Tips for the matatu traveller

As soon as you land in Kenya and venture outside the airport you are likely to notice the hundreds of nissan vans marked with a single yellow stripe racing down the road. ‘Matatus’ are the most common public transport in Kenya. They are basically a  14 seater Nissans that look like they belong in a wrecking yard instead of on the road. I’ve traveled in my fair share of these rusty vehicles because I don’t have a car, taxis are too expensive for everyday use, matatus are also very easy to find, cheap and are available pretty much anywhere, any time. On one hand they can be quite enjoyable but on the other they can make you frustrated and annoyed – it really depends on how you look at it. Here are some tips for virgins of the matatu riding experience…..

1. Know where you’re going and act confident. Matatu’s have ‘routes’ identified by numbers displayed either in the front windscreen or by the conductor holding up a piece of small wood with the route number on it. If you don’t know where you’re going (they can tell), it’s easy for a matatu conductor to lure you in, assuring you that he’ll take you where you want to go when in fact he is well aware that he’s taking you a completely different direction. For him it’s just an extra few shillings from an unsuspecting westerner but for you it’s a major pain in the ass as well as potentially dangerous. Tip: Look confident, ask someone (not the matatu people) and try to know the route number you need.

2.Pick a good seat. If possible, choose a seat where you won’t have to play musical chairs with the other passengers for your journey- especially if it’s a long one and you have bags/stuff to carry. That is, a seat in the front next to the driver (there are only 2) or a seat in the first two rows at the window. Avoid sitting at the back on the matatu, it’s usually far more cramped and annoying to get in and out and harder to ensure the driver stops at your destination.

3. Know where your shit is. If you have a bag, don’t leave it in between you and another person. I pretty much always have my bag on my lap but NOT near the window if it’s open, many a thug has reached in and grabbed a handbag from passengers when the matatu is stuck in traffic. If you have stuff in your pockets, beware of the wandering hands if the matatu is full and you’re all squashed together. I also always carry my phone in my hand and the money I need so that I don’t need to go into my bag for any reason and I know exactly where my stuff is. I’ve never (touch wood) had anything stolen in a matatu so far!

4. If you are not sure of how much the trip should cost, ask a passenger or wait and see what others are paying. Because conductors and passengers speak in Swahili, if you don’t understand then it can be difficult to know what’s going on. Conductors will almost always try and rip you off by asking for more than they should if you don’t know and already have the money ready. What I used to do is wait to see how much others were paying and then act confident when giving the money. If you need change then make sure you get it because the conductors will surely try to avoid that as much as possible. The best thing to do is to have the right amount of money so you don’t need change and you don’t get into an argument with the conductor. But if you don’t know what the exact money is, have as little as possible (like 50 bob) so they can’t try and charge you more than that when it’s actually 20/-. Remember matatu’s are cheap. Wait to see what others are paying or ask another passenger.

4. Be aware. Thieves are plentiful in certain areas and the moment you think you’re fine and stop being aware of what’s around you, is the moment you will be robbed. There are specific things to watch for and a big thing for me is; trust your instinct. Thieves will not only steal from white people (although we are a huge target) but anyone they think they can fool or anytime they have an opportunity. Firstly, they are usually dressed nice with good phones so you don’t suspect they ‘need’ to steal. Secondly, they usually have something in their hands like a newspaper, wrapping paper, a book, bag or something they can cover your bag with while they put their hand under trying to get your money/phone. Thirdly, thieves usually work in a group. There might be 2-3 of them who come onto the same matatu and work their way to the seats right next to the people they want to steal from and definitely the lone white person or white girls they think they can fool. Sometimes they even work with the matatu drivers/conductors! What happens next is the distraction:

They drop their keys or some coins so you, being the nice person you are, start looking down and searching the floor for them while they take the opportunity to strategically place their wrapping paper/newspaper/bag over your bag and put their hands under to steal what’s in your bag because you’re not paying attention.

‘I’m going to be sick, open the window!’ They do this so you turn frantically and attempt to open the window while you leave your bag to be opened and your stuff to be taken.

They open the newspaper so it’s over your bag and vision of their wandering hands into your bag.

For the guys with pockets be aware of when the matatu is full and the guy next to you seems to be moving a hell of a lot. He’s most likely trying to move your wallet/phone/money up to the top of your pocket so he can easily reach down and steal it.

And this is my favourite attempt from thieves….

‘Police, Police! Put your seatbelt on!’ And while you’re scrambling to find the seatbelt that doesn’t exist, they are reaching into your bag stealing your money/phone.

If you follow these tips and remain aware of your surroundings, then you are sure to have a pleasant matatu experience!

🙂

On Kenya: Understanding my privilege

A very memorable teacher once asked ‘Do you understand your privilege?’ My immediate reaction (in my head) was ‘of course.’ I mean, I had been to Africa, volunteered and raised money to help people in the poor countries so I surely must have some idea right? If only it was that simple. I have come to realise that I had not really understood the meaning of such a question and even today, I’m still unsure of whether I do, two years after living in Africa.

In short, I moved to Kenya and after a while met a Kenyan man, began a relationship and are now considered ‘married’ albeit informally. His closest family is from Kibera, the biggest slum in Kenya. Early this year I found out we were pregnant which we were so happy about. A little while later, we also found out two of his cousins were pregnant and due around the same time as us.

I had my baby almost 10 weeks ago. She was born in Nairobi and although my mum rang me and offered the chance to fly back to Australia and give birth there, I decided to stay and have her born in Kenya. I have insurance from my job so I chose probably the most expensive and ‘western’ hospital in Kenya to deliver. Everything was covered except some nappies, creams and little things like that. My mum deposited money into my account to pay for the extra right after we got home. My experience was excellent. I was seen by compassionate nurses and doctors, talked to about pain medication options, was able to use the water bath for the majority of my delivery; had my partner with me through the whole labour and he had his own fold out bed in my room so he could stay with me after the delivery too. I was given options, prepared a birth plan and positively encouraged when going through contractions and pushing. We were given space, not rushed through anything and we were listened to. Immediately after delivery, I held my baby and breast fed within 30minutes. We stayed in the hospital for 3 days of which I was seen every few hours by nurses, doctors and lactation specialists who helped with breast feeding in the first hours. At night when I was crying because breast feeding hurt so much and I couldn’t get the hang of it, I pressed a button and a caring nurse consoled me and helped with positions and information. We were fed 3 meals a day with snacks in between, visitors came and went with no restrictions, vaccines were administered after the nurses gave us all the information we needed and we were shown how to bath our new daughter. When I was still struggling with breast feeding the day we were being discharged, the nurse suggested I stay in longer so they could help me more. Overall, I had an almost perfect first time delivery experience at an excellent hospital.

Why am I explaining this you might be thinking? Of course the nurses were caring and gave me the information I needed. Of course I was helped through labour by supportive staff and of course my partner was able to be there with me right? Of course I chose the best hospital for us. Well no.

I was able to have this experience because of my privilege. I was able to relax and enjoy the moment because I was born in a country where education is actually free, where I got a degree without paying a cent and subsequently got a job which offered medical insurance. I was able because my mum, even though she brought us up as a single parent and struggled day to day herself, is still able to say ‘how much?’ without much consideration when it comes to my health or safety.

My experience was very different to that of my partner’s cousin. Shantelle was due first, a few months before me. She was living in Dandoora – another slum area of Nairobi known as the ‘garbage slum’ because of the huge landfill site there. She had gone to a clinic for check-ups but never had an ultra-sound or other tests to check if everything was ok with her and the baby. When she went into labour she walked herself, on her own, to the local hospital. It’s quite common for the partner not to be in the delivery room, let alone the hospital in Kenya and so her partner was not there, nor was any of her family when she delivered. The hospital was less than basic and there was no welcoming by friendly nurses and doctors explaining her options, rather she was told NOTHING and given no information about her options. There was no pain relief, no water for her to relax in, no discussions about what positions were best for her and no sympathy. When the pain was too much and Shantelle was screaming, the doctor actually said to her, ‘Why are you making those noises? I didn’t bring you here. I didn’t make you get pregnant.’ She was comforted somewhat by the midwife who ended up delivering her healthy baby girl but as you can imagine, how the doctor treated her stuck in her mind long after the birth. After delivery she was given no support or information on breast feeding – which is one of the toughest things as a new mum – and left the hospital the day after she delivered. Because Shantelle was born in a developing country, because she was not part of the privileged few and because she didn’t have an opportunity to get a good education, a job and money to pay for a decent hospital, she had to go through what should be an awesome, liberating experience feeling alone and worthless.

Now to me, that’s bullshit.

How I came to live in Kenya

As I’m lying here in bed next to Nyla who is fast asleep in her most comfortable position – snuggled beside me feeling the warmth of my body – I find it pretty amazing that it’s already been 8 weeks …