Details, mostly about transport

When I get home, I’ll inevitably asked that impossible-to-answer question – “So, what’s Kenya like?” I hate that question, though I completely understand why people ask it. It’s just so big. Just like when people in Kenya (or Thailand or Vietnam or wherever) ask “How is America?” It’s tough to answer.

I think the best response lies somewhere in sharing the details. The things we see every day but that often don’t register. So I’ll try to describe the details.

I’ll talk about how there are goats and cows absolutely everywhere. Goats crossing the roads, Maasai cows being herded next to the highway, my neighbor’s cow blocking my gate entrance in Kisii.

Not a lot of pets. If people have animals, they serve a purpose. Dogs are for security. Cows for dairy and meat. Camels for tourists.

And I’ll attempt to describe the matatus. The 14-seater (officially, anyway) Nissan minivans that seem like they’re made out of tin. You flag one (palm facing down) as it drives by at 80 kph, and it stops like 3 meters ahead of you. You jog up to it and the tout gets out to let you in. He points to the spot where you should sit among the 20-something people already inside – it may or may not be a real seat. You might squish in next to 3 other people in your row. You may sit in the air seat – that space between two seats where you’re expected to wedge yourself, one ass cheek on the seat to your right, the other cheek on the left seat. Sometimes the tout gives you a 1’ x 3’ wooden board to sit on to make the air seat a little more manageable. The music is too loud. It’s either dusty and smelly (windows open) or hot and smelly (windows closed). Don’t be anxious about paying. Don’t offer money before the tout requests it, which he’ll eventually do by either snapping his fingers or hitting your shoulder and holding out his hand. They charge wazungu more than wakenya, so I learned to find out the Kenyan price and then just hand the tout that exact amount. If you give more, say a 100-shilling note, then who knows what kind of change you’ll get back. So give him the money, say nothing expect the one word name of the place you’re going, leave no opening for argument, and immediately turn your head away from him to stare, expressionless, out the window again. When you near your destination, you can either yell “tout” or “conductor” and point your finger downward to indicate that you want to “drop,” or flick the metal thing next to the window. Then the tout will do the same – he’ll either flick the metal thing or tap a coin on it to let the driver know to pull over to stop. Matutus: Crowded. Hot. Sticky. Filthy. Smelly. Unfriendly. Inexpensive. Ridiculously efficient. That’s how I’ll attempt to describe them.

The roughness of the rough roads will probably be important to share. Rough road refers to any road without tarmac in Kenya, which is far more than half. Rough roads are dirt/sand combinations, sometimes with a layer of rocks. The bumps in rough roads are as dangerous/obnoxious as the potholes in the tarmacked roads. They make the ride painful, too, as you’re constantly either hitting your head against the side/top of the vehicle, or your butt and breasts hurt from the constant rotation between being airborne and being slammed back into your seat. I was honestly worried about tissue damage on that 2-hour stretch of super rough road from Narok to the Maasai Mara.

Also on the topic of transport, the DIY speed bumps are interesting. There are tons of speed bumps in the towns to try to reduce the number of pedestrians that get hit but the poor drivers who tend to speed. Some towns or small villages make their own speed bumps, which usually means they’re higher and cause more vehicle damage than official ones.

Those are some of the details that stand out most in my mind tonight, although it’s always interesting to see what details pop out after I return back home.