19/04/2026
We boarded a matatu in Nakuru that looked like it had survived three elections, two floods, and one breakup. The driver known only as “No Nonsense” didn’t greet, didn’t smile, didn’t even blink properly. His face said, “Fuel imepanda, so your comfort imepungua.”
Before the engine even coughed to life, he turned and announced, “Hii si matatu ya mchezo. Diesel ni k**a mafuta ya kupaka heartbreak expensive and painful. Hakuna kusimama ovyo ovyo!”
My friend whispered, “Bro, hata hatujakaa vizuri na already tunaambiwa life lessons.”
We were going 60 kilometers to Kihingo, but the way the driver spoke, it felt like we were crossing the Sahara. Every passenger sat upright like students during a surprise exam. Even the conductor had fear he was collecting fare like he was handling evidence.
A lady tried to negotiate fare. Big mistake. The driver braked slightly, turned slowly like a movie villain, and said, “Madam, hii si supermarket ya bargain. Ukishuka, fuel haitashuka.” Silence fell. Even WhatsApp statuses paused.
Halfway through, someone requested a stop. The driver said, “Unashuka ama unashushwa na economy?” We all pretended we didn’t hear.
Meanwhile, my friend was holding onto the seat like it was his last connection to earth. “Huyu msee anaendesha k**a anafukuza inflation,” he muttered.
At one point, the driver reduced speed not for a bump but to lecture us: “Mnasema fuel imepanda, lakini hakuna mtu anasema asante kwa kufika destination. Mimi si Uber ya emotions.” Then he accelerated like he was chasing fuel prices back down.
By the time we reached Kihingo, we didn’t even complain about the fare. We paid like grateful survivors. As we stepped out, my friend looked back at the matatu and said, “Hiyo si gari… hiyo ni moving seminar ya harsh realities.”
And the driver? He just drove off, probably to go discipline another group of passengers with wisdom powered by diesel. 🚐💀