Unforgettable Matatu Experience

Beautiful thing seated by my side in a mtaani bound matatu. Too bad someone has already put a ring on it. But I’m straining to conquer the tingling ghosts aroused by her sleepy head rolling on my left shoulder.

In a mentally and emotionally strenuous effort, I’m reduced to reading every word in the stickers and posters thumped haphazardly inside the matatu and staring at the interior décor: the large photos of hip hop artists with funny teeth and bodies entangled in heavy chains; gospel musicians staring solemnly at the sky, mouth wide, arms wider in supplication; and revolutionaries led by Che in his unmistakable trademark kofia, Thomas Sankara in his military fatigue capped by a tilted red berret, Martin Luther King Jr. staring stoically, his arm lightly touching his chin, the bespectacled Malcom X smiling contemptuously (at some racist/s I guess) and le commandante Fidel Castro spotting his distinctive beards, a jungle green uniform, and a cigar between his fingers.

I have never been this keen in life. Sadly, after staring at every image and reading every word, I’m left with nothing to do apart from nodding my oversize head to the loud music. But the driver has chosen to compound my predicament by replacing the loud genreless music with roots and reggae renditions of famous love songs: Lionel Richie’s Hello, Celine Dion’s Love Doesn’t Ask Why, Whitney Houston’s Where Do Broken Hearts Go, Atlantic Starr’s Secret Lovers…jowa thooo!

I’m refraining from shouting “Go to hell you driver!” because we might all end up in hell in case the vehicle veers into the overflowing ‘rivers’ along the Nairobi roads.

To shift my attention away from the lyrics, I resort to admiring the music system, the handiwork of the Wiring Officer; from the duct taped wires running along the roof from one corner to another, joining caged speakers, big and small, along the way to two enormous Kenwood speakers staring at me like a gigantic owl perched quietly on Onera tree behind my grandma’s kitchen. Thank goodness my mind begins to wander in the animal kingdom! The late Sudan sorrowfully opens my musings into the plight of the endangered species and the possibility of extinction…

“Where are we?”

Shieeettttt, the yellow thing has just ruined my train of thoughts. I smile. A fake smile. No, a genuine smile. No, a fake genuine smile. No, a genuine fake smile. Shit, I don’t know. My armpits perspire. My heart flutters. I feel shiny beads of sweat on my forehead and balding pate. I answer nevertheless with a measure of effortful restraint of course. But how do I recover? I was doing well!

The speakers are now belching Culture’s Peace, Love and Harmony. I steal another glance at her. She’s subconsciously nudging the ring, turning it round and round playfully. I have no option but to sit in peace and harmony.

On the flipside, in the midst of all the torturous experience, I have made a groundbreaking discovery: staring at the remnants of campaign posters with clichéd slogans, funny poses and a list of unachievable promises is in fact cathartic! You find yourself laughing to the point of shedding tears at our gullibility as a people.