My first encounter with these sardine cans on wheels was in the Latema Road area of Nairobi - which looks suspiciously like a giant pothole. The next three months were to become a love-hate relationship between myself (a lifelong despiser of the London Underground) and these fascinating contraptions that could probably squeeze in more human flesh per square inch than your average shrink-wrap machine. Not only that, but an improbable source of valuable lessons.

Peril at first sight
"Hakuna matata!" cried the first driver we met. "It means 'no worries', yes? You are Australian, yes?"

No, we shook our heads in reply, but The Lion King had certainly improved our Swahili vocabulary a long time before this enlightening translation.

"Strewth..." Nick whispered, sarcastic as ever, as the rest of us took in the car's rickety exterior. Rusty and damaged, it could have been stampeded by an elephant last week for all we knew.

On this occasion we didn't actually need a matatu though, since the slightly more spacious coach option was available en route to Kisii. There were four of us, students all, who'd spent the last few months raising money to help two schools in the middle of nowhere as part of an ongoing project. Soon it would be time to put the experience inherited from our predecessors to the test, but not quite yet - and not with Mr Hakuna Matata and his battered vehicle - though as it turned out our virgin trip was in something immensely similar.

Kisii lies between the western city of Kisumu and the Masai Mara in the south, and is generally considered a backwater by such guides as the Lonely Planet. They're probably right, as the most the place has to offer are those lovely soapstone sculptures sold all over the world at ten times the original asking price. I'm glad too though, as I've grown quite fond of the area and don't fancy seeing it stampeded by backpackers quite yet. Our schools lay in the rural areas surrounding an already rural town, so while the matatus were essential to reaching our destination, even they couldn't take us the whole way - but we did get plenty of exercise!

The ground-breaking, mind-bending first trip was between Kisii Town and a little known market village of Ogembo. It was an exercise in contortion, as more and more people made their way into the back of the converted Mini (that's what it felt like anyway!), and during the frequent stops we tried keeping tabs on our precious backpacks, strapped to the roof and possible prey for hawkers. Then again, the hawkers seemed keener on stuffing their wares through the tiny windows:

"Groundnuts! Roasted maize! Ten shilling!"

My matatu technique was not yet so great that I could manoeuvre my hand to my purse, let alone my mouth, so I declined with a grin. This was painful, but fun.

30 minutes and several aching limbs later it was time to swap matatus, this time getting on one to an even smaller village named Ikoba. It was also up a steep hill, and the driver of this matatu had also packed his source of income to explosion levels. It's probably predictable, but this trip resulted in a great deal of wheel-spinning and sliding about in the ever-increasing mud, plus several people getting out and walking - not getting their shillings back.

Note to self: accept the inevitable.
If you want to get to the middle of nowhere you either pay for a single seat, or pay for all the other seats too. And on arrival in Ikoba: if that's the size of a matatu-worthy village, how tiny is Nyakorere? Our final destination was still two hours walk away...

Well, Nyakorere did prove to be miles from anywhere and a tiny cluster of huts to boot - but it became home for several weeks. We also got more and more experienced in our matatu riding, often asking for seats on the roof or hanging from the back. Precarious perhaps, and wet once the storms started, but good fun and plenty of fresh air. The locals clucked about the crazy white people, but so long as the drivers got their shillings no-one minded - and we paid more than most every time in any case.

Note to self: always find out what the real going rate is.
Fair enough we could afford it better than others, but it would at least be useful during haggling (a wonderful pastime).

Questions?
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