Today I love living in Kenya (not all days are like that). I’m travelling to Kisumu by matatu this morning. The matatu Nissan van is equipped with 14 seats for passengers, but it’s not officially full until there are 20 or 21 people crammed in, the unlucky passengers have to crouch between the seats in the narrow aisle. Boarding schools started their school break today so there are herds of girls in groups trying to catch a matatu home to their villages. Each girl is wearing a school uniform that identifies her as a student of that school. The uniforms are an array of colors, bright blue, forest green, gray, brown and maroon. They are wearing a white blouse, sweater or sweater vest, skirt, white anklets and black shoes. Some are required to wear ties. All have a number 2 haircut as required by the schools.
Really, I can’t emphasize enough the terrible conditions of the road between Kakamega and Kisumu. The potholes are so numerous and deep that it looks like it has been bombed. The matatus customarily drive very fast, not only so they can get to their destination and pick up another load of paying passengers, but also because the widespread belief is that by driving fast, the vehicle just skims over the holes and causes less wear and tear on the car. The whole matatu rattles and sways. The window next to me doesn’t latch and regularly rattles open so I hold it shut. Thank God for the numerous speed bumps that have been installed. We speed up to them, put on the brakes, crawl over them and then accelerate until the next one we encounter. I think riding matatus in Kenya has taught me more about not being in control than any other experience in my life. A day you arrive safely in a matatu is a good day.
Today there are numerous police check stations. The first few we breeze past with just a small bribe to the police officer for our infraction of the rules. But we are halted at a check station that is manned by two women police officers who mean business. On of them surveys the crowded matatu and begins ordering the extra passengers off, insisting that they catch the next matatu coming along. She grills the driver, asks to see his license and they move off to the side to discuss business. Shortly, the police officer returns and orders everybody out of the vehicle, announcing that this vehicle is under arrest. Uttering a weak protest, the passengers climb out and we stand by the side of the road, wondering how we are going to get a ride with all the matatus stuffed to the gills. The driver is arguing his case vehemently with the police officer across the road and after a few minutes, heads back to the matatu, tells us to get back in and we continue on our way. Apparently this particular police officer was holding out for something much bigger than “something small”, which is the customary price of a bribe. It is inexplicable, the matatu conductor will be forced the next run to take excess passengers to make up for the cost of the bribe, perpetuating unsafe travel conditions on the Kenyan roads.
Travelling Kenyan highways in the morning means being a spectator of the entire gamut of Kenyan lives. People simply live, work, play and socialize their lives outdoors and in public. Here is what I see:
-unaccompanied young children in groups of 3 or 4 walking on the dirt path along side the road, the oldest, about 8 years old, is carrying an infant on his back
-mamas in the traditional village dress, the kanga, carrying bundles of just about everything on their heads
- men digging holes by hand
-women hoeing fields of maize, potatoes, sugar cane
-vendor’s wooden stalls mile after mile, selling every type of commodity; tomatoes, onion, potatoes, mitumba, household goods, tea, sugar, cheap watches, hats, single bic pens, coffins
-hundreds of idle boda boda drivers
-people repairing bikes, tires, cars, motor bikes, shoes
-people sitting, people leaning, people laying on the ground, people walking on paths that have been worn into the countryside for generation after generation
There are crops growing in every clearing. It’s a hard thing for me to get my head around. As Americans, we have lived in our country for less than 500 years. The Kenyans have been depending on this land for thousands of years to provide for them and yet, it still continues to sustain them, a verdant green ecosystem that supports people, cows, goats, sheep, pigs, chicken, dogs, cats and multiple types of trees, birds and plants. The uninterrupted connection to the land over eons is the undeniable birthright of every Kenyan, defining their place in the world. If I were a Kenyan with such deeply planted roots in this land, I would ferociously defend my claim to it.