Chronicles of Nairobi..Season 1

Welcome to Nairobi City

I always make a routine of leaving the office at 5pm on the dot. Not because am bored but having reach way earlier, I have mastered the behavior of matatu and know within that timeframe, I will beat the crazy traffic on Mombasa road and probably get to cut down the fare too. This chilly and freezy evening with dark daunting clouds promising some heavy downpour doesn't make hanging around Nairobi town fascinating. My focus is on muddling amidst this see of humanity to get to the bus stage. So, you should have seen me hurriedly but careful not to lose my feminine poise jostle through the crowd. More often brushing hard against those who were equally in a hurry to a place unknown and being hit by others.
In Nairobi, I have learned too that in such a crowdie case, hardly would you say sorry or receive an apology when someone either intentionally or otherwise shoves you carelessly. Sometimes the pushing is so hard that if you are wearing those cheap but elegant three inch heels from the famous Ngara street hawkers, you may find yourself leaning on unlikely of things or people to avoid tripping. I am trekking from an office at Kijabe Street and heading to railway's bus stop. I am 7 minutes late and unfortunate for me, the buses have decided to fake scarcity by coming one after a long time. The fare has been tripled to about 1.5dollars. Okay, lets just say its 1 British pound and I don't feel like parting with such.(someone I know has been telling me lately and rubbishing off my English as very American, I am sure he will be glad to notice that am taking the lessons seriously hehehe, so let’s work with pound instead of dollar just as I have started calling my dinner tea.) Lesson for another day though.
Well, to be honest, I have only 150 Bob in my purse. I am not broke. It just happens that the money I have is not in cash. I remember being told sometime back that we are not poor...our Father in heaven owns all the silver and gold so, there is no way am gona say am poor, I just don't have the money in cash. And alas, I hate poverty, and so God forbid that I shall boldly declare I am broke even when my wallet has no contents except for the old Kcb ATM I used to get HELB loans while in campus...thanks Helb for the help though I still owe you. You helped some of us go through campus smoothly... Bless you. Plus the NHIF,NSSF and a myriad of business cards of people that matter or so I thought to be able to help me get a stable job. I hardly carry my operational ATM cards for some reason. There is also my national ID coz just you never know in Nairobi when kanjo will come knocking you along the streets. Aaaaaaw, my passport too. I have always wanted to go and pursue further studies abroad, even local abroad if you know what I mean ( Africa). I sometimes carry it to remind me that I have a dream am chasing. This has been motivated by the new British boyfriend that I got recently winks…I know what you thinking, stop it! It makes me think that my dreams are valid.
So I wait with the crowd of humanity as one vehicle after the other noisily and somewhat recklessly lurks into the stage. The driver veers off to gain strategic locations in such a rusty manner threatening to clear off anything on its way. And ooh, the music so ear piercing that you might mistake your location and think you are at local gig or concert..ps/ don’t ask me what song was playing coz all I could hear was Amarula. Some people hesitated to enter and because I am already late for home, I figure out that waiting until the fare slightly drops is not a bad idea at all. One person after the other continues to join in the wait. We are hoping for fares to go down so we can rush home. Another lot of people get tired of waiting and so one after another they enter the bus despite the ridiculous hike. They are different from the common mwananchi. You could tell from their clothing, nice boots and well painted lips, the men had a newspaper at hand, an average Kenyan middle class. They understand that time is money and wasting 2hrs standing in the name of saving 20 Bob is not wise, it’s not economical too. So they board the vehicles. Many come, get filled and go and we are still standing, unperturbed. The group that is still here is the struggling Kenyan who works to survive. They probably stay in a single room with a common washroom and hosts 2 or more distant cousin who also joined them from the village to make ends meet. Most of them if any better just slightly compared to the hawker who has seen a niche at the bus stop. A stone’s throw away is a tough woman. She is busy marketing her goodies to notice am staring at her. Moto Mahindi, Mahindi moto, is the slogan she keeps chanting. Another one is busy is advertising her nuts....forgive me I know you might have encountered her...she keeps moving about with her chant too
Njugu na ten, ten ten njugu and you are so mean not to buy even when you don't feel like. Such women need to be supported yawa.
The team I have remained with are telling different stories. I study one man from his head to the toe, a tear or two linger in my eyes at the thought of this man. Probably a father; someone's husband too. And I find myself cursing poverty and lack in Jesus Name.Yes, am Christian and I believe in the Crucified Christ who is risen. I am alive in Him. He is probably from doing a hard work and looks hungry. So very hungry. He is staring at a neighbor eating boiled maize and I could tell he will be glad to have some. I study him keenly, the broken lips, so dried, the hard hand certainly from working hard labor. I am overwhelmed. I hope when he gets home, his wife will tap him in the shoulders and tell him that she knows how hard he works and appreciates him. I wished so bad I could perhaps pay for his bus fare and say bless you. I think, he was going in another route and following him to pay his fare would have been awkward. It would have raised unnecessary questions too. But I made a quick prayer for him and the likes. It’s a hard world sometimes.
Still studying around, many things seemed to be going on. A woman was carrying a young baby, probably 4 months old and was with a young daughter, likely 2 yrs but can walk. She too was waiting for the bus; she had a huge sack full of stuff and a duffel bag too. You could tell she is from the village. Her hubby I suppose joins her, she is visiting him as he works in the city. The vehicles are scarce and its outright hassle for the young man to get there sack of whatever in the bus as people are rummaging to get space. I feel for him as every makanga is giving a blind eye to him. After all, today is a good day for the manipulative matatu guys who have trippled the fare. They have no time with people with luggage when they are getting easy money.
Across the stop, two or three men...I can't quite tell who they are coz they are neither the touts nor drivers to the matatu are arguing over something. I think its money for shouting at people to enter the matatu. One holds the other by the collar and he squirms and clenches his teeth exposing the rusty and wasted teeth discolored by endless chewing of muguka( a cash crop in Meru). And then there is this other young gal. She is carrying her baby and trolling her suitcase. I could tell she too is from the country side. Wearing a simple silver open shoes, slightly high inches I would say for a young mother with a cute baby pulling a suitcase. She is modestly dressed and I admired her. Probably a Sunday best but I wished someone would advise her to leave the shoes for Sunday best. With this cold and unbearable matatu troubles probably a bata ngoma would be much better, as she struggled to find a bus, I felt a sense of respect for mother's. Any mother that takes care of her children. It takes grace to raise a baby especially in the unforgivingly hard life in the city. There is no hope for the fares going down, I wish I had gone for the meeting too. But I was afraid of how people were gona look at me. How can I not be able to raise the little that I was expected to atleast not today. So I boarded the vehicle and went home carrying with me a myriad of feelings.

If I leave my chronicles hanging here, it will leave me susceptible to what one author I have come to love titled; The danger of telling a single story. I think you know her or atleast have heard about Chimamanda Adichie. So perhaps next time, when matatus decide and my wallet refuses and I have to spend hours observing and allowing imaginations to take charge, I will tell the other story about Nairobi.


Nairobi, a city of full of strange people seeking strange things in very strangest if places...alas