This piece is dedicated to people like you who warn people like us against looking at, talking to or helping others around the streets of Nairobi.
A few days ago I came across some story piece by a guy who days earlier sat beside a mama in a matatu during the early afternoon hours. As the makanga got collecting passenger fares, the mama had a hard time counting her many coins which were definitely insufficient. The man offered to pay her fare and as expected in such scenarios, a conversation struck.
The lady, who is a mama fua, was heading to a neighbouring middle class estate after having camped in another since early morning with hopes of finding someone to hire her to do their laundry. Though luck had failed her, she still remained hopeful that she'd get hired elsewhere.
This guy not only ended up paying her fare but gave her 500 shillings of which she was exceedingly grateful for. So very grateful was she that her kids would have a decent meal (they hadn’t eaten since yester night) and she on the other hand would get to take a break and rest her aching back for a day.
The incident refreshed a memory of mine from not so long ago. I was fresh from college and working a mediocre job in Parklands. For a couple of months I couch-surfed at a relative’s home in Donholm. For days I'd go without food and I remember how skinny I was yet all people saw was a desirable petite girl with a nice figure and flat stomach.
I would rise up at 5:00am, get ready for work, make tea for the relative and make sure I leave before 6:00am so I could catch a bus that charges 40 shillings to the CBD. If 6:10 got you at the bus stop, it would be hell. Prices would hike as more people surfaced making it harder to get space (don’t forget I’m a 4'9 girl weighing a mere 45kg).
On better days, owners of private cars would hitch us a ride at a flat rate of 50 shillings. May God bless them for taking in stranded strangers.
Quite often, we would have to either walk towards Savanna so we could get a matatu before passengers started steaming in (I guess that’s where they parked overnight) or alternatively walk to all the way to Rounda where there's a major bus stop hence more vehicles, but, more people.
Here is where absolute chaos thrived.
People would physically wrestle to get in. The well-built men would run after and grab themselves a seat before the driver hit the breaks while the lesser fit would not only cram at the door but enter through the windows. Smaller bodied adults like myself would get a chance when an etiquetted (sic) makanga demanded people enter orderly. This scenario would be evident from as early as 6:15 or 6:20am.
…all this so we could get to our minimal wage paying jobs in time lest we get fired and fail at Building our Beloved Nation.
Not once, twice or thrice did I only have 100 shillings on me so I would only afford to take a 30 shillings matatu to Stadi (City Stadium) then walk from there to Odeon where I’d catch a 20 shillings matatu to Parklands. I found this option better than walking from Bus Station to Parklands in the morning. In the evenings it’s alright…the more the pedestrians, the less awkward it was. But, once at Ambassador, I’d join other lower class folks in queuing for hours while we awaited our turn to board the most affordable and somewhat comfortable 50 shillings Double M buses.
During one of the days, I only had 60 shillings on me, so I got myself to work and had no more cash left on me other than a kinde (I bet no one refers to 10 shillings by that name any more). By 4:30pm, I was drained, hungry and incapacitated. I had to leave early while it was still light so I could make it from Parklands to Donholm by foot.
Somehow, my alter ego decided it was no good day to achieve yet another 20,000 steps milestone. I found myself in a matatu, sitting at the back seat, the middle seat, between two men. My plan was to pretend to drop and loose a coin when the makanga asks for fare, and hope that he’ll fall for the trick and take half the fare; 10 shillings.
The guy on my right paid first. Produced a crisp 500 shillings note. I bet it still had that fresh money smell I never get to get enough of. When my turn came, I pretended to be looking for my share in my mtumba bag so the makanga had to turn his attention to the guy on the left.
I take the opportunity and whisper to the guy with the 480 shillings change if he could lend me 60 shillings so I can add to my 10 shillings and have fare to town and from town to Donholm.
I didn’t dare look at his face. My last bits of pride couldn’t stand taking in the look of rejection or pity as it stared back at me. If he said Yes, well and good. If No, I’d go on with my plan of dropping a coin and in case it didn’t work, I was okay with being ejected from the vehicle at Ngara where walking wouldn’t have been so bad.
He gave me the loose change; 80 shillings.
He wanted to know if that was enough, if he could help, how he could help, if he could possibly get me something to eat in town. I shook my head no, all along avoiding eye contact. Back then, people used to think that I was shy because I couldn’t look them in the eye. Only if they knew that it was a tactic to keep safe what was left and clung so dearly to; my last straws of dignity.
Eventually, he handed me a 200 shillings note as he alighted from the vehicle.
All this went down on a Thursday. A good day in my view now that I was assured I was no longer going to trek back home. I also had enough fare for the next day's movements, a 70 shillings extra for a kibandaski lunch, and would get to buy some sukuma wiki and nyanya to accompany ugali for supper. Sure my relative wouldn’t mind me using his flour when I too had contributed. Right?
I never got to know this guy’s name and wouldn’t even pick him from a line-up, but occasionally I pray that good things happen to him, and I believe that when they do, he calls them miracles, but it’s Karma.
Throughout time I have had countless Good Deeds done unto me, and me unto others. Like when this school boy approached me begging for 30 shillings cos’ he needed 50 and he was short, and it was too dark to walk home alone. Or when an elderly lady grasped my hand and requested that I help her cross this wide highway so she won’t have to be hit by a motorbike, again. Or when this lady offered to help me with my heavy luggage despite having been in town since morning looking for a job, having not eaten all day, and was heading back to her kids with no food, and had been walking from downtown to the All Saints Cathedral stage where she could catch a cheaper bus to Kawangware. Dropped her off at the Junction with a 500 shillings note and my prayer remains that she never gets to suffer like that again.
Of course, chances are you may get robbed, lied to and conned in this city, and many others all across the world. Oh, like that lady who was begging by Holy Basilica gates while holding a few days hold baby while it drizzled, and I gave her 1000 shillings hoping she’d go home, but I found her at the same spot hours later, with the newborn still on her laps!
Point is, there’s more good than bad in the world. If you go by life doubting everyone and everything, you’ll always miss out on experiencing the subtle beauties of everyday miracles.
So, just go with your gut, and, more often than not, good tiding shall follow you.
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