Raining Matatus

I (Stephanie) have spent the week running around town trying to engage various humanitarian NGOs in the discussion of possibly hiring me. Apart from one relatively positive meeting (with the UNAIDS Somalia office) most of my week was memorable just by the effort exerted to move around Nairobi. I am a big fan of the matatu culture here. Put me on a matatu and I am happy. I hopped on one the other day that was blasting this great Snoop-Dr.Dre-Eminem-Shaggy rap medley (who mixes this stuff?) at the highest decibel level the little Nissan van could muster. While the matatu was shaking rhythmically with the bass, in the back row our ears were being blown out, my fellow travelers were all acting impervious to the sound, and I was trying hard to keep the shit-eating grin off my face. Hard to believe because it was so loud, but the young university woman next to me kept reading her book, the small children on their mothers’ laps kept staring out the window, and the businessmen and others tap-tapped away text on their phones. And then I was at my stop and jumped out again. Aah, matatu culture.

Unfortunately, I am not so lucky as to always be going in the direction of a matatu. I have to walk about a mile to get to one from our apartment, so there is always a walk involved no matter where you are going or coming from. Normally, this suits me fine. In fact, we New Yorkers are used to walking a lot. But when it rains here, which is often, walking is suddenly not so appealing anymore. Since sidewalks and road shoulders are a rarity, you are lucky if you find a dirt path along the road and don’t have to walk on the road itself, dodging cars like in a adrenaline-induced game of chicken. Speaking of cars and games, try crossing any road in Nairobi on foot. Cars, busses, UN SUVs, taxis, and even little old ladies who can barely see above the steering wheel, will run you down if you’re not very careful. If it weren’t so potentially dangerous, you’d think you were in a life-sized game of Frogger.

Me, I like dirt paths. Softer on the feet, closer to the red clay of the Kenyan earth, all in all a more wholesome walking experience. But when it rains, these paths turn into mud and muck with few options. You suddenly feel as if you are a cow being herded in from pasture after a long week of rain. It becomes a game of trying desperately hard to balance between staying out of the mud, avoiding the cars whizzing dangerously close by you, and keeping your shoes and pants relatively clean. Oh yeah, not to mention that the cars don’t give a damn if there is a big puddle- they will fly right through there anyway, soaking you if you aren’t quick enough to jump out of the way. Then again, that’s not much different from 2nd Avenue at rush hour in a downpour.