The matatu industry, an avenue for investment and employment for many, represents the best and worst of the true spirit of enterprise. Self-regulated by often competing interests, the industry has largely degenerated into a by-word for disorder and indiscipline - a Kenyan wild west.

But the steady decline in service standards by players like the Kenya Bus Services and City Hoppa is a poignant reminder that even angels fall from grace.There is no doubt that last months action arose out of genuine and unresolved complaints by the industry against the traffic police whose appetite for bribes is legion. Like marrows growing on a rich dung heap, traffic police feed on the chaos of the matatu industry.Because there is no genuine, systematic and entrenched commitment from the highest levels within the police force to rein in corruption, there are no prizes for betting that last week's strike is not the last.True, a few dozen police officers have been arrested and charged over corruption but the numbers pale in comparison to the extent of the problem.The saving grace is that in the midst of this cacophony of organised chaos, a few notable exceptions, like Double M, 2 NK, among others show that the industry can get its act together and is not beyond redemption.High sounding pontification about zero-tolerance to corruption rings hollow when viewed against obvious equivocation in ridding the force of its bad apples.There are few "poor" traffic cops, many cannot account for their wealth and it is common knowledge that the department is widely seen as the most lucrative because it aseasy pickings.That is not to say that there are no traffic police officers committed and faithful to their callinBut these are few and far between - the exception rather than the norm.Kenyans must be saved from an irascible matatu industry that largely chooses not to play by the rules and a traffic police brigade that enriches itself under the guise of rendering public service.

lessons

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• KenyaFor the matatu industry, there is an abiding lesson from within its own ranks that order is not bad for business where effective self-regulation ensures enforcement and censure for breaking the rules. This is common sense that must be driven home.

But it is time we seriously debated whether we can do without traffic police. They are bad for business everywhere and the legion of complaints against them calls for a serious rethink on their role and place.Opting for greater reliance on technology to enforce the traffic code may be the way to lance the boil of corruption on our roads though this may only transfer the problem elsewhere.Still, this must not paralyse us into inaction because, if there are any lessons to take from last week's strike, it is that our police officers cannot be entrusted to tame a wild west that is their gambling casino. Though Kenya is not a banana republic, we may go bananas unless we act.
                   The minor towers next to the citizen.

AFTER OBEL COMES FIDEL

Prime Minister Raila Odinga's son Fidel was yesterday involved in a scuffle with a matatu driver during which he drew a sword. Fidel says he was acting in self-defence.

Fidel was upset when a Nissan matatu plying the Lavington route blocked his sleek black Mercedes, registration KBP125A, on Church Road in Westlands as it stopped to pick up passengers.

Fidel allegedly jumped out of the car brandishing the sword and threatened the matatu driver, Peter Githinji. "Do you know who I am?" Fidel is said to have shouted.

Touts at the scene near the Westlands bus and matatu stage rushed to rescue Githinji before Fidel sped off. The PM's son then drove to Muthangari Police Station where he reported that a matatu driver had attempted to run over him. "I was flagged down by the police from Muthangari a short distance from where the incident happened," Githinji narrated at the police station where he was taken.

The driver was however not placed under arrest or locked up. He was kept in the cells until 7pm when Dagoretti police boss Mathew Gwio ordered his release. However the matatu was not detained and proceeded on its journey with another driver after Githinji was picked up.

At Muthangari, Fidel, who was with two women, ranted and accused police of not listening to him. “He has only said he has been knocked by a matatu and continues to claim that l am not listening to him,” said the officer at the front desk who did not want to be named.

The police said they were not clear about the complaint by Fidel as he refused to co-operate with them or explain details of the incident.Fidel refused to answer questions at the police station. "There is no problem. I am going to report the matter to the Commissioner of Police," he said before driving off.

Yesterday evening Fidel explained that he had been driving himself along Waiyaki Way in the Mercedes Benz when the matatu driver suddenly blocked him. "I then came out of the car to ask him why he had blocked my way only for him to throw words at me. After a brief exchange I walked back to my car only for me to look back and see some men charging towards me with spanners. So I decided to get ready to defend myself since I did not have my bodyguards with me at the time," he explained. "I pulled out a machete to scare them but unfortunately one of them held my hand from behind and grabbed the machete. At that point I got back into the car and drove to Muthangari Police Station where I reported the incident," said Fidel.

The Prime Minister's son denied bulldozing police at Muthangari insisting that the officer there was disrespectful. "The policeman was too busy taking calls on his mobile line instead of attending to me so I walked away in protest to look for help elsewhere," said Fidel.

At the Westlands terminus, matatu operators appealed for protection and justice. "Hawa vijana wa pesa wanataka kutusumbua (these children of the rich want to make our lives difficult)," said an operator who feared he could be victimised if he revealed his name.

JOHN THE ROBBER

“Tao mbao mbao!” (Town twenty bob!) , the matatu touts all screamed at the top of their voices in a bid to outdo each other.

I stood at the bus stop in the midst of the confusion that was loud deafening music and billows of smoke emanating from the matatus’ exhausts as the touts surrounded and cajoled me to board their vehicles. This is a scene that I have always hated to be in, but “I have to be smart” I thought to myself, “I need a conductor who looks friendly and honest.”

Scanning through their faces, I settled for one whom I thought seemed trustworthy because I had ‘big’ money and some of them are the worst characters I have ever met. No sooner had I sat down than the conductor  whom i latter learned his name is 'john the robber'stretched his hand for the money, I muttered something as I begrudgingly gave him the only money I had, a 1000 bob note. Anyway, that would give him enough time to look for change as I was alighting along the way. His reaction jerked me from my thought as he started throwing a tantrum because according to him, I had given him a large amount yet he lacked change.

My attempt to ask him why he did not have change yet being 8pm, he should have accumulated enough money since morning only served to fuel his anger. Seeing no need of exchanging words with him I decided to keep quiet, after all, he should look for change and give me back my balance. Having heard what was transpiring, the lady seated besides me offered to pay for me the 20 bob but I turned her down since I really needed loose change.

By this time I was approaching my destination and I reminded him that I needed the money because I was soon alighting, and that is when he pretended to be asking from the driver for change. I started smelling a rat because he did not seem to be in a hurry at all to give me back my money, yet we had already arrived at my destination as I proceeded to ask him for it as I alighted.  Having stepped down, after the driver stopped in the middle of the road, the conductor handed me some 50 bob notes and on counting them they only amounted to 200 bob! The shock on my face was paralyzing, I could not believe this guy, he was holding much more loose change in his hands but only gave me 200! As I was asking him for the rest of my money, the driver sped off in break neck speed while the conductor was busy hurling insults at me and claiming that he had given me the rest of the money earlier!

I was left totally dismayed, in the middle of the road, in the dark of the night and was so confused of what to do. I could not comprehend how I could pay fare of almost 800 bob for a distance that normally costs 20bob at that time! For a moment I thought of running after the matatu but on second thought that would not have solved my problem. It was just by sheer luck that I was not knocked  down by oncoming traffic, one thing I had remembered to do amidst all the drama was to memorize the number plate of the vehicle as it was speeding off.

It is then that I remembered that there was a police station in the neighbourhood and I headed there cursing under my breath and wishing all kinds of evil to befall them. On reaching the station, the Police Officers were reluctant to take my statement, apparently, they are used to such cases that they are no longer moved by such complaints. However, they just wrote it down as a formality and promised to follow up the next day though I could sense that there was nothing they were planning to do. I am still waiting for their call to this day.

That is how I paid the most expensive fare by matatu within Nairobi. I now walk around with enough loose change to get me through the day. Once bitten, twice shy!

matatumatata: mataumatata

matatumatata: mataumatata

mataumatata

Dusk is falling over the city like a blanket. I don’t know what time it is. I don’t have a watch but I can always rely on the city clock, if it is working. But on this particular evening, the city clock’s face is dressed in campaign posters. A large grinning face stares at me from the clock’s post. Behind it, the clock is fast asleep, its arms taking a break. I reach down into my underwear’s pocket and take out my old Alcatel mobile phone. It is a quarter past seven. Gosh! I’m going to miss my favourite soap opera on TV tonight. I have to rush and get a matatu quick.
At the matatu stage there is only one of them. People are fighting to get in and head home. The matatu tout takes advantage of this and hikes the fare.
“Eastleigh fifty! Fifty Eastleigh!” shouts the young man. “Kama hautaki enda mguu!” he adds arrogantly.
I weigh my options between trekking to Eastleigh and parting with my fifty shillings for a distance where normally I would be charged twenty shillings. It is late, dangerous, and above all, by the time I get home, my favourite soap opera will be over. I wouldn’t know whether Alejandro decided to confess his undying love to Maria or whether Camilla came in and spoilt the magic moment when they were just about to kiss.
Clutching my handbag close to my chest, I push and shove near the door but the men are too strong. I give up and decide to wait for the next matatu. But just then, the Machine, sitting at the driver’s cabin, beckons to me. “Psst! Psst! Mrembo, comeukae hapa.”
My luck. I will seat comfortably next to the driver where I won’t have to endure the congestion in the passengers’ side of the matatu. The Machine opens the door and steps out. He does not wait for me to get in. Instead, he lifts me up swiftly and before I can say ‘No,’ I am seated next to the driver and the Machine is lifting another pretty girl to sit next to me. He then jumps in.
A signal from the tout and we are on our way out of the city. The Machine turns up the volume and I can feel the music vibrating in my ribs. The girl next to me reaches for her lipstick from her bag. She tries to apply it but she misses her lips and ends up smearing her nose with red lipstick as the driver swerves to avoid an oncoming boda boda.
We are then temporarily held in a traffic jam. The tout jumps out of the matatu and tries to create a space big enough for the matatu on the pedestrians’ pavement. He joins other matatu touts who are busy harassing a young woman driver stuck to her Vitz steering wheel. “Madam, Kama hujui kuendesha gari tutakuonyesha,” they shout. The young woman is too scared to drive away. The touts join hands and pushing her small car of the way, into the other lane.
We continue on our journey and now we are at an intersection. The driver stops suddenly in the middle of the road and the tout jumps out, runs ahead and spies the traffic on both sides. He then indicates to the driver to follow Kirinyaga Road. We swerve to the left, over the pavement and into the wrong side of the road.
A handcart pusher crosses the road, completely ignoring the speeding matatu on the wrong side of the road. In his handcart he pulls a bag of potatoes, a plastic paper bag that seems to be stuffed with clothes, and a baby. The goods’ owner runs behind, trying to catch up with the handcart puller. She too does not seem too concerned with the oncoming matatu. Her goods are more precious and you cannot let these handcart pushers out of your eye for even one moment. Our driver suddenly brakes and we are thrown forward. As the handcart pusher and the woman passes, a young couple takes advantage of the opportunity and cross the road, holding onto each other tightly. Our driver and his companion’s eyes follow the couple but I guess they are just focused on the girl.
Then we are on the move again but before I can regain my composure, the matatu stops again as suddenly. The tout is out and calling in more passengers into the already full matatu. From the rearview mirror, I can see him helping only the women into the matatu, by gently holding onto their waits and hips.
The tout then comes to the window and shouts to the Machine to increase the volume of the music. His laughter is swallowed by the noise and he ends up looking like an actor miming out a scene in a play.
The matatu is on the move again but the conductor is left behind. I then see him run and jump to grab the iron pole by the door. He then swings his body into the already full matatu and he is hidden from my view in the rear view window.
I am still thinking about his dangerous game when suddenly there is a scratch on my shoulder. I turn back sharply and a big, hairy and muscular hand is outstretched. The girl beside me tries to hand over her fare but the Machine restrains her hand. “Leo usilipe. I’ll pay for you,” he says. The girl throws a side glance at him and giggles. She pushes her money back into her bag.
Slowly, I remove my money from the bag, hoping the Machine will say the same thing to me before the outstretched hand grabs it. Who wouldn’t want a free ride anyway? But the Machine is not even looking at me. He has started a conversation with the girl. They are talking about something to do with the high cost of rent nowadays, especially for people who live alone.
I slowly watch as my five hundred shillings note disappears behind me. A huge television screen has been used effectively to block the driver’s cabin from view of the rest of the passengers in the matatu. For the same reason, I don’t see the conductor except for his huge hand.
“Karao! Karao!” the shout comes from the Machine and the tout at the same time.
“I have already seen his blue cap but I’m not going to let him arrest me,” the driver answers calmly.
“Pita na yeye!” the Machine shouts to the driver as the police officer moves to the middle of the road, his baton raised high to indicate to the driver to pull over by the road side.
But our driver does not stop nor slow down. Taking the advice of the Machine, he steps harder on the gas and we are flying towards the lone policeman standing in the middle of the road. When the blue uniformed officer realizes the danger he is in, he jumps to the pavement, cursing the driver and the matatu. In anger, frustration and shame, he throws his baton at the matatu and I watch in horror as the rear view window is smashed.
“Kumamake!” the driver curses adding, “Who does that stupid policeman think he is?”
“He is just a junior officer! Doesn’t he know the owner of this matatu is a senior police officer?” the Machine offers an answer.
“Huyo karoa anacheza na job yake sana,” it is the girl beside me. I also agree with her, though I don’t voice my comments. That young policeman must be very naïve to think he could arrest his senior’s driver and take his matatu in.
We are now getting into the residential areas and the passengers start alighting one by one. The Machine temporarily forgets the girl beside me whom he was chatting up and concentrates on his work. For each passenger that drops off from the matatu, his machine clicks once. But not for every passenger though. One young man drops off as the matatu slows down at a bump on the road. He does it in a style where he puts his left foot on the ground first and lifting his left hand above his head, drops off without waiting for the matatu to stop. Then the conductor shouts, “Sare!” He is the only one, beside the girl, who gets a free ride.
We are almost home now. But just before we get to when I usually alight, the driver makes a u-turn and stops.
“Mwisho!” he says looking further ahead.
“But you have not reached the end of the route. How am I going to get home in the darkness?” I ask.
Before I can get an answer, the Machine is out, and the girl too. The few passengers left in the matatu are also alighting. No use arguing with these matatu people. We have to walk the few remaining blocks home.
I get off from the matatu and hurry to keep up with the other passengers. It is always safer to walk in a group especially at such a time. Then the matatu rushes off to town for the next group eager to go home.
It is only when the matatu disappears behind the corner that I remember I did not get back my change from the conductor. And by the time I get home, my favourite soap opera will be over.