The ma3 we bordered at City Cabanas did not show any sign of sickness or symptoms of old age. Ilikuwa kitu 8 pm and darkness had already engulfed this part of the city. The few streaks of light from Adopt-A Light post near the main Mombasa Road that shone on the sides of the matatu could not have given us a clear picture of the state of the matatu anyway. Nilikuwa na Sabina. A Taita mrembo with a dimple pande zote mbili. A good friend of my wife. She had come from Costo, spent a week with us and now she was going to visit her brother in Oyolo. She requested me to accompany her because she did not know the Kayole route vipoa. Besides, it was getting late and there is this insecurity associated with Oyolo.
Sasa after about 30 minutes of waiting for the ma3 kujaa, our conda finally decided the matatu was full and without wasting any more time hopped in the driver’s seat. Akawasha engine. Gari ikakohoa ile noma kama mtoi anakataa kwenda shule. The groan lasted for a minute and then the engine went dead again. The second attempt yielded the same result. Before giving a third try, the conda-cum-driver bent down and fumbled with a few loose wires under the steering wheel, disconnecting others here and re-connecting them there. The third attempt gave the engine a drop of life. It revved loudly and the exhaust pipe ikatoa moshi ile ya matanga.
The ma3 revved in its mean position for what seemed like eternity and when it jerked forward, it did so with such a great impulse which shocked its own self, sending the engines into another comma. At this point passengers wakaanza kuzusha. As for Sabina, she could no longer suppress her laughter and she let them out in short bursts. After trying the engine for the fourth time in vain, the driver finally swallowed his pride and requested us to move out and assist him in pushing the stalled thing. All the six women, including Sabina, refused to get out. As for the men, only three (two others and I) volunteered to push the vehicle. With the driver, that makes the four of us. Our little effort yielded some success. The driver hopped into his seat while the matatu was still in motion and after taking charge of the gears, he slowed down to let us hop inside.
Gari ikaingia Airport North Road na uzima wa milele. Save for some squeaks, we surged forward with hopes of arriving safe and re-uniting with our life. But like all good things, it did not last long. Without giving any warning the engine slumped into another comma katikati ya barabara. Dere hata hakujaribu kuiamsha tena. He stepped out and started pushing it alone. Out of pity or feel of guilt, some other men and I stepped out to give the driver a helping hand. This time round we were seven. It seemed everybody was coming to terms with the fact that we were in this together and the earlier we cooperated and worked as a team, the earlier we would get out of this mess.
But gari ilikataa. The passengers gave up and started talking of getting refunds to allow them find other means before it got too late. The driver would hear none of that nonsense. He insisted we give it another push but the tired passengers just wanted their money back. All this while Sabina alikuwa anakufa na kicheko pale ndani. Everyone had gotten out except her. While searching for a handkerchief inside her handbag to wipe her tears, she felt a coin drop on the floor of the matatu. It was while she was reaching for the coin that she felt her hands go through a gaping hole on the floor. She let out a scream. All attention was turned to her and after seeing the hole on the floor of the matatu, everyone decided to call it quits. They were not riding again in a matatu with holes on the floor.
Getting a re-fund from a matatu tout is like getting milk from a virgin breast. In the end, all the passengers agreed to give the driver the benefit of doubt and try the push one more time. This last push was done by two men and the driver. The rest of the passengers resisted. The mat came to life and we resumed our journey. The clock was now boasting of having clocked 10pm. Just as we were approaching Nyayo Embakasi junction, we back-benches felt some sound of a metal tearing apart. With horror, we saw the hole on the floor of the matatu tearing and expanding. Threatening to separate the matatu into two parts. Should this succeed, the diver might go with the head of the matatu and we back-benchers will remain with the rest of it. As much as it was terrifying, Sabina laughed hers all.
The rest of us who had some sense left in us shouted to the driver to stop. Dere akakanyaga brakes but instead of slowing down the thing just increased the speed down the slope heading to Baraka estate. He tried again in vain. He started sweating. This time round on his neck and his forehead. The brakes had failed but he was too terrified to inform us. We shouted and screamed and the person sitting on my left (Sabina was sitting on my right) threw a head-swelling insult at him after concluding that he was already a dead meat. He even went ahead to hum a short prayer, requesting God to take care of his three children and not let another man marry his wife.
Some woman broke into a loud prayer of repentance. She let all and sundry know that she has been a jealous wife to her rather good and generous husband and that she was the one responsible for her husband’s death. She asked God to forgive her her (Give him him book) sins and let her enter heaven in the next one minute. We veered off the road, hit an Mpesa kiosk and came to an instant stop!
Here the Kenyan gave us our refunds.