Un-ending Umoinner Lines

Nothing screams “open earth and swallow me” than the sight of a large crowd of men, women and teenagers crammed in a meandering position on a pavement. Men clad in suits carrying heavy-looking laptop bags, women shifting uncomfortably having had enough of their large leather handbags and 8 inch high heels, Sneakered teenagers listening to blasting music scrolling away on their smartphones. It’s a Monday evening; the Monday blues having gotten the best of everyone. The mood is dull and forlorn; the only smiles those of beautiful ladies on the huge Darling Billboard lurking on the almost dark skies.


From the “viatu na bei” shoe shops to the “chiffon na mia” hawkers across the street, the “dawa ya mende coackroach killer” man standing outside Tuskys supermarket, to the honking and hooting of large graffitied Githurai buses; the place is noisy and chaotic.

“Excuse me”; I nudge a young man probably holding position 100 in the Umoja 1 line. He looks at me with a not so pleasing face and doesn’t move an inch. He probably thinks am about to beg for a slot in front of him.“Nataka kupita” I stand my ground oblivious of his uncooperativeness. I can tell he is a bit relieved and he heaves heavily as he unwillingly creates way for me. I stand on my toes and try to locate Kamaa; you see, one of my friends belong to ‘Team Light skin” and as we all know, the conductors or rather semi-conductors seem to have a fetish for them. So she had introduced me to Kamaa, a semi-conductor who was rather soft spoken contrary to the silver teethed and blinged Ummoiner conductors. From day one, he clearly didn’t like me but I didn’t give a hoot nor care to have any chills as long as I got a seat preserved. We however with time became good buddies especially after learning we grew up in the same village and even took our cows to the same cattle dip. I couldn’t locate him so I am left with no alternative. “Wee ndo wa mwisho?” I ask a curvaceous, light-skinned woman with big head phones chewing away on a half-eaten boiled egg. “eeh” she responds loudly without even looking at me. I stand behind her and start the long wait.

I stand there for close to forty five minutes pacing from one thought to another of the day I just had.  I pause in between thoughts to curse for the umpteenth time; why have I never moved from Umoja? I promise myself that the next month salary would find me in another estate. Maybe along Thika road, Waiyaki Way, I even toy with the idea of getting a servants quarter in one of the leafy suburbs.

My thoughts are abruptly cut short by some loud noises of seemingly arguing people. “Umeniguza mala bili” the curvaceous lady is ranting loudly as she shoves back a man in front of me who had unknowingly “katad” the line.  He steps on me and I move aside cursing loudly. “Tumewasoea nyinyi wanaume, mnakunja hapa kujifanya mnapanga raini rakini kasi yenu ni kusongea wamama mkiwagusa na fitu senu” the irate lady with a distinct central tongue continues. By now a crowd is starting to assemble around the scene. Everyone wants to know what is happening and the lady has already started getting supporters, most of them ladies “eti he has touched you? eeyeeew,by tha way that’s not cool, it’s not even legit, I mean, who does that? Stacy ebu we go find an uber, these creeps are too much” rambles a skinny slay queen as she whisks away an equally skinny girl with huge blue braids and “tattered” trousers. In my mind I replace the uber with a “boda”.  We all know most slay queens are broke. The accused has not said a word since the accusation. Probably too scared to prove guilty. He tries to silence the lady with a “so..so..rr..rry ma..nda..aam, pole sana. Si..si..kua nanjua” I chuckle silently at how terrified his kangu’ndo tongue is moving.  The gold rimmed teeth conductors aware of the now uncontrollable commotion start bouncing to the scene. “Ni mwizi tutafute tyre ama” they ask loudly nudging each other; it’s like something they are used to. Mentions of a possible lynch drives the accused to break a thin sweat. He cluthches tightly to his briefcase as if his life hangs onto it and starts negotiating with the lady. “Aki ya Ngai Mandam niliskumwa na mwenye alikua kando yangu nikakugusa kimakosa. Hata niko na mbimbi nyumbani”

By now I am position number two on the line, having taken advantage of the commotion. I know any minute from now a “nganya” will show up. I spot kamaa. Where the hell has he been? It’s not like I care anyway, I’m already in the top five. He walks towards me grinning with his usual outstretched arms for a hug. “kumethuka ama?” he asks signaling to the crowd. “Ameiba nini”? I look at him blank not understanding why they always think every commotion in CBD has to be a theft case. I explain to him what has happened and he chuckles sheepishly. “Hii ni set-up. Manangos na vibeti ndo next kudisappear” He continues. And true to his word, somewhere from the other end of the line a woman screams “Kibeti yangu imeenda” Another man next to me fumbles frantically in his pockets, his Iphone is gone. He doesn’t shout. Men are supposed to “kaa ngumu”.

I spot a ng’anya hooting it’s way towards the stage. I literally run for it and secure my favourite seat next to the driver. Once seated I reach out for my bag to get my phone. I get a mini heart attack. I put my hand in every pocket. It’s not there. My head starts spinning as the matatu slowly snakes its way out of the stage.

Then I see kamaa pressing my phone on the driver’s window with his usual stupid grin.