A little story…
There are days…
15. July 2016
It goes again…
20. July 2016
Today it is time for a little anecdote….
because yesterday the sand was not delivered as agreed and neither the ballast, I had the day off. So I decided to go out alone to the next larger city Embu, which is 20 km away. For 14 days my first solo. Unaccompanied. My team thinks that one of them should always accompany me. So I used this opportunity to sneak out. Taking the Matatu to the city is easy going: stand right next to the curb, look when a matatu comes and ask: “Embu?”. So far so good. I get into the matatu and we drive to the city. It is already 10 am and the matatu is quite empty. I hopped off a bit earlier so I have the opportunity to go on a little walk. Everyone is looking at me 🙂 since not many “Muzungus” (white people) can be seen. I go to an ATM and then shopping. It was fun. Now back home again, because I have an appointment at 14 o’clock. I go to the Matatu station and ask which Matatu travels to Nembure. After I was sent a few times to the wrong matatu, I am right now, I was sent to the last row of the “bus”. To understand: a matatu is a 7 seater Toyata or Nissan. In these fit 20 adults here in Kenya. Well, you can’t reach your pocket anymore and to slide left or right is impossible too. With my backpack and a shopping bag on my lap I sit in the back row and we wait until all are here. 20 adults and 4 children… Here we go… a few times I hit my head on the ceiling, but otherwise it is all well. If you get in the matatu you tell the Contacter where you wan to go. We drive and drive and as I sit in the back, I do not really see where we are with so many people on the bus and place names are also less likely than in Germany. Suddenly I see that we already passed my destination, I shout that he should stop, what then happened right away. I am 10 km far from my destination. It is not helpful when I am angry now. I am here at a road junction. So I asked the next moped driver to take me home, who waits for customers to come, and drive back. He was proud that he was driving a Muzungu. I wasn’t wearing a winter coat like the Kenyans do, but only a T-shirt. It was fun….
