Matatu Tales…

I have mixed feelings about public transport, more so matatus. Currently I loathe their very existence but I’m sure this will change very soon. Now I will not say love them, because that would expressly be a lie. It is also too much of an emotional attachment to something so seemingly mundane and fickle; which could be here today and gone tomorrow. It’s like the time when I publicly professed my love for a German shepherd; proudly proclaiming her praises both to those who did and didn’t care. I even considered that she could be my best friend in the whole world – yet, when she bit my girlfr.., sorry, I mean the girl whom I had loved so much and had secretly and forcefully claimed as the queen to the Omondi Dynasty, and the dog had to be put down; I was the one who cast the first stone. I mean, I was livid and did not even flinch as we put that bitch down. So much for love. So you see, in essence to use the word love-in my opinion of course- is too much of an overdraw.

Conversely, I cannot say that I hate them; for that is also too much. To quote Johnny Bravo’s mum, “Oh Johnny, hate is such a strong word.” I hate Darth Vader; I hate the guy who stopped the production of all my favorite cartoons, especially SpongeBob and I hate what’s-her-face for killing Dobby in her book. I cannot say that I hate mathrees; because for fifteen minutes or less, my music thirsts are quenched and my ears slowly advanced towards deafness; also the remedial desires I have for night crawling the streets, hopping from joint to joint come out to play as they know their days are numbered. It’s like my own musical quickie; a short draw that I will probably not remember five minutes after getting off.

I cannot say that I hate a place that, on rare occasions, I get to feel like I am living my dream of being in the Fast and Furious movies. On such special, once in a blue moon days, when I get to ride shotgun to a nut who thinks he is Vin Diesel, I get to know what it is like to hold your heart in your hands. Especially if the bloke is stupid enough to try and outrun that green supercar on our roads marked NTSA. Kwanza let me just ask, what does that car run on, Hydrogen? A government car should not have such speeds. No matter how fast you think your car is, it always catches up with you. It’s like when you try running, they normally give you a one minute head start before they humiliate you. SMH

However, one thing I do not like is how their seats are not considerate for us heavenly beings (read tall people). Ever since they came up the philosophical saying ‘Wanne nne kama orbit’ and made the great technological invention which has made great strides in our understanding of the universe, known as ‘Sambaza’, my knees and booty have not had peace. If I am not riding at the front, then no matatu can accommodate my giraffe-like, privacy intruding knees. Just today as I commuted to work, I got supplanted between a lady with hair and a woman with fish and was forced to set my perfect bombom on that abhorrent medieval torture mechanism. I think a few cells died today. So while in the process of mourning, I decided to write this piece to tell of my plight and honor my derriere.

Why are those seats so squeezed? What, are you saying we are too tall and should work on our heights? Or, to crusade for our plus companions, are we too plump? FYI matatu fascists, not everyone wants to look like Sméagol. Some find it sexy when we look like Fat Albert. So now because Elsa has the daily calorie intake of an entire little league girl’s football team, she cannot sit in the back? Shame on you!

Anyway, by now, my bitterness has subsided and I have decided to let it go. My knees are a little less sore, my ass has healed and my ego is back at the summit of Mount of Olympus. That and I have just seen a photo of my dream car.

So, thank you for allowing me to waste your time on this piece that makes absolutely no sense. Even now, I am not sure why I started it in the first place. Anyway, thank you. It means a lot. You sir/ma’am, are the real jaduong. Hawa wengine ni tu-ginene, kaochungulo.

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