The Commute Smackdown: The Kampala Matatu vs. The NYC Metro

That Announcer Guy that Made Himself Famous on One Line:  Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the showdown of the world.  Northern Hemisphere vs Southern Hemisphere.  White vs Black.  Developed vs Developing.  Metro vs Matatu.  Who will win in the battle of the commute?  It’s New York City vs Kampala.   Let me ask you, ladies and gentlemen……ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLLLLLLLLLLE!!!!!

In the red and yellow trunks standing at a bustling 1.2 million people with many more uncounted.  A vast network of a soccer mom’s dream, a crusade of sliding-door vans in the hundreds, licensed to carry 14 passengers, but really, who’s counting?  All on the bumpy and often disappearing unnamed streets of Kampala.  Let me introduce to you the little engine that could… The KAMPALA MATATUUUUUU!!!!

In the blue trunks standing at 8.2 million people and counting.  A most robust transit system with both letters and numbers.  A sustaining record of timeliness and melting pot-ness, but don’t go near him on the weekends.  Ladies and gentlemen, your reigning heavyweight champ.  The NEW YORK CITY METROOOOOO!!!!!

[Crowd Cheers]

Hank:  Hi folks, we are just moments away from the first round action.  Bill, I think this is going to be a war of attrition.  Kampala has really been developing in the last few years.  He doesn’t have as much on the line tonight and should be very relaxed.  No reason to walk fast anywhere.

Bill:  Walk fast, perhaps not, but drive fast, he will.  But New York is banking on pure experience to keep the belt after this one is over.  And there is certainly that weekend strength he has that will cripple any commuter.  I’m sure The Matatu will come out swinging.

Hank:  To add to your point, Bill, we know the Matatu is a god fearing beast, and is working hard to have god.  Besides the regular Rasta-colored and sport fanatic decals on his front and back, he’s got all sorts of religious decals: God is Great, Jesus will Save, and The Lord is My Provider, Glory be to the Lord, and the most truthful, Sat is Sabbath.

[Ding Ding]

Hank:  There’s the bell and we have begun.  Right out of the gate, just as you predicted Bill, The Matatu is swinging.   It’s all offence with nothing much to protect.  It seems like he is always there begging you to come on for the ride even when you don’t want him.  And when you do want him he is there as well, waiting for you to walk down the street and reach the corner.  A model of efficiency….and care!

Bill:  Couldn’t be more the case right now.  The Metro took a big hit to the head as The Matatu comes out with his patented move: hitting a big bump when his opponent least expects it, driving The Metro’s head into the ceiling.  Those bumps are brutal if you don’t expect them.

Hank:  Ouch, that’s going to hurt in the morning.  I think The Matatu has a can of whiplash in his back pocket he will try and pull out later in the match, too.  So look out for that.

Bill:  Who knows if there will even be a later, Hank, The Matatu is being so efficient right of the bat.

Hank:  Another great attribute of the Matatu.  Seems like he’s always working together, with the people.  At a stop everyone exits the vehicle to let the last one, the person in the back corner, out through the one sliding door.  Then quickly piling back inside, in whatever order they happen to be in, taking whatever seat that will put them out of the way for the person coming in behind him.  It’s a beautiful thing to watch.

Bill:  And all the while Metro is just standing there, taking the beating.  Almost without movement, standing in front of the door.  Not releasing anyone or anything.  Oh Metro, why can’t you just move to the side to let your fellow passengers off?

Hank:  Bad news for The Matatu, he is overheating.  It’s just too hot in there for him.  No AC and the consistent overcrowding, day after day, seems to be getting the better of him.

Bill:  Cool as a cucumber in the summer, sometimes even cold as ice cream, and warm like a potato in the winter, temperature control is a Metro specialty in most of these showdowns.  He’s really starting to come around and finally fight back.

[Ding Ding]

                                                                                   

Hank:  And that’s the bell to signal the end of Round One.  What a fight, huh Bill?

Bill:  So true Hank.  The Kampala Matatu really came out strong.  You’d think with all those bumpy roads he’d be slow to react, but was quite efficient with the people inside, and using the bumps to his advantage, smashing The Metro’s head just after the opening bell.

Hank:  Matatu is looking real strong in his corner.  His team is singing and dancing and really being friendly over there.  And The Metro is getting reamed out in his corner. 

Bill:  …In typical New York fashion.  His team is shouting about all the potholes, and complaining to the referee. 

Hank:  Looks like Bloomberg will be out to fix those in a week.  President Museveni isn’t going to do a thing about the potholes in Kampala.  It’s another two years until the next election, and if those roads don’t get fixed in the months before the election, it’s going to be another five years of crater roads before we see an opportunity to get them fixed during the following election.

Bill:  No good for anyone, Hank.  Moments from Round Two, it will be interesting to see if The Metro will be able to pick up where he left off...

[Ding Ding]

Bill:  Here comes Round Two, and it’s a different fight already.  We’ve passed the town center and Metro has plenty of room to sit and spread out.  Meanwhile The Matatu is looking cramped.  Never a worry about overpaying, Metro is working without a care in the world, a real free bird out there in the ring.

Hank:  You are so right Bill.  The Matatu seems to be distracted because he is trying to get his change and the conductor doesn’t have small bills.  Nor do any of the other passengers.

Bill:  The Matatu is getting frustrated. Oh, but wait.  The Culture Club’s “Karma Chameleon”???

                                                                

Hank:  Boy George!  Is this really happening?

Bill:  Amidst all that Luganda jabber and jabbing that’s been playing, it’s red golden dreams for everyone in here.  I’ve heard of this happening before in the welter weight division, but here….  It also looks like The Matatu is exchanging smiles with a pretty short-haired girl in the front row.  They are both mouthing the words.

Hank:  Oh boy!

Bill:  You said it Hank.  [Laughter]

Hank:  Culture Club couldn’t last long enough.  The Matatu is now stuck in a jam, that’s traffic for all you lay people.

Bill:  Bad news for the Tu.  He is frozen in his tracks….But wait, look at this!  He’s pulling a K-turn in the middle of the ring. 

Hank:  What a nimble guy!  Always able to find an alternate route when things get bad.  The Metro cannot do things like that.  He’s a one track mind, unless you count the express track.

Bill:  However that may be true, the other route is usually just as jammed for The Matatu.  That looks to be the case now. 

Hank:  Seeing that is the case, here comes the Metro on the attack.

From the Ring:  Ladies and Gentelmen, sorry to disturb you.  I am homeless and have eight children.  Please please please please please please help me.  Anything, a potato chip or a dime.  Please please…. 

Hank:  Looks like the Metro is pulling the old Jewish Mother move, guilting his opponent into submission.

Bill:  Perhaps Jewish Mother guilt, but no matzo ball soup with this kvelling.  [Laughter]

Hank:  Here comes the big Matatu with the rebuttal.  From outside the ring young men are selling phone airtime cards, bags of munchies, sunglasses, steering wheel covers, and sunglasses to whoever will make eye contact.  All the merchandise dangling off their arms and necks in long strips.

Bill:  Well that’s convenient if you’re into that kind of service.  There’s even a young lad selling the morning edition paper.

Hank:  It’s the evening, now.

Bill:  It’s Kampala.

[Ding Ding]

Hank:  And that’s the end of Round two.  It’s too close to call at this point.

[Commercial Break]

Bill:  Bill and Hank here, your trusty ringside announcers here.  Action for Round Three is about to begin.  It’s all tied up and we anticipate a great final round here.

[Ding Ding]

Bill:  And there’s the bell.  The Matatu looks a little broken, but then again, what else is new, that thing always looks like it only has got just one more kilometer left.

Hank:  But for the low price of $0.91 to get all the way across town, what do you expect?

Bill:  I guess it’s just the bang you get for that buck…errr nine tenths of a buck.  [Laughter]

Hank:  It’s go time for The Matatu, a homeless man just entered the ring and the Metro is suffocating from the smell.  And the Matatu is reeling off a flurry of stenches of his own. 

Bill:  This is the normal smell for the Matatu.  He thrives on the odor.  Some might say it powers the engine along with the $5.30 per gallon gasoline.

Hank:  Now that’s being resourceful.

Bill:  Hey, you gotta take what they give you, Hank.

Hank:  Speaking of taking what they give you, The Matatu just served up that can of whiplash he was saving up.  But why are the Metro’s shorts ripped in half?

Bill:  According to the reply I’m watching, it looks like there was a jagged piece of seat dangerously sticking out in the Matatu corner of the ring that the Matatu placed there earlier, or never bothered to fix.  The Metro had his shorts caught on that and now he’s basically naked, but still standing strong.

Hank:  The Metro fights back with a little help from a boda boda.  The brightly painted and sticker-covered boda just swerved in, seemingly out of nowhere and cut off the angry Matatu as he has to slam hard on the brakes.  There is no way The Matatu is going to get anything done on time.  Hope no one is in a rush.

Bill:  To make matters worse, the engine that sits just behind the driver has broken down. This Matatu has a flat front so he can get up real close to whatever is in front of him, but the passengers in that first row can get some hot legs.

Hank:  Well, it makes up for what they lack in hot pants.  [Chuckle]

Bill:  The Matatu is starting to lose that bounce in his step.  Looks like it’s all over for the King of Kampala.

Hank:  Wait a minute…The Magnificent Metro all of a sudden doesn’t look so well.  He’s starting to fade, too. 

Bill:  That’s because he just encountered a “Police investigation” on the track a station ahead, AND a sick passenger.  He’s not going anywhere. 

Hank:  The two Goliaths have both fallen to the mat.  Unbelievable.  It’s Rocky I all over again.

Bill:  My favorite is Rocky IV, I mean, that was so awesome when Rocky was training in the mountains of Russia.  Oh, I love vodka.

Hank: Shut up Bill, I’m making a pop culture reference here. 

Referee:  Seven….Eight

Hank:  They are both getting up now.  Yes, they have both found a way to stand back up.

Bill:  Uh oh, lookout, here comes a bus, it’s headed straight for the Matatu!

Hank:  Ouch!  That’s going to hurt in the morning. 

Bill:  The bus just took out the Matatu.  He is down for the count.  It’s all over!  The Metro has reigned supreme!  What a finish.  Just when you thought they were both going to be out, they both recovered but a bit of misfortune for the Matatu.  I’m sure the bookies are going to rake it in on this one.  No one would have predicted this.

Hank:  Well, the New Yorkers already paid so they are stuck and at the mercy of the system.  Fortunately, for everyone on the Matatu, they pay when they get off, so they are sticking it to The Matatu now.  He is not getting a shilling for all his efforts.

A Bumpy Monday

OKAY!!!  To begin week two of work I had a commute that I must relay to you all.  The first matatu I take essentially goes in a loop.  I can wait at my neighborhood’s main stage, but that place is pretty crowded and a farther walk.  My other option is a shorter walk to the main road where I hope I find an empty matatu.  I can take the matatu heading in either direction, though one goes through the city center which could be pretty jammed, and the other goes into the city center from the other side, potentially avoiding said jam.  On Friday I went in the direction that takes me through the city center, for the first time, easily finding a matatu in that direction upon leaving the house.  The ride was shorter than the other direction I had been using, but that might be because Ugandans don’t bother working on Fridays.  I had to test this theory. 

Monday rolls around and I can’t buy a matatu heading in the same direction I went on Friday.  For 20 minutes I wait and only two come, but can only fit one or two people, and I’m not one of them.  So I cross the street and after a few minutes eventually find one heading in the usual direction.  I’m sitting in the front seat between the shotgun passenger and the driver.  After about 4 minutes we hit our usual jam before a traffic circle.  These jams are rough because there is a traffic cop at the circle holding back a line of traffic for what can be 5 minutes or more.  Drivers get impatient.  My matatu driver is having one of those days where he feels no one can stop him.  He drives on the shoulder, skipping 15 or so cars.  Then pushes himself back into the main line and zips into the oncoming traffic’s lane, taking over another 10 or so vehicles.  Up ahead the oncoming traffic is resuming so he needs to find a way into the standstill line of traffic he should have been patiently waiting in.  He makes a swift turn back into the line and Thunk-thu-thu-thump.  BRAKES!

My very aggressive driver cut off a car.  The wrong car to mess with.  The car is able to zip around the matatu and diagonally stop in front of our matatu, prohibiting any movement on our part.  The driver of the banged vehicle— damage is over the right front wheel—gets out and stands at the matatu driver’s window staring at him for a few seconds and says something in Luganda.  Probably something along the lines of “You drive like a bleeping bleephole, you know that!?”  He takes out his phone and walks back into his car.  I’m guessing to call the police or his insurance company (is there even insurance here? It must cost a heck of a lot).  My matatu driver is still just sitting there, staring straight ahead.  He does have some money his hand which he stealthily puts in his sock, he doesn’t want the other driver to take it from him. 

After a minute or so the sedan driver re-emerges from his car and bends over at the front of the matatu.  Blu-Blump!  He has ripped off the license plate of the matatu!  He does not pass go, nor does he collect 200 Ugandan Shillings.  He heads to the rear of the matatu and Blump.  Blump-Blump.  He has ripped off the back tags of the vehicle.  I have seen enough and nudge the man sitting next to me.  He opens the door and we start the mini exodus from the matatu.  I walk up along the traffic and find another matatu with an extra space.

I wish I could say the story ends here, but it doesn’t.  Almost at my destination where I exit and walk to the next matatu, we are hit from behind by a bus pulling out from its parking spot along the curb.  These matatus are so big that these types of hits only make a sound, but as a passenger I don’t feel much.  But I am now wondering if I wronged a Ugandan God somewhere along my morning.  Hopefully that’s all the accidents I will have for the week, at least.

Settling In

Week of 19 September, 2011 (Post by Josh)

My first day of work went terrific, really.  There’s something to be said about working after not having done so for two months.  I guess I’m not ready for retirement yet.  I felt rejuvenated after that first day.  We have been traveling and moving around a lot and perhaps we grew tired of that routine, if it can be called routine.   Over the weekend we came to know our neighborhood, but didn’t really explore much beyond.  By the end of the weekend I had feelings that the next three months could be long.  But day one of work put my mind on a different track.

My commute to work involves going through central Kampala.  I take two taxis, or matatus.  The first takes me to Kampala city center, the second I take to the end of the line, about a seven minute walk from my office.  The matatu system does not have a map, you just have to know it, ask for directions, or guess/feel it out.  People at work were very reluctant to let me journey alone my first time.  So I received a ride from one of my new colleagues on my first day.  She lives one or two neighborhoods away so it wasn’t that much extra for her to take me to and from work.

Once at work it was right down to business, after prayers and a two hour meeting.  Apparently the custom here is to pray before a meeting.  And it was perhaps the sweetest prayer I have ever heard, but I might be biased.  Thank you lord for bringing us Joshua.  Please keep him safe and allow him to complete the work …  it went on with a few more things, but obviously it was very nice and I felt very appreciated.

The meeting’s purpose was to outline my work plan, going through all I will be involved with during my stint at the organization.  I learned who everyone was, which was easy because there are only four other people who I will be working with in the office.  Sarah, is the fifth and her 2-year old son is the sixth.  Sarah is responsible for the cleanliness of the office space.  Emma, short for Emanuel, the son, is usually hanging off his mother’s back with a serong-like strap.  But he’ll run around from time to time, pushing a blue pail pretending as if it were a giant truck.  A real cute little guy.

The office reminds me of my two experiences with small start-ups.  It’s basically a house with a reception area-type room at the entrance, a kitchen, a larger boardroom (comfortably fits 6, but we’ve crammed 10 or 11), and two other offices/rooms.  It is a comfortable atmosphere and my colleagues will occasionally walk around without shoes on.  I walk to work in my hiking shoes and change into my loafers when I settle in for the day.  Therefore I have no guilt about dirtying the floor for my colleagues’ feet.  Each morning I sing Mr. Rogers’ “It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood” to myself as I switch from sneakers to shoes.  Didn’t Mr. Rogers go from sneakers to sneakers?   All I need is a zip-up sweater, but it’s too warm for that.  What I really need is a fan.

I could now go into what I’m expected to do for the next three months, but budgeting, analysis of court cases, and creating expense tracking systems might be boring.  The more interesting topic is the actual issues the org is involved with.

The biggest subject at play is that of land grabbing.  I’ll try to be brief as my current knowledge of the subject is cursory, but as I get more into the analysis I should have a better “grasp” of it. 

There are a few land rights issues the organization is involved, but high on the action list is land grabbing.  Land grabbing is a hot issue among people in the same family or clan.  The reason it is an issue is because 80% of land in Uganda is governed by what is called Customary Law, which is a hybrid of the clan’s traditional rules and enforcement and the country’s judicial laws.  The problem with the clan is that they themselves are not fully carrying out their laws and making decisions based on their rules.  Instead, they are focused on harmony.  When a widow’s brother-in-law tries to take his dead brother’s land, the clan will ask the widow to share the land, as opposed to standing up for the widow, which is what they are supposed to do.  The widow will not turn to the judicial system because local behavior has not reached the point where all people will look to that system for help.  The problem here is that even if she does stand up for herself and go to the courts, the land grabber may not show up and the courts have no power to enforce anything.  The laws are not fully flushed out and the widow is left being harassed or losing her land.

Some of my work will involve looking at the cases that have reached the courts and doing analysis of trends to give the organization a way to tailor the information they distribute.

Nairobi

26 August, 2011

We woke up this morning to hazy skies and delicious French toast.  Sitting across from us at the breakfast table was a nice couple from Germany.  The wife grew up in Nairobi and left after a few years studying German and a hasty marriage to obtain a visa.  They opted to spend the day here in the Guest House because the husband had had enough of Nairobi after just a day. 

Before venturing out, we met Sandi and David, the owners of SanDavy Guest House, who were very helpful in arranging the next phase of our journey—the trip to Arusha—and offered tips on how to navigate downtown Nairobi. To get from our guest house to downtown requires, first, a 15 minute walk where we exchanged currency (“She’s a Brick House”was on the radio and Josh bonded over the music with the shopkeeper), and we also detoured through a local open air market where people were selling all sorts of goods—clothes, shoes, vegetables—and where men were washing their cars. Near the local market was a higher end, permanent, shopping center with much higher prices, bathrooms with toilet paper, and people with laptops, ipods and business outfits; Java Café, Tuskus (Pay Less, Get More, Everyday) supermarket, Dress for Success clothing store.  We were both struck by the distinct income difference of Kenyans, literally sitting side by side.

Across the street we found the local bus stop. After boarding the KBS (Kenyan Bus Service) for 30 shilling each (that’s less than 50 cents), we took seats in the back and quickly learned that the shocks left a bit to be desired.  All the buses here play the radio so everyone can hear.  We were reminded of home by lots of American music blaring through the bus’s speakers.  The radio playlist included: Bette Midler “From a Distance,” Seal “I Believe I can Fly,” and BeeGees “You Could be Dancing.”  Also interestingly, besides some bobbing heads, and a few people in conversation, the rest of the passengers did not read or have anything else to do.  Just waiting  patiently for their stops. It’s a bit of a different culture in this regard.  No one is rushing anywhere.  I wonder what they do after dinner when they get home?  I imagine that there is not an urgent need to get home to take the kid to music class, pop off a few emails, and catch the next episode of “Mad Men.”

We got off the bus when most the other passengers did, assuming we were “downtown.”  And we were!  What a chaotic city.  Lots of traffic. Lots of people dodging buses, cars, trucks, and motor bikes.  Crossing the street?  Well, let’s say it’s a good idea to cross when the locals cross, and run!  Most all the sidewalks are separated from the street by a curb, of sorts, and cement black and white poles about a meter high (yes they hurt when you walk into them) to keep cars from opting out of traffic and taking the pedestrian path.  Guessing this must have been a problem at some point.

After exploring this downtown square of the city (Kenyan National Archive, City Hall, Hilton were some of the main markers for the area), we stopped at a local bar to have a drink and get our bearings, as we didn’t want to pull out our map on the street.  Before getting there, one man tried to pull his con stunt on us.  After telling us he was a professor (seems to be the thing to say to get foreigners to talk to you) he pulled out a Finland flag patch and claimed it was Canadian. We eventually got away, nicely, always, as we learned that all things must be done with a smile.

From the bar, we ventured to find a local and authentic place to eat our first Kenyan meal.  And boy did we find it!  It was a sit down place that had walls reminiscent of a Cuban restaurant.  Orange and bright red tiling on the walls, and a palm tree would have fit in easily, perhaps because a portion of the seats were in an open area flanked by two wings of roofed seating.  There were also about 4-6 sinks along the wall in full view.  That is so that customers can wash up before and after eating. We sat alongside people on their lunch breaks and ordered whatever was suggested.  Roast beef stew, a whole fish, greens and some mashed maize (or was it mashed rice?) appeared before us.  We received a 3 second lesson on how to eat the mashed stuff—grab, dip, and shove in mouth.  Though we were offered utensils, we gracefully declined as we noticed that nobody else was using them.

The next mission was getting home.  After walking circles, albeit small circles, in the city, we came upon a mobile blood donor clinic where people were eager to help us when we asked for directions to the bus station.  “This is a government vehicle, we can take you to a place closer to your destination,” they offered.  No thank you.  It took several friendly faces to figure out which bus takes us back to our neighborhood and then several more to figure out where to find said bus. 

And then…..the insanity of the bus terminal.  Each bus has a driver and, what we’ll call, a first mate.  The first mate wears a ShopRite style vest and collects the money while the bus is in transit.  When the bus is at the station the first mate holds a sign marking the bus number and emphatically waives it out the window, bouncing it up and down on its edge, dangling it like he were luring a dog or cat to get a treat.  I would think that they get a commission on the number of passengers, since they were very emphatic in this method of waiving the bus number.  The scene there included buses lining up, which two men in suits would direct in and out of the line of waiting buses.  All the while, people are pushing on and off the buses.  The first mates and the two men in suits bang the side of the bus—thud thud— to alert the driver to go or stop, the opposite of whatever he was doing.  There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to this mess, but we’re sure it’s just the regular order of the day.  Just when we were thinking that our bus would never come, and coming close to resigning ourselves to an overpriced taxi, in arrived bus #4W. We jumped on, and within 3-4 minutes we were off. 

Interestingly, the bus was now 20 shillings more then the inbound bus.  It was just after 5pm so we were probably charged the peak prices?  There was much more traffic at this time, more than doubling the 15 minute ride time it took to get to the downtown.  The traffic was a result of getting into the roundabouts, some of which even had a traffic guard.  Of note, though the roads were two lanes in each direction, we often saw a motorist skip the traffic by creating a third lane in his direction, you can guess what happens when this doesn’t work out.  The first mate thankfully shouted out our stop “Add-um!” for Adam’s Arcade, the only stop he shouted out.  Whew, what a day!  Yes, one day is probably enough to be in Nairobi--at least for now.

[please check back, pictures to come....]