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If
asked whether I would return to Mombasa Road as a place of work, I will be kind
of cynical and jittery. But not much owing to Standard Group being found along
this road. What with the major motor companies also having pitched tent on this
gateway to the coastal city of Mombasa Raha (Ain't
implying that which was an afterhours program on K-24 by Gertrude Mungai) among
the many second rate and third rate banks that have set shop owing to a large
number of residents now that the place is the frontier that probably excites
the habitation sentiments of some of the growing
Nairobi middle-class that reside along this road and who use it
most of the time to and fro work.
Let’s
just say the place was not as story minded as the places I have been to having
failed to elicit chutzpah as initially thought of. Or in other words, it failed
to trigger the scribe in me to take cognizance of the little things that please
the mind; nonetheless I will try to jog my memory about the few things that did
capture my eyes. They were sundry but I will narrow down to the most outspoken
even though they may sound so mundane you would wonder why someone should write
about them. As an observer, it does not blind the eyes to look at the parochial
picture neither does it break a bone to tell it as it is. Even though my
literary skills are now being vamoosed as a result of contentment and agreeably
living it to go to the dogs. What with sleep having taken over me, and the
ideals of wanting to redefine my writing having been attenuated.
As
a Lang’ata road user (Let’s just say my days are numbered on this road, maybe
not, who knows?), I usually have to alight at Nyayo. That is the point where
you can be stressed if you are not going to surmount the challenge of climbing
stairs that have been imposed to us mat users because we are not well endowed
financially as a result of working for a body corporate that maybe won’t let us
see the inside of an own personal car in the event we don’t pull our socks up
and see to it that the business is selling. As a continuing post-grad student,
it behooves of me to act rational and add one plus one that at the end of the
day, in the event that sales revenue skyrocket, then surely, there will be no
doubt as to whether or not I will be having my own nyamburko.
There is a reason as to why I need to be steering that wheel. I usually see
young pretty nubile behind fuel-guzzling SUVs and even though I may be tempted
to say it is a sponsor they are gold digging, the reality is that they are life
smarts and are doing just right for now.
On
the other hand I am boxed in a situation whereby contemplating to leave my
employer will leave me in quagmire (Don’t many of us think so?). We are a
growing company. Owing to that as pioneer employees, we set the agenda and work
plan to make things work. So if things are rosy, I might start with a Tsusho as
I look for a way to go Bavarian (which I am sure is sooner). If not, I may as
well look for greener pastures (which I am not good at) or keep praying and
working hard hoping that things will yield after the hard work. If not, the
status quo will prevail and mark you, I will remain a mat user which will well
give me lackadaisical stories to pencil push about. I need to mingle with guys
who roll like yesterday. Those who throw jibes at you when you own a Samsung
when they do iOS. And they are not ashamed to ask why people own a Samsung
phone (and there tone is both sarcastic and paradoxical).
Hold
those thoughts. A brief interlude. What makes a company tick? Is it the way it
treats its employees? Does karma comes back to haunt it in the event it has a
high attrition rate of employees?
Since
I am not well versed with such matters, I will be on a learning mode. Trying to
inject in something new and avoiding the old tenet called experience which is
good but may as well be disastrous. Juxtaposing the two together can be a
rich experience in either way.
Back
to basics. Mombasa road. Let me indulge you about the two stages I was
alighting and boarding a mat to work. In the morning, Nyayo was the place I did
board a mat. General Motors is the point I did alight. The reverse was true in
the evening. GM was busier of the two stages in the morning. However, again,
just like Nyayo, the fly-over which is actually supposed to be called a
footbridge was even more vexing than the one in Nyayo in the morning. On the
contrary, in the evening, the Nyayo fly-over becomes a beehive of activities.
With most young men selling pullovers, toys and jeans, and khaki and canvas
trousers and the many men and women who sell other products on your way to
boarding a mat to jav back home to increase their daily eke.
This
brings me to the point of craving. What is it with roasted maize in the
evening? They are aromatic from afar. Just the sight of the maize (for the
advanced its corn) makes you want to order for one. A cob retails for say
sh.40. How times change. What I used to get for Sh.10
has skyrocketed by 400% ten years down the line. And Nyayo also has
these snacks like samosas and eggs and smokies that will indulge you
to make a stopover for a bite like most ladies do. Apparently, men don’t
love these biting. If you see most ladies bulging by the day, it apparently has
a semblance to the many cheap foods you can buy on the roadside.
I
have never been to Panari. Why lie. The building has a well appointed façade
and with it beigesh color (men are color blind though) and even though it
stands erect next to the road, the aesthetic values have somehow been robbed
because there is no succulent vegetation that is synonymous with opulence. It
being juxtaposed to the desertish aura makes its serene not that inviting.
However I am not a connoisseur when it comes to location and hotels, but I bet
this also qualifies for a motel if my English has not gone to the dogs.
Likewise the Ekas and Serenis of this road. I wish they could have been tacked
just a little bit inside. Albeit all these inadequacies, they are landmarks
that are worth penning home about.
Unaffordable
to the plebian like yours truly as these places of luxury may be, one thing is
for sure. I really need to pull my socks and voila, things may turn up.
KPA
slums is also another facet that made me go fascinated about how people can be
really ingenious and sought the appetence of the proletariat who want
some chow for less. If you can buy chicken with ugali for 150, what more do you need. The
many mabati food joints that serve people
near the port terminus in the city just tells of how the civility of the nation
is proclaimed. Obviously, there is that person who profits from the structures
erected on the land because that is how Nairobi has metamorphosed.
Ooooh!
I had even forgotten to intimate about the GM stage on your way back. Frequent
users will attest to the fact that there is certain dude (tout) who is usually
high on some drugs and he dresses in fitting clothes. The hallucinations and
delusions of perpetual drug use have made him mobile so much so that he is
always in motion running like a hyena if you have seen one in the orphanage.
The guy is also slim. Maybe 5”5 tall and he looks muscled even though his body
mass may not be more that 60 Kg. The corner of his mouth usually
either has saliva or the drugs that he is using and his eyes are usually
bloodshot red. He makes his living by ensuring mats heading to either Nyayo or
town are boarded by passengers. His distinctive wear was a pipe jeans trouser,
black boots and a t-shirt that made some ladies brand him gay because he ran
like one. Misconceived perceptions I may say because I saw his was an
expression.
And
there was this lady riding a nduthi (motorbike). She is easily identifiable
from afar because she parks her bike segregated from other bodaboda riders. And most people like her because
of the fact that she is the type that kizuri
chajiza kibaya chajitembeza. You never see her call her clients, and
most of the time, she will find one which means it’s rare to find her idle
waiting for someone to take to point B. My friend and immediate boss Poloji
told me she was once interviewed with one of the local stations about the
hustle now that she is the only lady plying her trade on this route. Poloji
even had the guts to use her motorbike. Ideally, if it were not for being late,
I prefer walking as opposed to riding on a bike. It makes me jittery. The
presence of tracks on the road and a sharp bend kind of made me ensure I woke
up early enough to make it to work.
From
the road to the place of work, it was roughly a twenty minutes walk. The only
downside of walking was that you ended up having dusty shoes and trousers. That
is the reason why most people used motorbikes so as to arrive with neatly
polished shoes in the office. The thought of saving that dime also meant I had
to trek.
I
loved Mombasa road for one thing, there was usually a way of evading jam by the
quick-witted drivers who had knowledge on the various routes. There is the
southern bypass that offers a better get away from the bulging traffic on your
way to Bellevue. Popo Road also offers an avenue of escaping the jam on Mombasa
road and skilled drivers will take less minutes and you find yourself in Nyayo.
As compared to Lang’ata, Mombasa Road is highly networked and
especially en-route South B, which is also bigger that Lang’ata in
population size. For that matter, I may be tempted to also say that
Indimanje and Embassava Sacco drivers are more capricious with routes and well
versed with alternatives in the event one section proves to be stalling in
motion.
I
loved the 14-seater matatus because they were less prone to marauding conmen
and did fill faster than the 33-seater matatus which are not only stuffy and
kind of crowded because some conductors even let passengers stand inside but
also there are chances you may forget to alight on the right stage because of
the idea that you are a passenger.
All
in all, Mombasa road was a nice experience. The two months were worth it. I
loved CrowDaddy. Again, I will have to plan to make an entry there. The best
thing was that the fare on this route was not outrageous. Vehicles did flow
smoothly and in less than ten minutes or so you were at the place of alighting
if the mat did not make unnecessary stopovers along the road.
The
business is now over and the much there is is to wait and find out how
Chandarana will welcome me. I am headed to Parklands, the home of the Indian
hegemony. A place far much cooler and full of opulence. Maybe, things will
transpire well and I might just smile widely sooner. You never know.
HASTA
LA VISTA BABY.
[Picture Source]
