Kenyan Matatus: The Hassles and Unpleasant Tout Encounters

Here is a sure fact the books won’t tell: a good number of Kenyans have had an unpleasant encounter with a matatu tout, at least once or severally in their lives.

Who in this country hasn’t almost been run down by a mob of touts, each trying to whisk you into their own matatu?

Who hasn’t been given one of those classical, brutally cold responses when you refused to move to the back seat, or when you ignored their advances? Well, some touts can be obnoxious and unbearable. But that’s part of their job; needlessly hassling people.

Touts are the equivalent of buffoonic sales persons in highly competitive markets, who experiment on all levels of creativity in a bid to persuade unbelieving customers to loosen off tight pockets and take chances on their products. Cos sales do not just pitch themselves!

Sales the Nairobi way

Walk along the streets of Nairobi and you will spot men and women of a thousand wits (outside fast food joints or other shops); hearty and well spirited, calling out on strangers, “Karibu customer!” Often times you will find them holding advertising placards with the enduring tenacity of an infant’s tiny fingers.

You’ve got to have a special kind of heart to stand this torture. Hundreds, even thousands of humans walk by, hardly giving you a notice, maybe stares – the ‘niko sawa’ kinda stares, which say ‘I don’t need your services’. Everyone is so into their own business.  Such coldness in a warm blooded species!

On the other hand, stall attendants sitting across counters will always be on the lookout for the straying eyes of admirers. They have sharp, incessant surveillance abilities. A mere gaze into their openly displayed items purports you as an interested customer, earning you an invitation: “Karibu customer,” or “Ingia uone” (Come have a look). You have to keep your line of sight a safe distance from these stalls.

Perhaps the most outstanding of sales people are the SIM-card hawkers with their catch phrase ‘Karibia karibia customer upate laini…’ Now these ones have perfected the art. What surprises me is the similitude of their pre-recorded sound tracks. A good number use this one track.

If your ears are keen enough, you can tell its mostly one man’s voice speaking in those portable speakers. They should get this man a voice over gig. He’s earned it!

Turns out the man allegedly reached out to a popular blogger in Kenya to ask for justice.

The scramble

You see, it’s an ingrained culture; the scramble for the customer. In the jungle of sales, the lion sleeps not, but roars alluringly, beckoning his prey to offer itself up for devouring. The prey is won over, not by muscle but by wit.

The scramble drives both seller and tout alike. The only slight difference is that a Kenyan matatu tout may use a little bit of muscle and an extra tone of verbal persuasion.

Encounters with touts are not very common to me. This one left me with a resentment for every utility with ‘public’ in its name.

Not long ago, the local touts seemed to be on edge; extra aggressive and unrelenting. This was not their usual behavior. They maintained a cool head most of the time.

The newly tarmacked matatu terminus in Juja had just opened. The thing with this terminus is that the most preferred matatu service (Super Metro) was stationed deep inside so you had to walk past several blocks of matatus and touts.

Before, you would just find the Metro right across the road. Now, there were blockades of aggravated touts and their matatus to overcome before getting to the Super Metro.

The battle of nerves

I was just about to cross the road when a tout came over, extending a fist bump, which I scolded, kindly. They always seem to come in peace until it becomes apparent that you’re not boarding their matatu.

“Niaje kiongozi.” (Howdy sir). To this I responded friendly with a ‘poa’ (I’m well).

“Unaenda wapi.” (Where to). Silence.

The tout realized his pitch was already in the drains. He switched over to the iconic battle of nerves. The rule in this battle is to say something spiteful. They always find some contemptuous way to dismiss anyone.

I was donned pretty decently. That painted a target on my back, cos that look meant that I could cough out the bills. But now that my money wasn’t going into his pocket, the man flared up with disappointment.

“Kwenda uko, kiongozi wapi na hata huna cologne bana!” (Argh, go your way! You don’t even have on any cologne!)

Damn that sunk in!

So much for being an eco-freak!

Sitting on the Metro, I could feel my resentment for all public service things grow.