February 16th

Wow. A surreal experience to top them all.

The matatus are what Kenya has instead of buses. They are 15-person vans that can fit 24 people if organized correctly (aka, seeming completely disorganized).
It’s straight out of a cartoon. Two guys work it, the driver and the money collector, who is often not inside the matatu but rather standing with his toes on the edge of the open side door. The passengers fortunate enough to be last-in also stand, but inside the van and sort of leaning across people’s laps. To indicate it is ok to go, the money-guy will bang a coin on the roof of the van, so the driver can hear it over the blarring hip-hop or Christian reggae music. The matatu will then whiz off down the road. It’s hilariously fantastic.

But today I had a matatu experience to top all others. The matatu from Maasailand to Ngong only runs in at 7:45 each morning. There are 3 on Saturdays because the whole town goes in for market. It was a real smalltown experience getting on and seeing 5 of the other 8 teachers at the school also on the same matatu.
But this matatu was not like the others. It was a mid-sized 1990 Toyota Pick-up truck. There were two benches along the bed of the pick-up. Not the safest mode of transport in the world, but ok. When my host family and I got on, we made 13. 5 squeezed tightly along each bench and three standing at the front of the bed. By the time the other passengers implored the driver to stop picking people up and make a second trip, we were 26 in the bed of the truck!! I still don’t understand how this was possible, but I counted several times.
Last night, my host mother was condemning skydiving as too dangerous. This morning she had no qualms with me sitting on the rail of a pickup traveling up to 65kph (40mph) down an unpaved African road (which is slightly smoother than a paved African road). Yes, my spot was the front right rail of the pickup bed. This meant my right knee was directly behind the driver’s head (they drive British-style here) and my right hand was inside the driver’s window holding onto the roof above his head. The rail I was sitting on was where my gluts meet my hamstrings, which meant two things: If I were to drop a #2 the car would not be soiled (aka my entire body excluding my legs was above ground); and because of the positioning of the rail, no blood was able to get to my legs the entire 40-minute trip, so I literally could not stand when we got to Ngong. Everyone found it hysterical as I held onto the truck for a couple minutes enduring crazy pins and needles.
I really wish I had a picture of this; it was far and away the most danger my life has ever been in. The only thing keeping my inside the truck was the strength of my two hands and a kid sitting in my lap [I’m coining the term “African seatbelt” to mean when somebody is sitting in your lap … a common occurrence].
I touched the side-view mirror at one point just to prove I could amidst laughable disbelief. But I am alive .. at least until next time.