Morning Rush

There are days when you are so proud of yourself. Days that the sunrise finds you awake. Days when no matter how hard sleep and your warm duvet wrestle with you, they lose. Those days you are wide awake to usher in a new day. Mostly, you never see the sun rise. You find it in its full glare squinting through your blinds. Like those jealous lovers looking over your shoulder to see who you are texting. Or those nosy guys in matatus who always crane their necks into your business. They smile sheepishly- when you crack a joke-like the conversation is meant for them. When you text the girl on the other side- “Babe, there’s an idiot who is eaves dropping on our conversation,” they get offended and almost pick a fight with you. It funny who entitled people can get.

So Wednesdays are proud days for me. I wake up bright and early, mostly, I am in town by six. This is the only day I used to wake up before the blaring horns of Githurai 45 buses starts their morning ritual. The continuous, annoying but sometimes rhythmic honking. I used to live two kilometers away from Githurai, yet could hear them honk better than I can hear my heartbeat in the dead of the night.  I always wondered why they do that. It is a wakeup call or they are simply trying to seduce customers who prefers the mat with the loudest horn? I imagine that before boarding the mat, guys have this pep talk, “Mike, twende na hii, iko na horn noma sana” before settling for the one with the loudest one.

On the road, apart from the mean looking trailers( by the way, I have been running an interesting series called ‘quarry chronicles’ on my Facebook page https://web.facebook.com/gukaw  about my experience with the trucks), nothing’s more intimidating than these buses. They like harassing  ‘my car’ people, and leave many men with bruised egos and cars, and women bruised cars.

There is nothing more fascinating than being in a matatu that early morning; there are all types of people. The half-asleep grumpy and dirty guy who has just finished his night shift and wants to get home and catch some sleep. They normally sleep immediately after boarding. To make sure no on interrupts their sleep, they have enough money for their fare which they hold with their equally sleepy hands. They normally seat near driver so they don’t miss the stop. “Dere, usinipitishe Gurunanak.” They’ll say. Only for the driver to remember when he is in Ngara. He’ll tap him. “Boss, amamka. Umepitishwa.” HeHe Like it was not him driving the bus. “Tuko wapi?’ He’ll ask half asleep opening one eye.’ Tuko Ngara, shuka urudi. Kim, mpee kumi.” The driver will tell the kange.  As he alights, he will insult the driver. “We wi Ngui muno.’ And walked away towards Thika.

Then there the social media and gossip site junkies. These are the guys who sleep at night using their phones. They fall asleep and the phone falls on their torso only for them to wake up with their phones full of drool and beeping low battery. They almost get a panic attack, not from the drool that may have made its way inside the phone, but from the low battery which will deny them the opportunity to catch the ‘breaking news.’

In the mat, you see glaring screens from guys from these guys. Normally, they sit in the middles pews; always with one eye closed, half asleep and half entertained. It’s a delicate balance, those who haven’t mastered the art yet, their phones slide of their hands, hit a bolt somewhere and the screen shutters, and that becomes the breaking news.

You can tell the students; they are either carrying heavy bags or a slouched back after years of abuse. Carrying schoolbooks most. Remember those big encyclopedias we’d carry to school? Long before Google? Those days! Most of them look lost. Lost in their thoughts of why they have to wake up so early to be in boring classes all day. Lost in their dreams of a better tomorrow which is somehow guaranteed by them going to school. Lost in a world that asks so much of them when so young. Lost in pursuing dreams their parents didn’t achieve.

Finally, we have the rest of us, ‘the watchers.’ These are the guys who are so alert to a fault. They look unbelievably fresh. It’s like the hadn’t slept at all just woken up from a power nap. They are always scanning to see who gets into the mat. They are suspicious and give anyone who gives a lingering eye contact, that unwelcoming side eye; unless off course it’s a beautiful lady where their eyes wander to the ring finger. If it’s unoccupied, the might throw in an inviting smile, and thanks heavens if there is an open seat next to them.

These guys are also conmen putting a straight face so that they are not identified by their last victims. Or Bosses- those insecure ones who are threatened by fresh graduates with no experience but lots of curiosity. Those who know that if they are friendly, they will soon lose out to some tight trouser wearing, earphone hanging younging who has no worry in the world but safaricom ‘stealing’ his or her bundles- who cannot wait for the day to break for them to go heap some more misery to that disgruntled millennial in the office. Or preachers who wants to feed is flock with the daily bread.  Or people like me Going to Seek Christ when he can be found. 

When the mat stops, people alight in a huff, the ones going to offices they don’t like being the first and more aggressive. One day I had some time to kill, so I followed some guy who stepped on me- he never apologized. He looked at my leg with that you are at fault look- on his way out only for him to go seat on that round bench outside Hilton hotel. I actually thought he had one of those bosses. But I figured he was rushing to secure ‘his spot.’ I had lost irredeemable seconds of my life. But I wondered, why would he walk out so fast to go seat on a bench?