Hakuna Matatu? Kenya Sopa! The funniest experience we had that summer was while travelling down to Narok, self-proclaimed Gateway to the Mara. Stuffed into a rickety pick-up with an equally rickety wire-frame roof, we met our first genuine Maasai – about ten of them to be precise, plus three milkchurns and an unknown number of […]
Hakuna Matatu?
Kenya
Sopa!
The funniest experience we had that summer was while travelling down to Narok, self-proclaimed Gateway to the Mara.
Stuffed into a rickety pick-up with an equally rickety wire-frame roof, we met our first genuine Maasai – about ten of them to be precise, plus three milkchurns and an unknown number of chickens. And bags of maize. The fact that the tribe we were living with had been at war with the Maasai for generations made us a little worried, but the matter was bluntly dismissed.
“We have more cows.” Aah… so you trample them into submission? The statement was never explained though, so I shall never know.
Some while later, Sarah and Alice asked to go on the roof while I hung off the back of the van. Nick remained inside, smiling secretly, while a couple of the other men joined us. The road was dusty, but the view as we drove into the savannah was worth it. Acacia trees, massive herds of cattle (they were more numerous but thinner, we noted loyally), even the odd zebra or Maasai village.
After a slightly deafening (and off-key) medley of The Beatles, the two men decided to start teaching us Maa. The only word I remember is “Sopa!” – hello! – though, but it wasn’t long before a common topic was broached.
“You are married, yes?”
Having spent weeks in tiny villages full of men trying to escape the vicious cycle of subsistence farming, we girls had our answers ready – an elaborate tale of boyfriends and the differing customs between Britain and Kenya. Little did we know however, that Nick had already planted his own little story.
“So you deny that you travel with your husband?”
Curious looks all round as we laugh off the comment, explaining that men in the UK have only one wife. “But he married you here, and the law will apply back there, no?” It seemed that the ploy had worked, and for all our attempts to convince them otherwise we eventually left a van full of people convinced that young Nicholas had three wives tailing him around Kenya. They wouldn’t even accept the truth that even if we had married him, Nick would be the one vowing to obey – hmph!
Note to self: never trust a Scouser (dodgy bloke from Liverpool).
Rain, rain, go away…
Another matatu tale wasn’t quite so funny though, taking place on a dark rainy night in – typically – the middle of nowhere.
Nick and I were on our way to visit the two girls’ school, a fair distance from our own, and the rains had begun. We met up with them easily enough, but partway to Magenche (only a half-hour walk away from the school, we thought jealously) the heavens opened.
Many backpackers will have seen tropical storms, and this was a pretty big one. Unfortunately, we were also stuck in a typically overburdened sardine can on wheels in an area where none of us knew a soul who could put us up until morning. One by one the other passengers left, leaving us for their cousin’s wife’s brother’s house that was very nearby – and a miraculously spacious matatu. The wheels span and the whole thing slipped from side to side, but still the driver ploughed on through the mud – he too wanted to reach Magenche. Eventually it got too much though, and the Little Matatu That Could gave up altogether and slid into a ditch.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!”
Out we clambered, seeing the poor little vehicle stuck in the mud at a 45 degree angle. All hands on deck and “Heave!” yelled the driver, doubtless fearing for his livelihood. No such luck, so out came all the bags that had sought shelter under the leaky roof. Another “Heave!” was attempted, and another, and another. About half an hour later everyone was clapping each other on the back, weak grins shining through despite a lack of energy after the effort of shoving the vehicle back on the road. Relieved, we four clambered back into the matatu and waited patiently for the engine to start – but it didn’t.
“Everyone out!”
The driver had decided to call it a day: the sun had vanished, the rain showed no sign of letting up, and one near-miss was enough. Uh-oh. We could see the lights of Kenyenya, about halfway to Magenche, but there would be no beds for us there – not without a fair bit of risk on a dark night – so a plan was hatched. Every road block in Kenya was evidence of bribery culture, so it was our turn. Under the failing light of our torches, we dug out some notes and decided how much we’d start the bidding at – in French in case he could hear.
Note to self: don’t depend on money alone to get you places.
Ks.300 plus five toffees (strange, I know) later we were back on our way, and after an hour or so we were safe in bed. Nice one.
Hakuna matata
Cramped and stuffy as they are, I miss matatus. I’ll probably complain some more whenever I return to Kenya (or anywhere else with similar transport), but the lessons have been learnt and I know that even the tightest of squeezes can be a hilarious ride.
Then again, now that I’ve invested in a bicycle I don’t miss the London Underground: most of the matatu-style qualities are there, but it doesn’t seem to have the same degree of character.