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Matatus
By Harmony | May 27, 2009 | 10:18 pm
Matatus are an interesting phenomenon in Kenya. Matatus are minibuses, usually Nissans, that serve as a primary form of public transportation for many Kenyans and this rather brave mzungu.
Matatus are designed to fit the driver and 14 passengers. Rarely are they ever so empty, however; there are usually between 18 and 24 people crammed inside. Mamas will keep their children in their laps (even if they are teenagers), women tend to get the first available seats, and the men are hunched over them standing, folded in half like tacos, with their armpits in our faces and their noses in our breasts. Dead fish smell up the cabin, and Fresh Fry barrels and/or mattresses are tied to the windshield wiper on the hatchback. The seats are not always bolted to the frame, and if there are seat belts, they never work (one time, I saw a seat belt and fastened it, only to discover that it wouldn’t un-fasten). Pictures of rap artists or soccer stars are taped to the walls and windows, next to the stickers with Swahili proverbs. Rap music plays loudly. Tassel accents sway on the dashboard. Matatus have only two speeds - 1) holy shit, we’re gonna die, and 2) OMG, I can’t believe they’re still taking passengers with only two working gears.
If a bus has more than 14 passengers, then it becomes subject to a bribe at a local police checkpoint. Most matatus I’ve traveled in have paid for the bribe in advance, so often times, we just slow down and roll through the checkpoints as the driver gives the police officer a grin and a thumbs up. However, some have not, as it is amusingly apparent, when, as we approach the checkpoint, the tout instructs passengers to lie on the floor and then joins them in a disappearing act. Once, a tout asked a couple of passengers get out of the bus on one side of the checkpoint, walk 50 feet through the checkpoint, then reboard on the other side.
Travel on a matatu can take an inordinate amount of time. It tends to stop often, to pick up passengers, even if those passengers are still a half-mile down the path leading to the main road. Matatus like to wait, and wait, and wait, in order to maximize its number of passengers and therefore its total fare potential. They are known to spend a lot of time in reverse (often into oncoming traffic), and sometimes take unauthorized routes, to the chagrin of its passengers. Yet, in spite of all these delays, they are still faster than you’d expect, because many times you can pick one up on the main road in a matter of minutes, unlike the US, where you wait for a bus that usually runs on a specified schedule. And although there are “stages” (bus stops) to alight, you can usually get picked up and dropped off anywhere, if you ask nicely.
A mzungu flags a matatu down by sticking out an arm as it passes. A Kenyan can flag one down using ESP. Matatus acknowledge this signal through a combination of beeping and flashing the high beams, which can mean one of several things:
BEEEP– “You don’t see me but I have spare seats in my matatu.”
BEEEP – “I see you, but I do not have spare seats in my matatu.”
BEEEP – “I cannot take your fare because I am going in a different direction.”
BEEEP – “I can take your fare…get in.”
BEEEP – “In a moment I will swerve around a pothole, and knock you over. Move!”
Okay, so those “beeep” descriptions were adapted from a rather funny but accurate chapter in The Undercover Economist by Tim Harford, as he described his travel experiences in Douala, Cameroon. But it totally applies here in Kenya, as well.
Matatu accidents are a part of life, unfortunately. The passenger seat up front next to the driver is called the Death Seat. I try not to sit there if I can at all avoid it, even though it is often roomier and more comfortable. The safest seat, I’m told, is in the middle of the bus. That way, when it rolls over - uh, I mean *if* it rolls over - then you’ll be comfortably padded by the teenager sitting in his mama’s lap beside you, instead of decapitated by large shards of un-safety glass and iron.
I’ve been on a matatu that has been in an accident, though it was not such a gruesome story. One day, while passing through Likoni after crossing the ferry, my matatu ran over a man pushing an ice cream cart. Well, actually, the man jumped out of the way, but the cart was seriously plowed over. As luck would have it, a police lorry was driving by at that exact moment, and the matatu driver was instructed to pull over (he was seemingly going to make a run for it). Before the matatu could come to a complete stop, everyone piled out and demanded their money back from the tout. Within seconds, an empty matatu came by and took us all on our way.
Overall, I have a love-hate relationship with matatus. On some days, they are damned interesting. On others, they can be a headache. I guess it partly depends on my state of mind. In the end, they get me where I need to go, and for this girl who lives so far away from everything, I am grateful.
Topics: Culture |
May 28th, 2009 at 2:00 am
hahaha!!
I’m sorry they’re frustrating at times, but that was a hilarious post.
“The passenger seat up front next to the driver is called the Death Seat.” made me shoot orange juice out of my nose!
June 9th, 2009 at 10:50 pm
i share the same love/hate relationship with matatus. sometimes they are so frustrating, but most of the time i find them rather amusing. i wrote a post on them myself (you can check it out on my blog if you’re interested, called “matatu”), but yours was much more comprehensive. very entertaining!
March 31st, 2010 at 2:03 am
I miss matati, in us I drive myself everywhere. I miss when we would come to a point where we entered dirt road leading to our village. Then the matatu would pick up more passangers. The boys would ride outside on top of the mat. It was fun.