Need for Speed
I love driving around Nairobi... mainly because I do not actually have to do the driving. We have hired a driver to ferry the children and I around while my husband is at work. I do have a licence but I am a very bad driver, and though this might not be such a disadvantage in this wild-wheeled city, I am loath to take my children’s lives into my hands!
Our driver is a courteous man with a beaming smile who has won even the heart of our still slightly traumatised youngest. Our journeys are not ambitious – to school, to the shopping centres, the play areas. That said, the route to school takes us along Ngecha road, widely acknowledged to be one of Nairobi’s worst roads. It’s not that there are potholes – the road is basically a doily, where the hard, driveable surface is but a flimsy link between the masses of dips, craters and gulleys. Our children have now learned to hold their heads steady to stop them slamming into the door jambs, and say they quite enjoy the “bumpety bump”. I suspect the novelty will wear off.
Before coming here, I had basically heard three things about Nairobi: traffic, crime and white mischief. Well, the latter is hardly going to affect me as I grapple with two children who leave me slumped on the terrace barely able to lift my Tusker after they have finally succumbed to sleep. Crime – it’s clearly around but luckily it doesn’t seem to impinge much on the life of a housebound mother-of-two. Fingers crossed. As for traffic, there is no denying that every time we leave the house, I pray to the Gods of travel and toddlers that we will not get stuck in a whopper jam. So far, we have been lucky. We do not go to the city centre but live our lives on the fringes, only occasionally venturing onto the commuter routes when we are sure most of said commuters are (finally) safely at their desks. I keep a supply of lollies and sweets in my handbag for those Westgate/Parklands go-slows and have a store of songs with actions in my repetoire to try to entertain cranky, hot children.
I love how green Nairobi is, the red, terraced slopes of banana trees and luxuriant palms sadly being bulldozed to make way for ever more extravagant villas; the remnants of coffee plants towards Limuru road, the undulating charm of Peponi Road meandering through the sun-dappled forest – it’s like the country is always banging at Nairobi’s doors, wanting to reclaim the land it once owned.
Back on the main, busy roads, I love watching the matatus – their drivers are mad, their style audacious, their music loud – what’s not to love? Check out this story http://http://www.ghettoradio.nl/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=166&Itemid=41 for a better description than I can give of what they really stand for – it’s about so much more than getting from A to B, it’s how you do it, dude. We have nearly been rammed by a few, overtaken by many, and cut up by more. Some of them are named after local hip-hop artists. I liked “Skool Girl Callin”, “Evolution”, “Dispute” and “Assassins”. And the one that had “In God We Trust” painted on the back. Well, you sure as hell don’t want to trust the driver. Matatus also seem to be prime targets for the armed thugs whose deaths regularly make headlines following shootouts in the city, in the slums and outer neighbourhoods. It seems a shame that people who can’t afford their own cars are liable to find themselves being held-up at night by shady men toting AK-47s. You can’t help but think the pickings must be better elsewhere. But I guess it’s a sad commentary on need – if those riding the matatus are worth sticking up, these robbin’ hoods must be in pretty dire straits.