Essential Insights at a glance:
I can't help but wonder what would happen if we were plying Kitengela route. Maybe, ningekuwa nime parara kama ma dancers wa Willy Paul
You are more likely to get conned in Nairobi than in L.A. (Los Angeles not Lang'ata). Do you know why? Dummy, it's simple. It's because you are in Nairobi and not L.A!
And women have also gotten their skin in this game. You will hear someone claim her name is Sify, and when you check their ID, it reads Siphrosa Bosibori Kemunto
The Waiting Game
Did you know that if you fall sick at Afya House, (yes, health house) you won't be treated there? Instead, you will be rushed to a hospital like anyone else. The same story applies at Afya Centre. But you already knew all that. Wait, you didn't? Well, now you do.
As I write this, I am calmly seated at the back of the matatu, waiting for it to fill. Destination? Just take a guess… You guessed right: Afya Centre! It's been close to 45 minutes since I got here, and I'm getting annoyed angry and impatient. It's ironical that I am in my happy socks yet there's nothing happy about sitting in this matatu.
You see that frustration that you feel when you are in a hurry, trying to navigate town, and some love birds are leisurely strolling, holding hands and taking up all the space? That's exactly how I am feeling right now. I am frustrated for several reasons. Three actually.
First, the makangas were fighting over me as if I am a kind of celebrity or worse, a politician who had abandoned his Land cruiser V8 during the campaign period and now pretends to understand the struggles of the common mwananchi. That made me feel special because they saw my true value. They were shouting "Bazenga ingia hii. Moja tao!". So, I boarded, thinking it wouldn't take long to fill up. Yet here I am, still waiting, as if I fell for some political promises.
Second, I had my eyes on that ka front seat next to the driver, but as I opened the door, some kind soul decided to hop out first and directed me to the middle seat, that ka tiny one by the gear stick. No way. I refused and made my way straight to the back. I also can't risk using the other middle seats in the matatu, because these matatus are like Kenyan relationships: there's always room for more, and I am not about to pay these INDIMANJE touts my whooping 50 bob to squeeze with someone on a sambaza. My ass deserves better.
Finally, I am pissed because even though it looks like the matatu is short by just two passengers, every time someone gets in, another person steps down. They are placeholders to lure passengers in that matatu. The makangas kept whistling and banging on the side, yelling "moja tao". Sometimes they change the rhythm to "Oya TAO-BS ndani". Then, the driver keeps revving the engine as if he is about to take off but went nowhere. He's applying Newton's first law of motion: an object at rest remains at rest unless acted upon by some external force.
And to top it all off, this matatu is a living example of an unroadworthy vehicle. I have no idea how it's still allowed to be on the road. Someone at NTSA is definitely sleeping on his job, or the traffic police are taking tea (or soda) bending rules and lanes.
The upholstery tells you everything. It's a clear indicator that it has seen better days. Let me try that again, the upholstery is a clear indicator that this matatu is ANCIENT! When I beat the cushions, dust flies everywhere. I can't help but wonder what would happen if we were plying the Kitengela route. Maybe, ningekuwa nime parara kama ma dancers wa Willy Paul- not my words, ask Stoopid Boy.
Maybe, ningekuwa nime parara kama ma dancers wa Willy Paul- not my words, ask Stoopid Boy.
Old is gold, I tell you. Something about this matatu screams that it belongs to a mhenga. It's practically oozing wisdom, as evidenced by those stickers plastered on the walls.
Two of them seemed to be responding directly to my frustrations: Kama uko na haraka ungekuja Jana. A slap in the face for anyone in a hurry. Another one complemented it by saying Kama uko na haraka shuka ukimbie. As if that wasn't enough, the one that justified overloading the passengers sealed the deal: Tusongeane, hii si wheel chair!
As I sat in that matatu, losing patience with each passing minute, I kept staring at my Patek Philippe. What? Yes, Patek Philippe. Kwani you think I can't afford it? My friend, time is relative, and so is my watch.
As I wondered when we'll finally leave this spot, my mind wandered into a riddle from Game of Thrones that posed the question? Where does power truly lie? In a room sat three great men: a king, a priest, and a rich man. Each great man bids the sellsword to kill the other two. Who lives, who dies?
The truth is: In that instance, power didn't belong to any of the great men, but to the one holding the sword. We, the passengers (underline that), were supposedly great (duh, customer is king, right?).
But despite our frustrations, we were powerless to act. At that moment our power was an illusion. Sure, I could walk away, the way men run from their responsibilities (or how you dodge relationships), but honestly, it wouldn't be worth it. The next matatu in line won't be any better. They operate from the same script: the makangas kept yelling "moja tao” even when nobody was in them. Talk of kubebwa ufala. (Uskii nime jam and I am yet to get to that pathetic traffic at Nyayo roundabout)
The placeholders sat there, filling space, while we waited, unable to leave. The matatu was our only option. The driver and the makanga, like the sword-holder, held all the control, while we remained in limbo, watching, waiting, praying, and hoping that the person seated next to me(us) wasn't just another placeholder but an actual traveler.
The only thing that seemed to be giving me satisfaction as I waited for the matatu to fill was…well, colonizing those seats with fart. Wait, did I say fart? Scratch that, a chemist doesn't fart. We release a pop sound or a characteristic pungent smell.
Con-a-mbaya
Anyway... the point that I am trying to drive home here (you got that?) is that getting through this green city under the sun without getting conned is like trying to lick your elbow. Go on, try it. It's difficult I tell you (look you are trying) 😂. Here's the hard truth: you are more likely to get conned in Nairobi than in L.A. (Los Angeles not Lang'ata). Do you know why? Dummy, it's simple. It's because you are in Nairobi and not L.A! Nkt. Akili mtu wangu.
That politician out there, campaigning, making all those promises, sijui Fish in Nairobi River is a skilled con man. Forget it. None of that is coming through.
That preacher, sorry, I meant nabii, who performs "miracles" speaking in tongues saying rabashanta is nothing short of a top-tier actor, stage director and producer. It's all theatrics. And here you are saying art doesn't pay. Just know your audience and boom, you are on your way to riches. Especially if you remind them to plant a seed. Ask Pastor Nganga/ Ezekiel watakushow vile kunaendanga. Unfortunately, Mackenzie can't give his two cents in this conversation. But it's for obvious reasons: he's poor in jail.
That beggar on the street who looks blind, trust me, he's fine. If anything, ako mboka. And he's sustaining his family of that act. Have you ever watched them get to their spot in the morning? It's business as usual.
That guy stranded on the street claiming ati he needs 20 bob to get home is a total con. His Mpesa balance probably is close to your phone number. But the grind never stops.
Look at Gachagua. Was that a case of a long con? Maybe? Maybe not. It’s hard to say. A story is half told if there is only one side presented .... but you can’t help but wonder what’s really going on behind the scenes.
And the beauty of it all is that just like how women evolved from using kamisi (and now, I hear bras are slowly being replaced with boob tapes. If you haven't done the Meja challenge of using one hand, wakati ni sasa), the con game is evolving too. The point is, everything is changing with times, including how people hustle you.
If you get a fool trying to con you by saying, ati "We are calling you from Safaricom” That one is probably stuck in medieval times, completely clueless about current affair. They are a breed of people who refused to board the bus to the present age. And maybe, you will find they still call shoes njumu, and mbuyu for a father.
You should honestly do them some favours and use their credit to educate them. Introduce them to the concepts of Darwinism and Larmackism so they understand what evolution is all about and they don't use their brains like vestigial organs. Tell them they can't bring knives to a gunfight. If they insist or they ask why? Remind them of kinjekitile ngwale. You just can't fight battles with outdated tactics. By the way who the heck was Kinjekitile ngwale?
Money Festing
Oh, and women have also gotten their skin in this game. You will hear someone claim her name is Sify, and when you check their ID, it reads Siphrosa Bosibori Kemunto. We have to acknowledge they are good at their jobs, no doubt about it. Just ask Samson. Sifurahi, by the way.
These ones know a way to a man's heart and pocket too. You will think they are at your table at the bar for a little romance, but they are on a mission to commit a federal offense. What happened to romance? In the words of Jimmy Carr: Romance is dead; men killed it and made women clean up the mess. And this is that part of cleaning up the mess:
They will spike your drink with mchele. You will go to a deep sleep like Adam, and when you wake up something will be missing. Not a rib, probably, your house will be swept clean. Nothing will be spared including that old T-Shirt of yours that serves as a duster. Your pockets will be empty. Your bank and Mpesa accounts seeped dry. And they will go to an extent of taking a fuliza or borrow a loan too on Tala or Branch.
These merciless daughters of Eve will even disappear with your trousers leaving you in a compromising situation like having a condom on. It’s not that you had an intimate moment with them, they will do that to deter you from seeking assistance immediately once you sober up because that’s embarrassing. You will see them living lavida loca pushing some crazy hashtags #SmallGirlBigGod, and they know well what they did for someone's son.
You will see them living lavida loca pushing some crazy hashtags #SmallGirlBigGod, and they know well what they did for someone's son.
Also, you might be there with your mpoa pulling of ma style deadly deadly thinking that you are laying that pipe right. You know #Chapailale giving her mighty strokes, thinking that you have an A game in bed, but probably she is acting. She is putting on a show to make you feel good.
The conmen and women who really deserve some standing ovations are the ones who text you saying "Landlord amechange pay bill" They are trying. You got to admire their creativity. Then there's the one who a few years ago called my mum and told her “Send 10k urgently your son has been rushed to hospital." My mum almost fell for it but luckily, she didn't have that 10k in her Mpesa. She had to call the class teacher first and that's when the class teacher told her, "The boy is in class doing exams".
I can see the driver finally setting the matatu in motion, for real this time round. We haven't even covered 50 meters, and the tout is already signalling us to pay. He's so impatient. His behaviour is no different from those people who pick up your call and immediately hit you with a "sema" or “nichapie", it is so annoying. I got to put my earphones on and listen to Mukangala. Do you remember Mukangal?
I feel like telling this tout chorea chorea, but I just don't have the confidence of those ladies…
As usual, live fully and love wholeheartedly. Remember to live is to love, and to love is to live. So:
Live and let live.
P.S: I am speaking from the streets, as an agent of the street!
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I will leave you with Tulia Nikupange because: Ma-conmen wamejazana nairobi. skuizi, wizi ndio imekua hobby tunaonanga signs bado hatusomi hatujioni ndio hatusongi
😂😂I will reconsider that option
Kama uko na haraka shuka ukimbie😂😂😂😂😂🙌... You should have done so😂