The local buses here are known as matatus. I think I've written about them before but I can't be bothered to check as the internet connection here is SLOOOOW today and the electricity is so intermittent, it may as well have been off all day.
Matatus are basically blue and white battered up old minibuses that have seen better days. They are officially licensed to carry 14 passengers.
However, this being Africa and all, they frequently carry 21 passengers, possibly up to 30 if you include live chickens and goats that can travel on the roof.
Sue and Alex are a bit more savvy on how to bag the best seats as they catch them a lot more than I do.
Unfortunately for me, the last time we all travelled together, they took full advantage of their insight and my matatu-related ignorance by jumping straight (whilst whispering, giggling and nudging each other) into the comfortable, one person per seat front seats, leaving me to negotiate a three seater row with four others in a most undignified manner for the next five hours.
Despite the fact I spent four of those hours next to a man with an exceptionally bad BO problem whilst sitting on my left bum cheek with my neck on the wonk, my head and right arm hanging out of the window like some sort of labrador, my hair flapping about in the wind and hitting me in the face, my upper left arm nestled diagonally in between my boobs with my hand holding onto the outside of the minibus window for dear life, Sue and Alex insisted I had been lucky and that wasn't as bad as it could have been.
I disagreed. Strongly.
Every now and again, I'd catch Sue and Alex's eye as they were looking back at me in the mirror and their shoulders would start shaking uncontrollably whilst laughing at both my misfortune and the mouthed profanities and scowls directed at them from underneath the wind swept hair hanging out of the window.
(I think the little shits may have had a point about it not being too bad actually. The matatu the girls caught back was carrying a woman in the full sing of labour - the bus just stopped and left her there at the side of the road, just crowning away!)
This particular matatu ride home was pretty similar to the taxi ride we experienced on the way to Sipi Falls (see previous blog) - just as perilous but luckily, this time we had God on our side.
Most matatus have little slogans written across the top of the window, most of them religious. Ours encouraged us to Trust in God.
To be honest, I didn't have much choice but to trust in Him as I didn't have an abundance of faith in the brakes, suspension or tyre tread.
Some of my other favourite slogans include :
* This taxi is protected by the blood of Jesus (me neither)
* Second chance (judging by the look of most matatus, they are more like cats, going though nine lives rather than two)
* No gain, no pain (?! - I can't decide if that philosophy is fundamentally flawed or spot on!)
* God is AWESOME!
Whereas others just have Liverpool, Arsenal or Chelsea emblazoned across them.
Well, footballers are practically deities here so I guess it makes sense in an Only In Africa kind of way!
One of the benefits of sitting in such an uncomfortable position for so long is that you have no option but to take your mind off the pain and discomfort and concentrate on soaking up the scenery and atmosphere.
(Elin, Rhian, Del and Caroline - roedd rhaid i fi ddysgu ymdopi a theithiau hir ers siwrne'r Traws Cambria 'na nol ym 1998!)
Some of the more common scenes you see whilst driving though cities and villages alike are :
* Cow or goat carcasses hanging (often still dripping) from wooden shacks at the side of the road. Ych, they make my stomach churn every time I see them all covered in flies and dust.
(I tell people I'm a vegetarian as the meat really does look so awful. Someone said to me the other day, "You're a vegetarian? Really? I thought only Germans were vegetarian"!)
* Boys and men sitting at the side of the road chipping at large rocks to create aggregate to sell. They sit there ALL day, just chip, chip, chipping away.
* School kids running round in luminous school uniforms that clash so badly with the natural landscape. I'll try to post of photos of the school uniforms. They are truly revolting, but somehow kids manage to look great!
A less common scene is having seven boys, between eight and twelve who had just been swimming in the river, waving at you excitedly from the roadside.
Nothing unusual about that - except they were totally naked and their bits were waving as much as their hands!
Not much surprises me here any more - after all, TIA!
* * *
This was my view before the bus filled up. I didn't have room to manoeuvre and get my camera out by the time it had filled up.
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