The Matatu we bordered in City Cabanas did not show any
sign of sickness or symptoms of old age. It was around 8 pm and darkness had
already engulfed this part of the city. The few streaks of light from Adopt-A
Light post near the main Mombasa road that shone on the sides of the matatu
could not have given us a clear picture of the state of the matatu anyway. I
was with Sabina. A pretty Taita girl with a dimple on both sides of her brown cheeks.
A good friend of my wife. She had come from Mombasa, spent a week with us and
now she was going to visit her brother in Kayole.She requested me to accompany
her because she did not know that route well. Besides, it was getting late and
there is this insecurity associated with Kayole to be taken into consideration.
After about 30 minutes of waiting for the Matatu to fill up,
the conductor, who all along was standing by the roadside wooing passers-by to
enter the matatu, finally decided the matatu was full and without wasting any
more time hopped in the driver’s seat. He ignited the engine, the result of
which the matatu gave a long, loud groan like that of a child being woken up in
the morning after whole-night rain to go to school amidst protest. The groan
lasted for a minute and then the engine went dead again. The second attempt
yielded the same result. Before giving a third try, the conductor-cum-driver
bent down and fumbled with a few loose wires under the steering wheel,
disconnecting others here and re-connecting them there. The third attempt gave
the engine a drop of life. It revved loudly and the exhaust pipe diarrheared
thick black fumes which, because of their heaviness, refused to rise up in the
sky. Instead, they just floated behind our necks.
The matatu revved in its mean position for what seemed
like eternity and when it jerked forward, it did so with such a great impulse
which shocked its own self, sending the engines into another comma. At this
point the passengers started voicing their worries, albeit incoherently. As for
Sabina, she could no longer suppress her laughter and she let them out in short
bursts. After trying the engine for the fourth time in vain, the driver finally
swallowed his pride and requested us to move out and assist him in pushing the
stalled matatu. All the six women, including Sabina refused to get out. As for
the men, only three (two others and I) volunteered to push the matatu. With the
driver, that makes the four of us. Our little effort yielded some success. The
driver hopped into the driver’s seat while the matatu was still in motion and
after taking charge of the gears, he slowed down to let us hop inside.
The matatu, after dancing through undulating murram road,
eased into the clean tarmacked Airport North road with a life that seemed to
have recovered fully from a long lasting ailment. Except for some nagging
squeaking sound which resembled that one of a fight involving scrap metals, we
surged forward with hopes of arriving safe and re-uniting with our loved ones.
But like all good things, it did not last long.Without giving any warning
whatsoever, the engine slumped into another comma. The matatu stalled right in
the middle of the busy road. The driver did not even try to revive it.He
stepped out of the matatu and started pushing it alone. Out of pity or feel of
guilt, some other men and I stepped out of the vehicle to give the driver a
helping hand. This time round we were seven. It seemed everybody was coming to
terms with the fact that we were in this together and the earlier we cooperated
and worked as a team, the earlier we shall get out of this mess.
The matatu refused to start even after giving it a 100
meter push. The passengers gave up and started talking of getting refunds to allow
them find other means before it gets too late.The driver would hear none of
that. He insisted we give it another push but the tired passengers just wanted
their money back. Enough was enough.
While we were debating whether to give the matatu another
push or not, Sabina was dying with laughter inside. Everyone had gotten out
except her. While searching for a handkerchief inside her handbag to wipe off the
tears (of laughter) that were flowing effortlessly on her soft cheeks, she felt
a coin drop on the floor of the matatu. It was while she was reaching for the
coin that she felt her hands go through a gaping hole on the floor of the
matatu and on touching the tarmac, she let out a loud terrifying scream. All
attention was turned to her and after seeing the hole on the floor of the matatu,
everyone decided to call it quit. They were not riding again in a matatu with
holes on the floor.
Getting a re-fund from a matatu tout is like getting milk
from a virgin breast. In the end, all the passengers agreed to give the driver
the benefit of doubt and try the push one more time. This last push was done by
two men and the driver. The rest of the passengers resisted. The car came to
life and we resumed our journey. The clock was now boasting of having clocked
10pm.
Just as we were approaching Nyayo Embakasi junction, we
back-benches felt some sound of a metal tearing apart. With horror, we saw the
hole on the floor of the matatu tearing and expanding. Threatening to separate
the matatu into two parts. If this could succeed, the diver will go with the
head of the matatu and we back-benchers will remain with the rest of the
matatu. As much as it was terrifying, Sabina laughed hers all (yake yote).The
rest of us who had some sense left in us shouted to the driver to stop the
matatu.
The driver stepped on the brake pedals but the car,
instead of slowing down, increased the speed down the slope heading to Baraka
estate. He tried again in vain. He started sweating again. This time round on
his neck and his forehead. The brakes had failed but he was too terrified to
inform us. We shouted and screamed and the person sitting on my left (Sabina
was sitting on my right) threw a head-swelling abuse at him after concluding
that he was already a dead meat. He even went ahead to hum a short prayer,
requesting God to take care of his three children and not let another man marry
his wife.
(image credits: pinterest)
No comments:
Post a Comment