September 29, 2003

On Sunday, Mama, Mary, Rachel, and I rode the matatu into town. This is an indescribable experience. Matatus are minivans with 4 rows of seats behind the driver. Workers hang out the side, calling for passengers, and the van won't leave until full. By full, I mean at least 4 people in each row, children on their laps, shopping bags, and sometimes chickens. One volunteer counted 27 people in her matatu.

September 30, 2003

Tonight, I took a slightly larger van with seats around the side. We squeezed nearly 20 people onto the seats and at least 10 schoolchildren standing. They couldn't even close the back door. One volunteer was sitting on another's lap, while I was nearly suffocated by a schoolgirl's bosoms. Guys, this isn't as pleasant as it sounds! Everytime I turned my head to talk to Chris and Laura, the children would touch my hair, giggling and speaking Kikuyu.

This overloading of the matatu, by the way, is illegal. But the police happily take bribes. I've already witnessed this, as have most of us. We were thinking it would be safer to cut out the middle man and pay the police to take us home! Two volunteers have also been on a matatu when it broke down. In one case, the wheel actually fell off.

November 17, 2003

Today, I had a very typical ride on the matatu bus. It has seats on the side and then they shove people into the center aisle. This is all well and good until we reach the junction where the police invariably wait to collect their bribes for overcrowding. Generally, right before we turn the corner to the junction, the tout will shout something in Kiswahili, which I assume by the reaction translates to, "Squat down!" I was unlucky enough once to be standing in the aisle when this happened. Because the space is so confined, there is no possibility of getting all the way down. Instead you're left in this sort of "squat limbo" that's hell on the body. Thanks to the choo, my thigh muscles have become much more developed than your average American, but I'm still not Kenyan. It's pretty embarrassing to collapse minutes before a gray-haired mama.

November 18, 2003

Just when you thought I couldn't talk about matatus anymore - at 5am tomorrow, a nationwide matatu strike begins. This is to protest the laws that take effect in January requiring speed governors and seatbelts for every passenger. We were told that some matatus would still be running, but since it's common practice to throw rocks at the strikebreakers, we were ordered not to board. Instead, gari la Peace Corps will pick us up at the road and take us home at night. I guess this means no beer at the Silver for awhile.

February 2, 2004

The town, the country, right now is at a standstill. February 1 was the deadline for matatus to equip themselves with seatbelts and speed governors or face massive fines. The drivers, in response, have decided not to run at all. We have only one matatu in town that has conformed. Since it takes at least 5 hours to get to Nairobi and back, he can make maybe 2 trips a day, carrying 14 people. So I may not be going anywhere for awhile.

We went to the office and ran into my director, Bill. He needed to get to Nairobi for a meeting, but hadn’t brought his truck with him. He suggested going to the Kenol station, where all of the safari vehicles stop, and looking for a car there. Then, strangely, he disappeared. So Allison and I walked down there. Bill was there, talking to a taxi driver and arranging a ride. But I guess the ride was just for him. Even though there was an empty seat in the taxi, he left without even acknowledging our presence. So much for Kenyan hospitality!

We spoke to the waiters at the restaurant there, and they said they would work on getting her a ride. But after two hours, we’d had no luck, so we headed back to my place to cook more good food and watch movies. This morning, she went there again, and after 5 hours, finally got a ride with a British couple who live in Kenya.

April 6, 2004

When we got back to Mombasa, it was nearly dark, and we still needed to catch a matatu to Bert’s site. I will never again complain about having to wait an hour for a matatu to fill up before it leaves. This is much better than the alternative. There were about 40 people waiting to go to Port Reitz when we arrived, and Kenyans don’t believe in queueing. Even 60-year old mamas will stoop to elbowing you if it will guarantee them a seat. After fighting and losing spots on 2 vehicles, Bert finally had to hire a strongarm. She gave a guy 20 shillings, and he got us spots on the next vehicle.

Also, the government regulations did next to nothing in the end. The seatbelts and speed governors were broken or removed within a month. At least in my area, we’re still sticking to the passenger limit of 14. In Mombasa, they stick to the rules in the city, and then start shoving in more people as soon as they’ve passed the checkpoint.

December 11, 2004

December is the worst time to travel in Kenya. Everyone is visiting their families, and their desire for fast transport and good seats makes Kenyans lose what civility they have. Normally, there is a half-empty matatu waiting at the Narok stage, but today I had to take a number and wait while several other vehicles filled. When mine finally arrived, the other passengers pushed and shoved their way past me to get in first. Normally, I’d be pushing and shoving back, but I didn’t have the energy the way I was feeling. By the time I boarded, there was one seat left, the back row, middle seat. I can’t think of a worse position for a queasy white girl, especially given that Kenyans NEVER open their windows. Seriously, it can be 120 degrees in the shade, and if I’m lucky enough to have a window, a Kenyan seated in the middle will actually reach past me and close it without saying a word.

December 28, 2004

I left for Nakuru last Thursday. I was still feeling pretty sick, but I knew travel would be worse on Christmas Eve. As it was, I had to wait about 90 minutes for a vehicle to come. In some ways, this was better, since I’m usually waiting at least that long for the vehicle there to fill. But this time I had to stand in the hot sun while people gawked at me applying sunscreen, so I was cranky by the time we loaded.

I managed to sit by a window, which the people around me kept shutting minutes after I’d open it. Finally, I lost my civility and started opening it right back up saying, “Ninahitaji hewa!!!” (I need air.)

March 1, 2005

We stood near the stage for a minute trying to decide our next move. That moment of hesitation was all the men of Kisii needed. They surrounded us like a pack of wolves. I explained in Kiswahili that we didn’t need their help, but the more adamant I was, the worse the harassment got. I screamed at them to go away, but that made more come – at least 10 of them chanting, “Where to? Where to? Where to?”

Debbie and I had to walk across the street to get away from them. We finally decided to take a matatu to Nakuru and catch another one here headed for Nairobi.

The drive to Nakuru was beautiful through tea fields in Kericho. It would have been a nice trip if not for the man behind us vomiting into his hankie every few minutes. It took us awhile to notice. Debbie just kept saying, “Why does it smell like rotten food in here?”

Upon arriving in Nakuru, we ran into even worse harassment and made our way quickly to the Nairobi stage, where the Mololine employees are so well behaved. Really, they’re so polite, I wish I could take Mololine everywhere! We did get bothered a bit by a hawker who stood at my window for several minutes trying to sell me things. Finally, I said in Kiswahili, “If you stand here, you won’t sell anything.” The other hawkers laughed, but then the passenger in front of me suddenly decided to buy a pack of gum. Jerk! The hawker smiled at me and said, “You see! I have sold something. But not to you. I would never sell to you. You must just admire.” That’s when Debbie shut the window in his face!