By
3:45pm, I was rushing towards the bus stop; my black pair of shoes in my right
hand and a rucksack on my back with my feet as white as wood ash from the
village. My pair of long trousers were folded to the knee. When I reached the
bus stop, there were hordes of students; one would think it was a political
rally. Every student wanted at least a vehicle whether PSV or a Taxi; so long
as it would take them away from the University. I started trekking towards the
gate when I saw two anti-riot police land rovers approaching from the
University main gate. A few other students followed me. Outside the gate, a
matatu that was coming into the University made a U-turn and halted by our
side. We rushed for the door. A 7-seater matatu yet we were more than 10. It
was in the evening, and there was a traffic jam on the way to town.
An hour later, we were in town. However, we
had to alight about half a kilometer from the bus stop and walk the rest of the
way. Thirty minutes later, I boarded a 14-seater matatu.
"Unakwenda wapi
kijana," the conductor asked me.
"Siaya," I
said rather firmly.
"Ingia haraka,
dere twende."
I had not even found
a seat inside. After a short while, the vehicle was moving at a supersonic
speed. I was sitted on a sambaza*.
When the vehicle reached Chavakali, it was already some minutes past eight. If
I proceeded with the journey, I would reach Siaya town at eleven o'clock. Still,
I would need an hour drive home. There would be no vehicles going to my village
at that time.
"Simamisha
hapa!"
"We Kijana si
ulisema unaenda Siaya?"
"Ni mimi
nimesema usimamishe, kwani kusimamisha gari na kushuka kwangu ni dakika
ngapi?"
I strolled about the
streets looking for a guest house. I couldn't spot one. I had to ask.
Five minutes later:
"Naeza get place
ya kudoz?" I asked the sleepy receptionist.
"Ndio."
"Doo
ngapi?"
"Eight
soo?"
"Aiii! Kwani kuna kuku mnanipea sapa au nini."
"Unadai place ya
kudoz ama sapa?"
"Msee,
nikikuwahi story yangu, hata rum mpaka hyo kuku utaniwahi bure, chukua five
soo."
"Leta six soo na
chwani, bei ya mwisho."
I paid six hundred Kenya
shillings after the bargain.
I watched the TV set
I found in the room till 3:00 am at dawn. At five o'clock, I had to call home
and ask for an additional fare. I went back to sleep five minutes later after
receiving an M-PESA message.
Tok! Tok! Tok!
"Room
service."
It was already 9:00am
and the instructions required one to leave the room at 8:30 am. I had to pay an
extra Kshs. 300 fine for violating the rules. I had no time to bathe. I hurriedly
packed my things and rushed for the bus stop. There, a 14-seater matatu came
and stopped by my side.
"Luanda."
"Haraka,"
the conductor said as he knocked the vehicle to signal the driver.
I wandered the
direction the vehicle was going. However, I assumed it might be a short cut to
Luanda.
An hour later,
“Mwisho!”
the conductor shouted while handing me over three hundred and fifty shillings
out of my five hundred shilling note. Before I could complain to him for an
overcharge, the vehicles sight was fading before my eyes. I was in Kisumu
instead. I had just lost 150 shillings. I dipped my left hand into the trouser
pocket. The wallet was not there and it had all my cards; University Students
and National ID, NHIF and Bank ATM Cards.
While still lost in
my thoughts wondering how that was possible and where I could have dropped the
wallet or where it could have been stolen, my phone rang.
"Kichana, uliacha
wallet yako kwa room. Ushafika mbali?"
We agreed that it be
sent as a parcel by one of the matatus as it would be expensive when I go back
to pick it.
One
and a half an hour later, I was again in a matatu headed to Siaya but of course
still, through Luanda. We were crammed in the unroadworthy matatu like sweet
potatoes in a sack. I was sitted next to a middle-aged woman carrying two
children of the same age, about 3 years. She kept herself busy feeding them on
bananas, soda, groundnut and mahindi
choma*. My appetite rose as I glanced at the kids, recalling that I only
had enough money to take me home. And that I did put nothing into my mouth the
previous night while in a guest house at Chavakali. They then fell asleep after
what I could have called a heavy breakfast.
After thirty minutes’ drive, we reached a road under
construction. The vehicle followed a rough diversion with high bumps yet at a
high speed. The driver did not bother to brake at a bump. We almost flew past
one of the bumps. The vehicle hit the ground and one of the kids who was now
asleep with his head on my lap woke up. He coughed several times and the next
thing I knew was that the mixture of what he had eaten earlier on was on my
chest, laps and phone which I had in my right hand. The driver agreed to stop
the vehicle so that I clear the mess off me after we pleaded with him and after
other women in the matatu backed us up. I wiped the vomit with a 'kitambaa' the woman gave me then
changed my shirt. When I finally reached home, a hen had to lose its life.
Sambaza*- a piece of wood put between two seats
in a vehicle especially the matatus to create more space.
Mahindi choma*- roasted maize.
Abraham O’Obunga is a student at Moi University.
