with a small man in tow, maybe a gym instructor preparing her for something big. Say wedding.

Being a very tall chic and residing in this middle class estate, she was easily visible and standing out. She had long and thick legs, a wry smile, small bust and luscious lips. A perfect size 8 that sometimes got me thinking. In fact, she was a walking advert of what she auctions or sells to the next available bidder if her rapid sending of lascivious pictures to market herself on our very own Ghafla! platform is anything to go by.

 
To be continued. [The rest coming is pine]