Aki vitu nimeona ( a diary)
26th January 2021
“Bodaboda[1] musings”
I sleep in matatus[2]. Yes, even the obscenely loud ones that traverse these devious Nairobi routes with turnboys who swing their bodies on those racing vehicles like pendulums – I once saw one in a Mwiki-bound matatu hold his body perpendicular to the racing matatu and I remember being afraid for him and strangely, impressed that he could form such a right angle, indifferent to the racing wind or the likelihood of having his body split asunder by an oncoming vehicle. It’s actually easier to sleep away in matatus nowadays with the keep-one-seat-free pandemic policy that is being observed by (most) licensed PSVs. Hard as it may be to believe, I have slept in a matatu playing one of those mixtapes at a volume doggedly intent on rupturing eardrums; music meant to be heard more by pedestrians and passers-by than by the passengers offering their ears and money.
I sleep in trains. I should say however that I prefer to stay awake if I can help it. Especially when travelling in new areas, it is always scenic to look out of a train window. There is something to be said about a rolling vista of scenery and plants and buildings and skies and clouds. I have found that railways, unlike roads, incise strange areas so indifferently and surgically that one feels as though they are trespassing. That said, subways do not bear the same excitement – there is absolutely nothing about the T-Subway[3] in Boston (which is the only one I am fairly acquainted with) that screams ‘look outside please’, and so falling asleep (if you’re lucky) is not too bad of an option. I once, between falling asleep and peeping at unsuspecting commuters through lazy eyelids, uncomforting thought how unbearable it would be if the subway train screeched to a halt and decided it was done moving for the day. Suffice it to say that I couldn’t fall asleep much afterwards.
I never ever sleep on a boda[4]. I am always alert, perhaps even more than the motorcyclist. My senses seem to awaken, and my eyes are always cocked to the lay of the land. Sometimes, when the motorcyclist tries escaping traffic by meandering dangerously fast between cars, I can feel my hands grip the metal bars beneath my seat in trepidation. I once had to tap my motorcyclist, who was threatening to end our lives on Uhuru Highway with his dangerous manoeuvres. “Sina haraka mzae,” I told him, “bora uhai.[5]” – a statement that might as well have been taken to mean “I like how we are taunting death” because a few minutes later, at the roundabout by Nyayo National Stadium, a construction truck narrowly missed obliterating us. “Huyu na yeye kwani hanioni?” the boda guy complained vehemently and one’d be taken to think he was right. I refrained from answering; partly because I didn’t agree and partly because my voice had escaped my throat at the scare. What a strange thing time was, I thought. Just a few microseconds wrong and we both would’ve been strewed by Lusaka road, awaiting identification. Taking a boda has therefore always been an adventure, the kind that makes your heart palpitate.
And so it was a complete surprise when today, for a brief moment while speeding down Limuru Road on a boda, with the cool shade of trees enfolding embassies and mansions with iron gates and addresses, I closed my eyes. In that moment, with air that seemed to pass through my mask, my chest and out through my spine, with the cacophony of cars and screeches and vrooms and honks that Limuru road can inspire, I felt something. It is as if, by closing my eyes, all my other senses (to correct this absurdity) suddenly took on the task of making me aware. With an inexplicable force, I plunged into a sea of senses and the world behind my eyelids took on the most vibrant hues of blue and yellow. My skin, which until then had served its tactile purpose, merged with the wind, took on form and I felt transcendent, lighter, like feeling faith. The unseen world around me slowed down, my hands lessened their taut grip and my body sat free.
I don’t know when you’ll find yourself riding a boda, and I hope when you do it is one with a licensed driver (hearsay has it that most of them do not bother with licenses). Anyway, when you do, I wonder if you’ll find it sensible to close your eyes, whilst swishing on that machine, and whether (if you deem it okay) your senses behave as mine did.
[1] Motorcycle
[2] A minivan or bus used for public transport in Kenya
[3] A local way of referring to Boston’s public transportation system operated by the Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority
[4] Bodaboda
[5] “I am not in a hurry” … “As long as I remain alive.”