Shake Down Day
Last Thursday I traveled to the nearby town of Bungoma to visit a lawyer who is working to register the Kakamega Network as a company. To reach Bungoma I take a matatu to Mumias, alight (This is a British word. It means “get out of the vehicle”), then take another matatu to Bungoma. On a good day the trip takes about an hour. It might take an hour and a half if matatus are a problem or many people alight along the way.
However, last Thursday was an exceptionally bad day for matatus. The Police decided the time had come to crack down on public transportation. This apparently consists of soliciting plenty of bribes, commonly referred to as “kitu kidogo”, or “a little something”. As my overpacked matatu neared Mumias, touts in passing vehicles began making frantic hand gestures at our driver. The message was clear: it was shake-down day. Basically every public transport vehicle on the road has some kind of violation, but I was assured that even if they are squeaky clean and brand new the police will get their kitu kidogo regardless. Our matatu driver, realizing the impending danger, immediately turned off the road and dumped the passengers.
Thus we had to walk into town, only to discover that every matatu in the area had mysteriously vanished. Shake down day for matatus means big business for boda-bodas. The only remaining option for those without a private vehicle was a bicycle taxi. We had no choice but to take a boda-boda to the next village, where we hoped matatus would be waiting. As we rode through the outskirts of town the missing matatus started to emerge. Hundreds of them were hidden behind buildings, and many more were in parking lots, raised up on jackstands, as if to imply they were out of service and not actually used on a daily basis. As we continued on our bike trek we passed the police headquarters, which was full of impounded matatus and tuk-tuks (three-wheeled taxis) that had been caught off guard.
Finally a matatu drove by, saw us on our bikes, and opened the door to hurry us into the vehicle. We piled in and thought we could continue to Bungoma with no further problems, but we were sadly mistaken. We drove just a few miles when the hand signals from passing Matatus returned. The police, realizing that matatus were no longer coming into Mumias, had set up check points on the road to Bungoma as well. However, our driver was determined. He veered off the tarmac onto a dirt road, and we went rumbling into the interior villages on a very long and elaborate route to bypass the road blocks. After traveling an additional hour out of the way we finally made it back to the tarmac road leading to Bungoma. The driver had a smile on his face, proud of himself for outsmarting the police. Then, as we waited for two matatus to pass so we could merge back onto the tarmac, we realized something was horribly wrong. Both of the passing matatus were empty except the driver, the tout, and a police officer escorting them to the station. Thus we were caught red handed by the police, who glared at us as we were emerging from our scenic route in an obvious attempt to bypass the roadblocks. The driver immediately turned in the opposite direction of the passing matatus, gunned the engine, and ducked behind a building to hide.
After some time it became clear that the police already had their hands full and did not bother to pursue us. We snuck back onto the tarmac and the driver, now fed up and complaining loudly, continued down the road. Finally, we crested a hill with Bungoma in sight. Home free? Not quite. We were taken by surprise by yet another check point waiting for passing vehicles. The driver slammed on the brakes, but with the police just ahead of him and nowhere to turn he realized he’d been caught.
At this critical moment the driver decided to take a chance. He knew that if he stopped the vehicle, all the passengers would be taken out and he would be sent to the station for considerable harassment and a substantial bribe. Instead, he had the tout stuff an envelope with money, which he threw out the window as he ignored the policemen’s demand to stop and blew past the road block.
The ploy worked. The police were too preoccupied with the bribe to bother following us, and finally, more than three hours after we started our trip, we made it to Bungoma. Unfortunately even more police were waiting at the stage, so our driver ducked behind a building yet again to empty the passengers and lay low until tomorrow.
On my return trip from Bungoma the police were no longer around. However, most of the matatus had given up for the day or were at the station. Thus, I had to ride 26 deep in a 14 seat vehicle. Thank you, Mr. Policeman, for making the roads safer. It was raining outside and the matatu was leaky and wet and smelled horrible. How they had managed to stay on the road throughout such a day was beyond me. Regardless, I made it back in one piece with a story to share. On the next shake down day I’ll be taking a cab.
However, last Thursday was an exceptionally bad day for matatus. The Police decided the time had come to crack down on public transportation. This apparently consists of soliciting plenty of bribes, commonly referred to as “kitu kidogo”, or “a little something”. As my overpacked matatu neared Mumias, touts in passing vehicles began making frantic hand gestures at our driver. The message was clear: it was shake-down day. Basically every public transport vehicle on the road has some kind of violation, but I was assured that even if they are squeaky clean and brand new the police will get their kitu kidogo regardless. Our matatu driver, realizing the impending danger, immediately turned off the road and dumped the passengers.
Thus we had to walk into town, only to discover that every matatu in the area had mysteriously vanished. Shake down day for matatus means big business for boda-bodas. The only remaining option for those without a private vehicle was a bicycle taxi. We had no choice but to take a boda-boda to the next village, where we hoped matatus would be waiting. As we rode through the outskirts of town the missing matatus started to emerge. Hundreds of them were hidden behind buildings, and many more were in parking lots, raised up on jackstands, as if to imply they were out of service and not actually used on a daily basis. As we continued on our bike trek we passed the police headquarters, which was full of impounded matatus and tuk-tuks (three-wheeled taxis) that had been caught off guard.
Finally a matatu drove by, saw us on our bikes, and opened the door to hurry us into the vehicle. We piled in and thought we could continue to Bungoma with no further problems, but we were sadly mistaken. We drove just a few miles when the hand signals from passing Matatus returned. The police, realizing that matatus were no longer coming into Mumias, had set up check points on the road to Bungoma as well. However, our driver was determined. He veered off the tarmac onto a dirt road, and we went rumbling into the interior villages on a very long and elaborate route to bypass the road blocks. After traveling an additional hour out of the way we finally made it back to the tarmac road leading to Bungoma. The driver had a smile on his face, proud of himself for outsmarting the police. Then, as we waited for two matatus to pass so we could merge back onto the tarmac, we realized something was horribly wrong. Both of the passing matatus were empty except the driver, the tout, and a police officer escorting them to the station. Thus we were caught red handed by the police, who glared at us as we were emerging from our scenic route in an obvious attempt to bypass the roadblocks. The driver immediately turned in the opposite direction of the passing matatus, gunned the engine, and ducked behind a building to hide.
After some time it became clear that the police already had their hands full and did not bother to pursue us. We snuck back onto the tarmac and the driver, now fed up and complaining loudly, continued down the road. Finally, we crested a hill with Bungoma in sight. Home free? Not quite. We were taken by surprise by yet another check point waiting for passing vehicles. The driver slammed on the brakes, but with the police just ahead of him and nowhere to turn he realized he’d been caught.
At this critical moment the driver decided to take a chance. He knew that if he stopped the vehicle, all the passengers would be taken out and he would be sent to the station for considerable harassment and a substantial bribe. Instead, he had the tout stuff an envelope with money, which he threw out the window as he ignored the policemen’s demand to stop and blew past the road block.
The ploy worked. The police were too preoccupied with the bribe to bother following us, and finally, more than three hours after we started our trip, we made it to Bungoma. Unfortunately even more police were waiting at the stage, so our driver ducked behind a building yet again to empty the passengers and lay low until tomorrow.
On my return trip from Bungoma the police were no longer around. However, most of the matatus had given up for the day or were at the station. Thus, I had to ride 26 deep in a 14 seat vehicle. Thank you, Mr. Policeman, for making the roads safer. It was raining outside and the matatu was leaky and wet and smelled horrible. How they had managed to stay on the road throughout such a day was beyond me. Regardless, I made it back in one piece with a story to share. On the next shake down day I’ll be taking a cab.
posted by KenyaJoe at 6:18 AM
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