I’m in a Latema Travels bus, heading to the village, not Kikuyu or Dumboini. It’s a new bus, charging Ksh. 1,600. At least I’m not paying Ksh. 2,500 to board those cramped 10-seater minivans driven with reckless abandon! There are hardly any vehicles heading to Nyanza or Western, they’re either full or charging outrageously high fares. This Latema bus, playing bongo is a hot cake!
The bus is almost full, and the fare collector, a broker called Ongeri, is everywhere, moving up and down the aisle. He’s wearing an old orange Transline reflector jacket, paired with faded navy-blue trousers and a collared t-shirt with frayed edges. His safari boots have seen better days. Ongeri, though loud, isn’t annoying, his humor keeps things light.
In less than an hour, the bus fills up, but not without drama. We’re parked at Oilibya along Moi Avenue, just past Afya Center and opposite Picasso Restaurant. The commotion is between touts and Kanjo (County Council officers, the Zakayos of our time). Like the police, they extort money from struggling citizens. There’s an argument about unpaid dues, but before I can figure out the details, we finally leave the bus stop.
As we head toward KPCU (I don’t know what that stands for, but it’s Ena Coach’s home ground), Ongeri and the official bus tout are at odds. Ongeri notices an empty seat and insists the tout go back to fetch another passenger. Oddly enough, the tout complies, leaving us waiting at the Total petrol station near Pastor Nga’nga’s Neno Evangelism Center. The driver and Ongeri engage in a loud, heated math session, calculating their profits while the rest of us grumble about the delay-it’s already 2 PM, and a seven-hour journey awaits.
Eventually, the tout returns with a lady passenger, and we’re finally on our way. Ongeri heads back to Oilibya or whatever.
Now, we’re past Suswa, somewhere between wheat plantations. The bus is playing Arbantone, Sean MMG, Lil Maina, Danski, and YBW Smith’s “Now You Know.” My mood would be better if the legroom weren’t so tight- my long legs are cramping in this confined space.
Next to me is my cousin Jack. On the other side, there’s a UON student, he’s taking biochemistry. I didn’t catch his name, but he mentioned he’s from Sori, Karungu. He’s with his cousin, Eddy Moses, a structural engineer who went to Ringa High School and TUK. Eddy is one of those guys who make sure you know they’re engineers. Cocky but still decent company.
The vaibu in this bus is something else. There’s a guy called Kasongo (yes, that’s his actual ID name). He’s from Nyamarambe, near Riosiri Market, the border between Rongo and Kisii Highlands. Kasongo is Gen X, infact he studied during the colonial period, but he’s cool enough to keep up with the younger crowd. He’s referring to us as Gen Si. He has an accent and his “Z” falls in the place of “S.”
At 4:22 p.m., we stop for food. Kasongo and the Sori cousins go straight to the egg vendor, get kugongewa mbili, and then melt away into a liquor store. When we get back on the bus, it’s proper mavaibu, it’s now a full-on party. People are talking, laughing, and doing whatever. Vybz Kartel’s “Don’t Follow Me Like Jesus,” is playing, and I think, did he curse himself with that line? He still has fans, yes, but not as many people are following him like Jesus.
The party energy carries us all the way to Kisii. By the time we get there, the rain has started, and the bus quietens down. The journey is over, and everyone’s mood sobers.
We walk through the drizzle and I think back on the trip, It was a crazy one, in the best way. Kasongo, Eddy, and his cousin made the ride memorable, like free entertainment you didn’t ask for but enjoyed anyway. Then I spot Pastor Ezekiel’s billboard and think to myself, How much does this guy spend on these things? PLO Lumumba was right, Jesus is a money making Industry.
And Ongeri’s safari boots? Kwani people still wear safari boots these days?
@okelododdychitchats
okelododdychitchats 