Walking Down Ronald Ngala Street

The Githurai Bus Stage at Ronald Ngala Street, Nairobi

It’s a few minutes to 6pm in Nairobi. The last drops of the stormy deluge that has been pounding the city centre from late afternoon can be seen cutting through the tired, receding sun rays.

The three hour downpour has managed to out-stage the early morning scorching sun but seemingly can’t let go until total darkness engulfs the capital.

Down town Ronald Ngala Street, right opposite the post office, is flooded with racing rainwater and restless passengers.
Bone-chilling cold wind accompanied by choking exhaust gases blows in all directions.

The tired, stranded commuters can be heard cursing the unprecedented bad weather in low tones amid deafening hoots and shouts from Matatu operators.

“Wee! Githurai soo mbili, Allsops soo moja,” A jubilant, but shabbily-dressed, tout calls for passengers.

 

Like the proverbial moths desperately in need of light, the cold-ravaged commuters beastly push and shove for warmth and space in the smoke-belching bus. It is the city’s rush hour and the infamous rule of the jungle, survival for the fittest, applies with both physical and financial muscle being at play.

Within two minutes, the bus fills beyond capacity with some passengers literally clinging on already filled seats. Some don’t mind standing through the close to 10km journey. The hoarse-voiced tout smiles sadistically and closes the door of the already moving, unroad-worthy-42-seater min bus.

 

The remaining, disappointed travelers filled with cursing rage, hold their horses and peg their hopes on the next vehicle.

 

Their unblinking eyes are acutely fixed on the jam-chocking road leading to town despite there being no signs of vehicle movement.  Their hopes seem to be constantly dashing with every click of the second on my not-so-old Philip Persio watch.

 

The chaos continues for almost four hours, according to one John Maina. He was among the first commuters to arrive at the stage at around 6.00 pm after braving the biting cold of the then subsiding rain. However, with only two hours remaining to the click of midnight, he has not boarded a vehicle.
 

“I do not have enough fare. They are asking for Sh70 from the initial Sh200 to Githurai yet I only have Sh40. I have to wait until it comes down because I don’t want to interfere with my budget,” he says with a constantly shivering lower mouth as the freezing cold literally arrests his speech.

Mr. Maina, an attendant one of the many supermarkets on Ronald Ngala Street, said he sets aside Sh3, 000 out of his Sh11, 000 salary to cater for fare and surpassing the limit would spell doom to his mini-budget.

 

“The remaining amount caters for rent, food, school fees, clothing and medical care. I hardly remain with a shilling after meeting these needs and, therefore, there is no room for increasing my expenditure by a single cent,” he said biting his teeth and shaking his head despairingly.

 

The 56-year old father of four said the unpredictable rain was to blame for his predicament.

“Matatu operators have capitalised on the rains to exploit us. We pay Sh10 to Githurai in the morning and a maximum of Sh50 during rush hours but they increase this amount up to Sh200 whenever it rains,” he lamented as he rubbed his exposed goose pumps on the hands.

“I never settle at job every time I see dark clouds gathering over Nairobi skies. In them, I see myself sleeping in the cold and in rain-laden clouds I see my abject poverty exposed,” he says.

 

Mr. Maina says his family life has been disrupted by the outrageous fares because he sometimes fails to go home.

 

“I have slept here thrice since these rains started a month ago and seemingly, I’m not lucky tonight. I might be forced to spend my night in this cold,” he says apprehensively.

“Instead of paying Sh200 fare and sleep hungry, I’d rather take a Sh30 supper and sleep on the chair in a restaurant. This way, I will also save on the morning fares. Talk of killing two birds with one stone,” he adds, smiling wryly.

 

However, Mr Maina and his Githurai neighbours are not alone is not alone. Thousands of economically-crippled commuters, courtesy of inflation, are suffering in silence in the hands of greedy, cold-hearted Matatu operators who take every opportunity to profit.

Some of them technically sleep in town whenever it rains because they get home as late as 1 am, exposing them to security risks in estates.