Monday, October 27, 2008

Matatus

Matatus are Kenya’s main system of public transport – they are vans privately owned that pick people up anywhere on their route and drop them anywhere along the route. The drivers fight to get up and down the road as fast as possible so they can shuttle more passengers and collect more fares. They use sidewalks as part of the road, make a two-lane road a four-lane road, and frequently get in the opposite lane and play chicken with the car coming towards them. They are also sometimes called "ma3s" because "tatu" in Swahili means 3.

The matatu system is reminiscent of a gang hierarchy. There are bosses that control routes. Drivers and conductors (the men that collect the money on each matatu) must pay these men so as to operate on those routes. You could consider it a union, or a cooperative, but the matatu network operates independent of any formal authority. If you don’t belong to the “gang” your matatu will get cut off incessantly, people won't yield for you in traffic, you'll be on your own. To survive in the matatu world, you need to “belong”.

I constantly feel like I’m going to die riding around in a matatu, and I have to take 2 for about 15 minutes each just to get to work. They’re very convenient, but I’d rather walk 10 minutes to a bus stop and lower my chances of dying considerably.

Recently, a law was passed that matatus could not have more people in their vehicle than there are seats and that each passenger needs a seatbelt. That law was enforced for maybe 10 minutes. Seatbelts, nonexistent. The max number of people allowed in a matatu is usually followed, but frequently (during busy hours) as many people as can fit are jammed in the van. Heavy loads don’t make a matatu any nimbler, and every time I hear of a matatu that has flipped while making a sharp turn, I consider becoming religious.

The only other rules matatus have are that they must have their route painted on their vehicles (though you can't trust that the painted route is the one which will be taken that day) and the conductors must wear a maroon uniform (only 3/4 of the conductors wear them, but some do get arrested for not wearing their uniforms).

The seats are close together, uncomfortable, and getting out of a full matatu is tricky maneuver. I can’t imagine how an obese person would do it. Some matatus make trips as long as going from Mombasa to Nairobi (a 6 hour trip) and sometimes go further. I’ve been on a matatu for as long as an hour. That was bad enough. One of the interns, Ben, is 6’5. When I complain about being cramped, I think of him and stop complaining.

They play lots of loud reggae and Swahili music. It’s a pretty rocking ride, though the songs have quickly become repetitive. There is not much song turnover around here.

The driver and conductor of the matatus make their own rules. With a full load of passengers they’ll stop to top up on gas, grab some food for the road, etc. Sometimes they’ll take alternate routes and drive in circles for a little while until they have enough passengers in the matatu to continue onto the original destination. Professionalism is completely absent. People have to use them to travel and they exploit that fact.

The matatu network is the only way to really get around. I’ve got the system down, I’m a veteran. I still get stared at constantly since I’m the only white person on the thing. And, in the end, I really do enjoy riding in them! It’s fun and exhilarating, but frequently terrifying and frustrating.

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