Downtown Survey

“That’s the thing about this city is its intensity. Downtown is not a place for claustrophobics. In the streets you drown in the noise of the bustling minibuses - ‘the matatus’, the hawkers haggle you to buy something or anything, the pace is quick, and you need to watch your step, the potholes are ankle twisters. You have to channel your inner Jason Borne, stay focused, notice everything and be adaptable.” said Mr. Liberman over the microphone. “Talk about drama., that’s just pure exaggeration.” Zoma whispered to Suzie standing next to her in the university hall.

Zoma was in her final year, her thesis on urban development was her last leg before culmination. “Mr. Liberman sounds convincing, you’ll let me know how it goes.” Suzie whispered. Zoma had lived in Nairobi for three years confining herself to the suburbs. “I’ll adapt.” Zoma said pulling out her phone to request for her uber ride.

The uber driver dropped Zoma, right in the thick of it. Zoma stood tall with her mid length afro, round glasses, and her branded yellow t-shirt written Engaging communities for better futures. In her left hand she had her questionnaire papers ready to engage. “Mr. Liberman, was not exaggerating.” she thought to herself. The place was swarming with people. She wriggled her way through to stand at an old washed-up bus shelter to observe and plan her approach. People walked by in a hurry. There was a commotion on the road, a man was pulling an enormous wooden cart overloaded with fresh potatoes moving at a snail’s pace causing a nightmarish traffic jam. The matatus and other motorists continuously hooted at him while other drivers yelled “Get out of the way!” The man continued unperturbed. The two narrow lanes on the road were clearly inadequate for the cars and the people who were bursting out of the sidewalk onto the road. “Hippy-Sista, can I help you?” a young man appeared out of nowhere. “No, I am fine.” Zoma said irritably. “Okay, Okay...” he sluggard off.  Thirty minutes later she was still standing clutching to her papers. “I need to get this done.” she psyched herself up. She turned to the lady next to her, as she was about to speak, the lady immediately raised her hand “No! I am not interested.”

She attempted to stop a man walking by, “Sir...” “Sorry, I am in a rush.” he said. Zoma then approached a young lady, while she was introducing herself, the lady’s phone rang. “Sorry, I have to take this.” she said walking away. “This is not working.” she sighed.  

The only people who seemed to have some control in these chaotic streets were the matatu operators. They made people line up to take transport and as soon as the matatu was full, the next one drove in and people got in. It was order within chaos. She spotted a stylish looking matatu operator, he had an athletic build, at least 6 foot 3 and clean shaven. She spotted his dimples when he smiled and that was Zoma’s que, dimples never killed anyone. “Hello-Hujambo! I am Zoma.” “Hi I’m Mengi.” he said.  “Hi Mengi, I need your help, to conduct a survey.” No worries, enter, sit-down.” He said casually and started calling out for commuters. “You don’t understand, I am not in the queue to commute.” Zoma shouted over the noise. “You want my help or not?” he asked. Zoma shrugged and entered the matatu and sat adjacent to the door. Shortly, the matatu was packed to capacity, sitting by the door was a good idea, the warm breeze was welcome. The music in the matatu was blaring she could hardly hear herself think. “This is a mistake she thought to herself. She put her head to her knees, just then she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Are you ready?” he asked. She gave him a thumbs up sign not knowing what to expect. As soon as they got on their way, the loud music was turned off to her relief and others. Mengi spoke in Swahili. “Rafiki yangu anafanya survey, nataka tumsaidiye, sawa?” – “My friend is conducting a survey, we’ll help her, okay?” Some of the commuters looked curious and others were unmoved. Zoma did not nit-pick, she had an audience. She wriggled from the tight space and stepped on her chair to see and be seen. “My name is Zoma, I am conducting a survey and I’ll appreciate your time to complete it. Thank you-Asante sana.” She pushed through the crowded aisle, handing out her questionnaires and ball pens from her sling bag to the seated commuters. She was pleasantly surprised by the reception. At the same time, Mengi was also squeezing through the aisle collecting fares. At the first drop off she received some completed questionnaires. “My pens please!” She got back a few. Zoma continued handing out her questionnaires and she was getting more relaxed as she engaged with the commuters. She went through 10 stops and with the boarding of new commuters she finally got over 50 questionnaires completed. Zoma was relieved, she had her completed questionnaires and no pens. “We’ll go back and drop you off at the city centre.” Mengi yelled swinging on the open matatu door.  “Okay, thank you” she yelled back. The traffic back to the city was bumper to bumper, having covered just 50 meters in 30 mins, the frustrated driver manoeuvred the vehicle on to the wrong side of the road, Zoma said a prayer, “Don’t worry – Hakuna Matata” Mengi laughed. They cleared a short distance overtaking 10 cars and had to squeeze back into the right lane. She could visibly see the other motorists pointing fingers and cursing at the driver as he forced his way back in. In some cases, Mengi was banging on the hoods of the cars that were not giving the matatu space after their lawless manoeuvres. As they approached a traffic light, instead of slowing down, the matatu whizzed past the red light. “Woo!!! You are taking us to the grave!” some passengers shouted at the driver. “You can get off if you are not happy.” Mengi shouted back silencing the passengers. “This driving beats any roller-coaster.” Zoma murmured to herself. An hour later everyone alighted at the final stop. “Thank you so much for helping me.” Zoma rummaged in her bag for her purse. “No, No, I don’t want your money. I understand, I am also completing my final year. Mr. Liberman must have been talking to your type earlier today.” Mengi laughed at her. Zoma was gobsmacked and slightly embarrassed. “Umm… thank you again, I got what I needed, hopefully one day this information will make a difference in the city.” “Don’t hold your breath, this has been our way of life for donkey years, the city is our money-maker and playground.” “Here is my number, in case you need a tour guide. See you around.” Mengi gave her a casual salute. “Bye!” she waved. “Suzie you will not believe this.” Zoma sent her a text. “Meet me at the coffee shop in 30 minutes.”