A View of Might and Majesty

Coming back from Athi River had had my first experience with matatus. Well, sort of. I actually rode in a “bus matatu,” but it was similar enough. Matatus are Kenya’s public transportation system. Well, “system” is a stretch, but do they ever transport! Matatus are most commonly Toyota vans, but nothing like the Serena. In fact, they are most similar to my 1985 Volkswagen Bus: blunt nose, large seating capacity, and no power. Well, at least they don’t seem like they have power with 14 people crammed in, with sacks of their livelihood strapped on top. Its how most of the farmers get their crops and themselves into markets, or how a business man will get from one side of the city to another. Either way, there is plenty more than just people on board a matatu. I’ve also noticed that it seems to be a Kenya form of advertising to blast music as loud as you can. The idea is that if you can get people to acknowledge the sound source, they must also acknowledge you. So layered with the thick scent of Kenyas, their excited conversations, the squabble of chickens, and the jarring cacophony of the vehicle as it is assaulted by the roads themselves, there is blasting music from speakers that ought to have been thrown out a few years ago. But it was enjoyable, as we would stop occasionally to pick up even more passengers, vendors would come on the bus with whatever they were trying to sell, most commonly BBQed corn. It was fun watching the mixture of hustle & bustle move along side the ever laid back way of life in Kenya.
And that is how Longonot finally greeted me as we edged over the escarpment at a flying 50 kph. Wedged between a greasy window and two jabbering Kenyan mamas (elderly ladies) I looked across the bus, over the heads of the short ladies beside me covered in shawls (kikoi’s) and through the other greasy window and was once again greeted by the amazing view of the ceaseless valley and the crown that is Longonot. Its majesty had not faded; its staunch pose of dominance still intact. And it was here, in the bus with fifty Kenyans, a door that never could quite get itself shut, a muffler that spewed diesel fumes like the Nile spews water, and the ever-present shudder of pothole after deepening pothole, that Longonot welcomed me back. As this: as a part of the Kenyan people. Not as a removed mzungu, sitting in my nice sedan or Land Rover talking of the foolishness of Kenyan politics with other wazungu, talking as the country continued to pull itself apart through empty slander and full pockets of other people’s money ill gotten; but here, on a bus with the people of Kenya as a person of Kenya. Of course they don’t see me that way. “They,” being both those on the bus and the other wazungu. Nor do I yet see myself that way. But to be welcomed back, it is for the people I must be here, and it is as the people I must come. Not separate from, but together with.
And finally I have been welcomed home.