Matatu

What is this m-word? Noun? Verb? Adjective? Expletive?

Well, dear readers, a matatu is a mini-bus, a snub-nosed van packed with people careening to or from the city center. There is a driver and a fare collector, both always male, each wearing a solid-color vest to look official. The driver's job is to pass as many vehicles as possible, thereby picking up more passengers than the next guy and making more money. Most Kenyan roads are roughly 2-lane, unless the person in front of you is going too slowly, then you may feel free to pass him, even if you have zero visibility at the time. There are no lines on the road, so driving between them is obviously not a cultural norm. I guess it's kind of like walking on a sidewalk- everyone basically keeps to their own side, unless someone is going too slowly, and then you pass. Yes, just like a sidewalk. Except you're traveling at high speeds in chunks of metal. But as my coworker Tim told me when I cringed as our school bus passed a truck on a winding mountain road, "We're used to it, the other driver's used to it; it's just you that's not."

Anyhow, back to matatus: the fare collector's job is to shout to prospective riders to find out if they want on, alert the driver to stop by whacking the side of the van, open and shut the door, and run alongside and hold on tight since the matatu often leaves before the door is actually shut. The fare collector taps you quietly on the shoulder after a time so you can pay him your coins. He also responds to quiet taps on his shoulder when you want to get off. In addition, he has the tricky task of deciding how much to charge you, which depends on where you are going, how rich you look, and what time of day it is. For example, a trip into Nairobi recently cost me 20 bob, but the trip back by the same route cost 50 because it was almost dark, and I am not. The collector knew I needed to arrive at my destination before nightfall in order to be safe, and so I would have to pay the higher price in order to preserve my well-being...

I am nearly always the only light-skinned rider of the matatu I am in, unless I am with a mzungu friend. A few days back I got a quick course in matatus from my friend Rachel, a Wheaton student from Minnesota. She's one of the HNGR interns placed in Nairobi, and she's standing behind me in the picture from the last post. Matatus are a regular part of her African experience, and when she heard that I didn't know any of the routes nor what exactly to expect when riding and was therefore severely limited in mobility, she came to my rescue. You see, there's about a giant gap between figuring out the public transportation system by myself and having someone show me; there's little likelihood I could master it left on my own. Matatus are a very Kenyan way to travel (cheap, not entirely safe, not entirely comfortable), so almost none of the expatriates at my school ride them. But Rachel met me at the matatu stop nearest my apartment, rode with me downtown, walked me to the other major stops, and introduced me to a cheap downtown coffee shop. She also pointed out the Hilton as a major landmark and free bathroom, and she gave me advice about which areas were safe for a white girl who sticks out like a hard boiled egg in a bag of poppyseeds.

And so I felt somewhat competent the next day when I took a matatu to Hawker's market to buy my vegetables. On the way there, I marveled at the different personalities of matatus- some are MTV on wheels, with pumping bass and semi-obscene music videos playing on a screen at the front. Others are more sedate, with philosophical advice displayed on the sides and ceiling: "To avoid life stress, live according to your standard." The one I rode in that morning had an interesting (and fitting?) combination: "Honesty is the best policy" coupled with "I may not be smart, rich, or good looking, but I am available." And on the return trip I rode in one whose stickers proclaimed "Yesu ni Bwana." I knew my Swahili was improving because I could translate it: "Jesus is Lord." It was the first time I've understood something I've read, and it was a good first sentence. =)

I'm becoming pretty comfortable on matatus; it barely took any effort for me to ride to the hospital this morning. Don't worry, I'm not sick- I went to visit Travis and Lydia because baby Meshach has finally been born!


He's wonderful and vocal and beautiful, and it's delightful to be here for this event. Just like when I came back from HNGR and waited at the hospital for Erin Hausam to be born, Meshach Klingforth reminds me that life continues despite whatever transition I may be experiencing. There is consistency the world over- God is faithful to bring life and sustain it, and evidence of His goodness can be held in human arms.

So I continue my upward growth, and the view is improving: I have a lot more independence, a touch more confidence, and every day more rootedness in this place and its relationships. I'm grateful for matatus and how they expand my horizons, and I'm thankful for relationships with other expatriates whom I can serve and support.