ALL IN A DAY'S TRAVEL.

ALL IN A DAYS TRAVEL.

Am standing by the road.What i want to do,is to hop into one of those flashy matatus plying the Nairobi-Meru route. Meru is where am headed,from Chuka,having attended a class in one of the colleges in this little dusty town,whose main mode of communication is vulgarity.Language without vulgarity is frowned upon here.You want to belong,better learn the most obscene words and expressions as fast as you can.I chose not to belong,that's why after every lesson,i leave.That and many other reasons.

Anyway,in comes this beautiful Mat.Its doesn't ply this route,of course.This one is 'foreign'.I can see a number on its windscreen.Its 58,meaning it does its thing within Nairobi.But that is not what catches my eye.The speed.That's what catches my full attention.Especially because i have been attempting to flag it down,so can also get that Nairobi feel.It doesn't stop,but literally flies past.My heart sinks.You do not speed past me like that,without as much as an acknowledgement.Couldn't have seen me,i comfort myself,of the driver.But am worried about that speed.It has been raining all morning,and only a complete moron would have failed to notice that.So the speed just doesn't seem right.

Any way,i hop into the next thing on four wheels.It happens to be an old jalopy that seems to be literally walking.And with a limp.Inside,its raining mud,even though it stopped raining about half an hour ago.We are cramped up together like some lifeless things.I say lifeless because no one forced us into this situation.We all knew what we were getting ourselves into,yet we willingly obliged.Some are hugging unwillingly,others are breathing their neighbors foul breath.I spot a lady who's head seems to be stuck in a certain old man's coat pocket.I can't wait to alight,but as i said,this jalopy is walking.Uphill,downhill..its just walking,not even once attempting to sprint.We are all sweating so i can't tell who is this who's sweat smells of urine.

A hour later,after a grueling uphill struggle,this jalopy screeches to a halt in the middle of the road.Everybody is struggling to look outside.The lady who's head was lost in the old man's coat pocket,is moving her limps frailly in an attempt to break free.The old man is clearly agitated at this total invasion of his Sunday best clothes by a total stranger,the age of his grand daughter.I crane to look outside too.But my window won't open.And there's mist all over so the attempt to wipe it with my palms turns it muddy..The conductor,who has been struggling to open the door,finally succeeds.The door opens,producing that sound mostly heard in police cells,as they either open or close,either way spelling doom for you.People spill out,like beans from a torn sack.I spill out too.I take a moment to breath in my first breath of real oxygen in an hour.Then i look to the direction everyone is looking at.Then i let out a low sympathetic scream like everyone is doing.Because out there in someone's farm,lying on its side,wheels still rolling like an overturned cockroach,is the beautiful Mathree from Nairobi,christened Tamasha.