Anyone for a dala-dala ride?

I forgot what it was like to travel in a dala-dala! The common and familiar local buses that ferry people up and down the country at devilish speeds is not a form of transport I like to take. Simply because I’d like to live beyond my next birthday. Called Matatu in Kenya (sounds a bit like matata which is the Swahili word for trouble!) these privately owned mini buses, most usually Hiace vans are the closest thing to suffocation you’ll get.

I took a short journey recently with three others and as we piled into the back of the eight seater people carrier I took stock of the situation. Four of us adults squished in the back, three and at times four people contorted into the most awkward looking positions in the boot and three in the front seat. Men have knees up to their chins, often bent forward or sideways to crippling proportions, women are made into small parcels. I usually end up holding onto the edge of an inch of the seat and mostly on top of somebody else. The muscles in my thighs buckling under the pressure. A total of seventeen and eighteen people at any one time enjoyed our journey that day and that was few! The average dala-dala takes up to twenty when full! The best part however has to be the high volume African beat blasting from the speakers, obligatory for any dala-dala driver who takes his job seriously. No thinking allowed and only shouting when required. I always suggest keeping your eyes off the road and anywhere but straight ahead once he puts his foot down. Never know when you might see death come knocking.

No discrimination in Africa - goats, chickens or other all allowed. It is possible to squeeze a goat into all sorts of situations and so long as you can close the door the usual thing is to just pack it in. It is not unusual to see a goat drop out of the back of a dala-dala, poor thing usually almost dead from lack of air. Chickens can sit on your knee or under your arm so take up far less space. There is always a ticket man, he basically takes your fare. This is a serious job and he runs the show. He is also the man who decides if you can fit or not. He will mostly err on the side of the more the merrier and just shove you in. If there is any sign of a gap you’re in, and I mean a gap of even the smallest proportions! He himself travels with his whole self and head out the window or door, ready for decapitation at any moment. Apparently it has happened. I heard that someone lost their head in Moshi! Not funny but quite hilarious given the chest out confident manner in which they all hang out these doors and windows. King of the dala-dala…oops, I lost my head! So when the dala-dala man isn’t losing his head he’s out there touting for business, often over ear deafening music and clearing the streets of travelers and many of its wandering goats and chickens. This is such a familiar sight here and worth experiencing to say you’ve survived it. Although given my last contortionist attempt I just wouldn’t be taking one everyday!