Four wheels, no gas, and ruts galore

Every day I take at least four matatus—15-passenger vans/taxis that often squeeze in 20 people on the bench seat—from home in Kanyanya to work in Namuwongo. It’s about an 80 minute commute in the morning, and up to 100 minute commute on the way home, depending on the traffic jams. So in that time, there’s a lot that can happen. Like…

--I was riding home one night when we hit a rut or something and ka-THUNK! it sounds like the floor dropped out of the matatu. The conductor was concerned, and you know when he’s concerned, that’s trouble. We limped back to the road under a warning—mpola, mpola (slowly, slowly). I thought surely we would stop for a fix-it job, but we continued on the main road with the floor rattling like hell underneath. I laughed with the others as we all rolled our eyes.

--One afternoon I was in a taxi with some friends. We were going along fine when the driver pulled over and stopped. No one was getting out, but the conductor pulled half a water bottle out of a little hole in the floor, walked back and stuck it in the gas task, then opened the back of the taxi and brought out a yellow jerry can of gas. He poured the gas through the water bottle funnel, put it all back, and off we went again.

--Late one evening I was riding a boda boda (motorcycle taxi which I ride frequently), going up a hill, when we started slowing down and finally came to a stop. It was dark and on a quiet stretch of road, and I didn’t know what was going on. The driver unscrewed the gas tank and peeped in. He jiggled the bike some and tried to start it up again. No luck. Then he asked me to get off. He laid the bike on its side and jostled it around, trying to get the last drips of gas. After righting it, we both got on, it started flawlessly, and we were off again. Perfect.

The commute is quite exhausting, but I do see a lot of LIFE happen as we go by. I can’t read because the roads are too bumpy, so I look out the window at little kids brushing their teeth, men selling chapatti at little tables by the road, and women sweeping the dust out of their yards.