Destiny (2)

Destiny

By Clifford Oluoch

“I am a musician,” Serah replied proudly and then went into the long story of the challenges of producing her debut album. She removed a CD from her bag and gave it to the driver to sample it. Macharia removed the DVD that was playing and inserted Serah’s CD. The thumping beats send Serah into delirium as she started a rhythmic slow motion of her hands and body. Rono and Serah joined in the swaying of heads and hips.
The matatu stopped to pick the next two passengers. “Karibuni,” Mutinda told the old man and his companion.
“Thank you very much my grandson,” Andrea Otoyo, a studious 78 year old veteran of Nairobi city, addressed Mutinda. The smile on his face was genuine. He then turned to address his 15 year old grandson and namesake. “I will be fine,” he told the young boy as he boarded the matatu.
“Dad gave me specific instructions to make sure that I take you up to the country bus terminus and not to leave until the bus has departed,” Andrea Junior repeated his father’s instructions. He followed his grandfather in.
The two Andreas took the back seat, next to Ntutu. “Your father is very stubborn,” the old man thundered and he went ahead to give his grandson anecdotal episodes of how life was some 50 years back. “These were bushes and forests,” he pointed towards the water tower that was on Outer Ring Road. “We used to come all this way for our hunting expeditions. There was no problem with water at all. All these unsightly extensions and tall structures have made Nairobi very ugly,” Andrea Junior smiled, believing his grandfather a more reliable source of information than the history books they used in school.
“Please lower the volume,” the old man told the conductor, who shouted at the driver to decrease the decibel levels. Serah snorted and the driver decided that it was time to try his luck with another girl. He banished the memories of four of his known scattered seeds wandering the face of the earth.
“How many more?” the driver asked the conductor in reference to filling up the matatu with passengers.
“Four more and we are set,” the conductor replied.
Otieno started the heavy train engine. It smoked and like a dragon that has just come from deep hibernation, it made its way out of the station slowly gathering momentum towards Eastlands to destination Dandora. It is a route that Otieno had taken for the last five or so years, knowing it like the back of his hands. The mass of people who woke up early to walk to work was already on its way. In less than an hour, the sun would be up and Nairobi would be lit and finally awake and alive to challenge the very meaning of existence. The happiness on these pedestrians faces always gave Otieno the extra energy to see it to the end of the day. Daily he noticed groups of people in animated discussion and laughing heartily as they trekked to work, most of them in industrial area.
At the Donhoolm roundabout the number of passengers was swelling. Already there were about ten passengers and the number was increasing. An old ramshackled matatu, what one columnist called a distant relative of a vehicle, rambled to the bus stop. The passengers rushed to board it but the vehicle stalled and the five passengers who had boarded it from Fedha estate and Pipeline estate were forced to alight.
“Return the full amount that you took from us!” thundered David Kisia, a 55 year old bank worker who had a month to the end of his 35 years service to the same employer. He had risen through the ranks and his pension was a staggering Kshs.7 million. He had just completed paying his 15 year old mortgage, making feel free and extremely proud of himself. David was really looking forward to his retirement. He needed to spoil himself during his retirement.
The conductor stood his ground and told the passengers that he would talk to the next matatu to carry them at a subsidized fare.
“Matatu are just con,” shouted Mama Ndavi also popularly known as ‘Sukuma Wiki’ because of the vegetables she sold at the junction of Pipeline estate and Mukuru kwa Njenga, the populous slum that had just refused to disappear. “Today I am late and I will get all the bad vegetables,” Mama Ndavi lamented as she glanced at her watch. 5.58 am.
They saw the ‘DESTINY’ matatu coming and all the fifteen or so people started angling themselves to rush to the matatu.
“Town fifty bob,” shouted Mutinda as Macharia increased the volume of the music, making Serah a happy girl and feeling like telling everyone about her CD.
“Mannerless young men,” Andrea Snr muttered as he tried hard to cover his ears. Much to his annoyance, his grandson seemed to be really enjoying himself, shaking his body to the heavy beats. “We used to pay five shillings to town, now it is a whooping fifty shillings. This Nairobi, people will die of hunger!” the old man’s lamentations continued.
A man wearing shades forced his way to the front to join Serah who moved more towards the driver. The driver took one look at the man and immediately recognized him.
“Please alight,” the driver politely told the man, Kinoti Kinywa, one of the known hustlers and car jackers of Eastlands. Most of the matatu drivers and touts knew him and whenever he struck they all knew how devastating he could be. Macharia was shocked to see Kinoti so early in the morning.
“I am not working. Just meeting some friends at City Stadium,” Kinoti replied. “I never work in the morning.”
The shoving aside, Mutinda had to shout at the top of his voice. “Please let the expectant lady board first. Shame on all of you!” There was muttering of discontent amongst the passengers as they let the heavily expectant Esther Wakesho board the vehicle. This was her first pregnancy in 10 years of marriage, childlessness and heartbreaks, endless tests and pressure from her in laws. Her husband, Muturi, a real gentleman, had stood by her and told her that he was not going to marry another woman and neither would he walk out of their marriage. Esther was 7 months expectant.
As Esther made herself comfortable, Wangui Wamae, a 14 year old std.8 pupil squeezed herself and made the last of the passengers. Wangui’s school was going for a trip to Mombasa, an 8 hour road trip. She had to be in school by 7am. She was sad as she boarded the matatu, still debating whether the shs.7000 trip was worth the dent it had made on her widowed mother who had insisted on Wangui’s attending the trip.
“The vehicle is packed!” Mutinda shouted at some passengers who were still trying to make their way to make the excess number that the touts were commonly known to favour.
“I am sorry, traffic rules have to be followed,” Mutinda said as he gently shut the matatu door. There were 14 passengers inside. They all heard the distant hooting of the train. It was 6.03am and the train was three minutes late.
The train gathered enough momentum, Otieno admiring the view of Kaloleni estate. From some distance he could see early morning risers rushing to cross the railway line before the train. One thing that still shocked him was the utmost recklessness with which most people carried on with aspects of their lives. Otieno pulled the lever again, letting another prolonged hooting that sent a message more than a kilometer radius away. From Kaloleni the train snaked its way to Makongeni where many of the Kenya Railway staff lived.

……to be continued.