Adventures of a Matatu

The day started just like any other Friday. I woke up, ate breakfast, and headed to my usual stage to catch a matatu (taxi) to Mbuya. The matatu I ended up boarding appeared to be like any other—it was blue, had the appropriate stripes, and was calling for people to go to Luzira (the direction I take to Mbuya). The exception was that I was the only passenger, an almost unheard of phenomenon when the norm is to cram in as many people as possible. I got in to the van, sitting in the back next to the conductor; however, after a few moments the driver began asking why I was not sitting in the front (the most valuable seat) with him. He said he “wanted to sit next to me”, and at the next stop they made me swing in to the front of the van. At this point I was only slightly baffled by the situation…

At first they were calling for other passengers, yelling “Luzira” out the side of the van. But it seemed as if they stopped just to talk to me. They told me they were going to their other job (in the army), and were taking the van to Luzira. They asked the formalities: what I was doing in Uganda, how I liked it, where I stayed and then the flirtation (or maybe pestering would be a better description) started. “Do you have a boyfriend?”, “We could stay together” (meaning we could LIVE together), “You are so beautiful!”. The compliments started flowing and became increasingly difficult to dodge. They told me that they wanted me to come with them to wherever they were going, and that they would bring me back to work later. I told them I was already late. At this point my bewilderment was starting to grow. As my stage in Bugolobi was approaching (where I get out of the matatu and continue on foot), I was not sure if they would stop and let me out. All the different possibilities were starting to go through my head, and I didn’t know what to expect. “At least I am sitting next to the door now” I thought, in case the need to jump out appeared. They wanted me to come with them; I wanted to get out. I was prepared to jump if need be, but was hoping it would not come to that. I finally told them just to let me out—and after a few moments they listened. They weren’t pushy, or trying to scare me (I don’t think), they just wanted my mobile number so that we could go out, but in the commotion of my exiting I didn’t give it to them (not that I would have anyways). I tried to pay the standard 500 shillings (=$0.25) for the ride, but they refused it. In the end, I never really felt in any danger, but upon reflection, I was in a situation that could have gone very badly very quickly. But, as happens every other day, I exited the matatu at the Bugolobi stage, walked the short distance to Reach Out, and continued on with my day.

A Matatu—the ones on the road are in slightly better condition