Matutus

Matatus are a mode of public transportation in Kenya. They are 15-passenger vans, most of which are in worse condition than any of our charming “island” vehicles—and that’s saying something. When you get on a matatu you want one that is filling up because it only leaves when filled to capacity. If you are unfortunate enough to find a matatu with plenty of seats you will spend your time waiting in a hot vehicle until it is so full that strangers are practically sitting on your lap. So, when catching a matatu, look for one that has no room left, and climb aboard. On our ride into Meru this morning I counted twenty-two people plus two babies in the matatu.

Each matatu is unique. Drivers put their own stamp on the vehicle by putting up stickers inside, painting the outside, hanging curtains. For some reason I felt much more comfortable approaching the matatu with the painted Jesus on the rear window than I did approaching the matatu with scantily clad women and male rappers.
The smells are unique as well.

On the ride to town, our matatu smelled of moldy, dirty socks, liquor from the man behind me, and another smell that I couldn’t quite put my finger on—and probably wouldn’t want to. The ride home permeated my nostrils with body odor, ash trays, and a smoldering campfire. However, the ride was much more comfortable; there were only nineteen people in the van.

Jill