A first-hand experience of matatu madness

By Amos Kareithi

The high-pitched soprano voice instantly stops the incessant shouting and tugging of the bewildered grandmother’s clothes. But just for a moment.

Mary Mutola, her feet numb, has just touched down at the Kisumu bus stop after a gruelling ten-hour journey from Nairobi to Kisumu, which has been through the torturous Kapsabet stretch.

"Where do you think you are taking my bags. Stop right there or I call the police. I do not want your assistance. Please leave me alone," Mutola says firmly.

But the loudmouthed attendants ignore her and wrestle one bag from her shoulder as she tries to console her crying grandchild, who is frightened by the tug of war around her.

Mutola’s bags are dumped into an empty 14-seater matatu (public mini-bus). When the grandmother and four other passengers who had departed Nairobi in the morning finally depart for Kakamega an hour later, they have to fight for breathing space with eleven other passengers.

Everybody in the vehicle appears tongue-tied and under the spell of the foul-mouthed tout who bangs the partially open door every time he spots a prospective passenger along the road.

Inside the stuffy matatu, a smartly dressed woman, protested the cramming of an additional passenger but the stern-faced tout pointed to a poster at one of the windows, which read ‘Madam, if you want comfort, please buy your own car! If you think our matatu is slow, alight and run’.

Hearty greetings

By the time the matatu arrives in Kakamega, the driver has palmed four traffic police officers in hearty greetings amidst small talk as the driving licence is exchanged in an unending ritual.

"There is no way you can expect the police not to cooperate with us. We need each other. After all everybody is eating and why should they not eat from us," quips the driver on being asked why he has given a Sh50 note to a cop.

The bad old days are creeping back on Kenya’s roads and venom-spitting public service crew have reclaimed their hold on passive passengers, who have surrendered their comfort as long as they reach their destination.

A ride from Kitale to Makutano depicts how Kenyans are being packed into crowded matatus and charged exorbitant fares without a murmur of protest.

Most of the matatus plying this route are licensed to carry seven passengers but the operators have created three more spaces, where wooden planks are placed between seats to accommodate more.

Along Makutano-Kapenguria route, local crews have redefined the public service transport replacing the common 14-seater van with station wagon cars.

"Our roads are a disaster waiting to happen. They are cramming three people at the front. The driver’s seat is shared by a driver and a passenger. What kind of madness is this?" says distraught Peter Mwai, a first time traveller to Kapenguria.

Sandwiched

When Mwai, protested that he had chosen a front seat so as to travel in relative comfort, he was shocked to be sandwiched by two other passengers.

A regular traveller, Ben Sakwa told The Standard that cramming of passengers has become an accepted norm.

"Much as we blame the drivers and the traffic police for road accidents, we Kenyans are also to blame. We readily comply with every demand the matatu crew make and yet we are paying for the service," adds Sakwa.

The yet-to-be completed highly rated Thika super highway, once perceived as a solution to all traffic jams, is not living up to its billing.

A group of untouchable matatu operators has taken over the highway at Githurai and pack their vehicles across the road as they entice passengers to board.

"It is a nightmare especially on Saturdays. These matatu guys just transform the highway into a parking lane for other motorists to squeeze through. Woe unto you if you question these demigods," says Edwin Kinyanjui a Thika based Nissan driver.

Asked why Kenyans have collectively conspired to trash the so called ‘Michuki rules’ introduced in 2004, passengers, drivers and police officers offer varying reasons.

"The cost of fuel and maintenance has shot up dramatically. To maximise on daily returns, I have to squeeze in additional passengers in my vehicle. After all, I need to repay my loan," explains Daniel Musyoka, a driver and matatu owner.

Musyoka says operators plying routes which are not heavily policed have opted to increase the number of passengers instead of hiking fares.

Moses Tarus, a driver says: "In the face of competition, it would be safe to increase the number of passengers instead of hiking fares. Our passengers agree with us and that is why they are ready to create more space by squeezing,"

Ruthless

A traffic police officer recently transferred from Nyanza to Nairobi who wishes to remain anonymous says: "Some matatu drivers are so ruthless that they can run over a traffic police officer. They operate like lunatics, never stop when flagged down, always overload and speed. What can one do?.

The return of the matatu madness, brought by a collective conspiracy by passengers’ silence, says Kinyanjui is to blame for the increased road carnage which has become a common occurrence.

As Kenyans rue the days when speed governors regulated public service vehicles’ speed, safety belts were clean and functioning, and passengers could complain of being overcharged, touts have reclaimed their place on the roads.