How many people can you fit into a matatu? The law says 14 passengers. Ok but what about short distances, like from Kilifi across the bridge to Mnarani on matatu that’s as fresh as Barbara Cartland? I counted 21 on the journey home today, that’s seven more people stuffed into a small nissan mini-bus fit for 14 passengers.
Another volunteer last week asked me do you ever think what the f*ck am I doing here? Atleast once a week I reckon. Stuffed into a small van with a 50 plus year old woman sitting on your lap at 6pm in the evening, it crossed my mind: How have ended up in a situation like this, its not like I’m Wayne Rooney or nothing.
By the time we got to our village some people started to get out and my passenger rose from my knee and sits in the seat vacated beside me. I’m not sure what the etiquette is on situations like this, it's a bit awkward. So I smile at her. I hope she reads it as a 'the matatu is packed, I understand you had to sit on my lap' embarrassed type smile and not a 'I enjoyed that' sleazy type smile. Oh dear, just look out the window for gods sake.
By the time I go to get out at my stop, the matatu conductor says that Arsenal have a big game on Wednesday. I agree but say hopefully arsenal will have they’re injured striker back and go to walk away (the matatu still almost full cant leave without him) but no, he wants to talk football. The passengers are getting impatient, I standing in the middle of the road listening to their conductor so it appears like its my fault for the delay and a few scowls and muttering get tossed from the bowels of the public service vehicle in my direction.
“Ah we we twende boss, kesho…Big game Wednesday (thumbs up sign)” and he smiles, gives me a thumbs and disappears into the matatu to argue with the few impatient passengers.
I walk toward my house…I get the usual greetings and I don’t care how many times I get it, I love when the kids fist bump Arsenal at me.
I’m having four bananas and a bottle of water for dinner, I’m 200 pages into a mammoth book I started reading last week and listen to some Senegalese music a friend has given on my laptop. Every time I get up from my seat and leave the fan I sweat. When I return, the cool air gives my an earache if I don’t move every so often. It turns out I have Internet for a while tonight, it’s the first time I’ve got reception her in ages. It came and went but I managed to download and watch Saturday’s grand national on YouTube. I bet Tony McCoy is having a better meal than me.
My clothes cleaner (that’s the name I have for her in my phone) is coming tomorrow morning at 8. She’ll bring her 3 month old boy and I’ll take cushions from my couch so she can place him down on the ground to sleep when she washes my clothes just outside my front door. I don’t know why I asked her to come so early come to think of it. There’s no power tomorrow so I cant go to work so she could come later, but its probably to late to ask her to come later.
No matter I’ll just get up a read for a while and then use my laptop for the precious 2.5 hrs power it will give me later on in the morning. Then the search for breeze somewhere for the afternoon. I’ll play football tomorrow evening at 6 on a surface that you couldn’t land a lunar module on. The sun goes down at 6:50ish but we’ll play until 8. There’s no floodlights or lights for that matter so I’ll have an excuse for a misplaced pass or 34.
It’s not exciting, nor terribly interesting. It might even be dull. But I never thought I’d live one like it and I’ll get few 24hrs like it in a years time.
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