Arriving in Mtwapa, the Matatu desperately searches for some space between the hundreds of locals standing around wildly gesticulating. It tries to stop and leave out its sweaty, irritated passengers, among which the three of us. Even though a Matatu ride generally entails various complications, it has become the norm for us to choose for this transportation mode, since it brings us one step closer to blending in with the locals and – of course – with an amount of 20 Schillings (approx. 0,20€) is by far the cheapest option.
Mtwapa is the place where we step over from Travaler’s-Mtwapa-Majengo, where we teach at St.Joseph’s. Next to some old buildings, it consists of a small fruits and vegetables market, where the locals sell Mangos and Avocados for 30 KSH (Kenyan Schillings) or if you are a good negotiator maybe even for 20 KSH.
The first challenge we face every time we want to come on board of one of these 14-passengers capacity mini-vans called Matatus, is to negotiate the price. Starting off paying 3 times the price we should have, we have gotten to understand that after naming the desired destination, while stepping into the car we quickly, but with great determination have to mention “20, hey?!”, underlining the statement with the “Piece” sign, each finger standing for 10 KSH equaling a total of 20KSH. Once this first hurdle is mastered, finding a place to sit is the next challenge. If there are actually seats available and you do not have to stand bend over at the door of the car, you face 3 options:
1. Either you squeeze yourself all the way through the very limited space in between of the seats through to the end, where you will likely have barely any space; not for your legs and definitely neither for your head, since the ceiling is very low so you have to sit bent over. Furthermore your legs are likely to be covered by easily infecting scratches after a couple of these maneuvers, since safety is not the biggest concern for the locals, so rusty iron sticks, broken seat parts or loose screws represent tricky obstacles.
2. A second option is to choose one of the seats in the middle, various of which entail getting up every 2 minutes for passengers leaving or new passengers getting on board. However getting up is not only getting up. It usually consists of squeezing yourself all the way through the gaps between the seats, stepping out of the car, letting the passenger pass, and squeezing yourself back to your seat.
3. The third option is to choose to sit in the front row. Here 2 challenges expect you: Firstly, often you have to be very careful where you put your legs, since there happens to be an extremely warm piece of metal at your legs which is not always covered up and which would probably slowly burn your leg away if you don’t pay attention. Secondly, the drivers’ assistant, who tries to find new customers and always sits/stands together with the passengers in the car, is the one standing when there is no seat left. From working the entire day and from deodorants being considered a luxury good and therefore not being used by everyone, the assistant tends to bend himself over you, in order to fit under the low ceiling. The front row offers the unique experience of literally smelling the assistant’s hard work while having the feeling that somebody might give you a small kiss if you don’t make sure your head is clearly turned to the other side.
Even though it is not always easy to deal with all these new impressions, I love taking the Matatu! I find it amazing to be part of the local culture - and driving the Matatu definitely is. Especially when the music is turned on full power, smashing out Kenyan or Jamaican songs such as “Paper Love” (my personal favorite) or “every little thing, is gonna be alright” by Bob Marley, you understand how Kenyans are able to enjoy small moments, that us “westerners” would probably effectively use for work, or spend catching up with our lost sleep while throwing meaningful looks at everybody who talks to loud for our taste.
Waste in Kenya does not necessarily equal waste – you can see that very well in towns like Mtwapa. Every little piece that we would undoubtedly consider as garbage is, as Robin explained previously in his post, being re-used for another purpose. Even though we could criticize various different aspects in terms of sustainability, I must say that this is actually really sustainable! Nevertheless the garbage that can’t be found another use for is often simply thrown into the streets, where the waste piles up into small mountains. Some are being burned because they block the way and nobody seems to know what else to do with these useless piles. Others are being attacked by cows or goats that try to find any eatable item possible. What we consequently might find on our plates in the evenings is something we deliberately avoid thinking about, it might make us switch to purely vegetarian meals.
Having entered the second Matatu, we drive towards Majengo, our final destination, requiring an additional 20KSH. Usually the driver and his assistant memorize each passenger’s destination and stop in time. On rare occasions they forget and we have to notify them to stop and leave us out. Given the age of the cars, it does not come as a surprise that there are no bright red “STOP” buttons you can press. Instead you simply knock 2 times against the side of the car, which is being understood as “let me out”. When stepping out in Majengo, we are usually greeted by various motor bike drivers who wish for us to pursue our trip on the back of their bikes. However with the traffic we got to know, the lack of safety and of course an unwritten no-helmet policy, we choose to forego this option. Entering the small village of Majengo, we pass a Muslim church and many small shops, selling mostly clothes items or food and drinks. To us well-known stores for computer hardware, cars, perfumes or mattresses would go bankrupt here - there simply isn’t any money available for luxury goods.
Suddenly I feel something touching my hand. Surprised I look down and find a little girl holding my hand, walking with us – barefoot. She has become our faithful companion through the village and almost always coincidentally appears when we enter the village. When asking her about her name, I received silence. “Fina is only 3 years old, so she doesn’t speak English very well yet” I am being explained by some other children of the village. Together with the others, I have made it my task to teach her a couple of sentences, starting with the obvious “My name is Fina”.
After a 5 minute walk, we arrive at the wooden gates of the St. Joseph school, which is being opened for us by the female guard. Leaving Fina with the rest of the kids to go back to the village, we enter the large but very simple facilities, consisting of various small clay houses that are clearly “handmade”. We walk past the water well, which provides the children with fresh drinking water and water for cooking lunch (which is the same every day) to the office of Carol. She is the headmistress of the school, who provides us with chalk every morning and a big smile to start our day with. “Where do we have class today Magda?”
“Form 2 and Form 4”
“Alright, I’ll start with Form 2, see you later”
Another day at St. Joseph has just started, and even though the day has barely yet begun, we have already experienced a lot!
(written by Roxanne)
