Private motorists a nuisance too

By Tony Ngare

I received a passionate email from Monica, no doubt an avid reader of this column, defending the conduct of matatu drivers on the road. Here is an abridged version of her mail:

"I am still scratching my head and wondering, what the point of your article of February 22, ‘A truce for public-private motorists’ wars’ was.

Did you just want to stoke controversy? Or are you just a hater who has to find something to beef about?

"Seriously, all you managed to do was call matatu drivers names — uncouth, loutish, unsophisticated — and to annoy some of your readers. The truth is, matatu drivers in Nairobi have one of the most stressful jobs in Kenya, and it is amazing they don’t crack under all the pressure.

"I have been driving in Nairobi continuously (she meant regularly) since 1997, and from what I have seen, loutish and uncouth are best used to describe my fellow private motorists. They will never give you a gap into the traffic; they will give you the finger for the pettiest reason; they will hoot aggressively as soon as the lights turn amber; they will race matatus and aggressively hog — I could go on.

"Matatu drivers do some of this too, but at least we know about the monkey on their backs. They are the ones that readily give you a gap in traffic!"

Now this astounded me. In case you haven’t realised, Monica is intimating that I may have backed the wrong horse. So I sought to establish whether indeed the private motorists are guilty of the coarseness I blamed on matatu drivers. I went on a three-day fact-finding mission.

Day One

It’s a Monday and a friend has asked me to meet her in Westlands. As I make way through the University Way roundabout, a young looking man in a Starlet (probably borrowed from his mother) cuts into my lane. I flash my lights at him to express my disgust. The young fellow brakes suddenly and puts his hazard lights on and off several times. Now this display does not have any universal message when used outside the conventional set up. I assume he means that he can cause me more harm than just cutting into my lane. You are at liberty to assume that insults flew.

Day Two

It’s 5.30 pm. I am trying to pull out of a parking slot. Nobody seems bothered to give poor me a chance. A woman driver in a SUV sneers as she zooms by, probably wishing there were roads specifically set aside for luxury cars. I count 10 motorists (private cars!) zoom past me, despite my car boot protruding dangerously onto the road. The eleventh guy flashes his lights and invites me to pull out. Phew! Thank goodness there are gentlemen still left in this world. I feel like getting out of the car and giving him a handwritten note of appreciation or at least a hug. I get on the road and wave to express my gratitude. But alas, the other motorist does not get to see it. He has already swung into the empty slot.

Day Three

It’s mid morning. I have arrived in town much later than my usual time. I go round the block several times looking for parking space in vain. Luckily, outside City Market I single out a pick up that is loading with meat. I reason that soon the loading could be over. Indeed I confirm with the crew and they tell me they will leave shortly. I wait patiently for close to 10 minutes. When they pull out, an idiot in a blue Mazda van cuts in barely missing my front bumper. He has grabbed it. I ask him whether he considers himself an adult. He mumbles something unintelligible, adjusts his tie and walks away. If anyone ever wants to make a series titled Idiots on the Road, I suggest they audition this fellow.

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