Why I Love Kampala Matatus

Whoever knows me well is conversant with the fact that I very rarely take commuter taxis in Kampala (better known as matatus elsewhere in East Africa).    Reasons for not regularly taking taxis are many and varied but occasionally I do take a matatu when I am not in a hurry or when the principles of economics dictate that it is the only sensible thing to do. 

Over the years, I have been intrigued by what goes on in taxis.  For some reason things seem to be done loudly in Kampala taxis.  From eating, speaking on phones to private conversations between people, the occupants in that moving box seem to be loud.   It is therefore not unusual that you will ‘forcefully listen’ into conversations that you aren’t even remotely interested in.

On this lazy Sunday afternoon, there are about five of us in the matatu and the driver is not in a hurry to drive off.  We have stopped at one of the regular stops along the route and the engine is idling, waiting for other passengers to join us the unfortunate lot who have been condemned to this insipid wait.  Then, all of a sudden my ears pick a rather interesting conversation between the driver and the lady occupying one of the seats at the front.  I don’t know when and where this conversation started but the first question I clearly hear is 'wamma madam, lwaki abakazi ennaku zinno temwagala kuyonsa baana?' to which the attractive young lady calmly responds with a question 'bakazi ki?’.  Now I am an avid listener to this conversation and I can’t wait to hear the next answer or question.  Instead of another question or answer from the driver, the air is momentarily filled with some odd silence before the lady adds  'nze okuyonsa sikulinaamu buzibu.’  At this time I realize that I am not the only one interested in the conversation as my immediate neighbour, the conductor now gets involved and without prompting adds 'naddala size yo! Mmwe mutayagala kuyonsa.'  I am now biting my lips and waiting in anticipation for the excitement that is about to unfold before me.  Either, this thin tawny lady is going to take the remark from the conductor in her stride and play along or she is going to take offence and explode in a rage of anger at the Conductor’s rudeness.  To say the truth, I wasn’t looking forward to the latter and my Miss Petite did not disappoint as she spends the next few minutes defending women in general and skinny women in particular.  But the chaps are unconvinced. The driver probably noting an opportunity to make a pass goes on a bigger offensive and says 'mugaanira ddala okuyonsa abaana ate nemuyonsa mu ffe abasajja.'  At this point I feel the urge to jump in but she drops a rather more exciting line before I do  ‘ndaba mmwe mwagala tubayonse'.  The driver insists 'nze kale mba sagaala, naye ogenda okuzukuka ng'omukyaala akukubye ebbeere mu mukamwa.'   The young woman is not about to give up her defence of the fairer sex and she says 'gwe lwaki ebbeere tolija mukamwa ko.'   One part of me now says that this driver must give this up otherwise the conversation is going to end up a little embarrassing for every one inside this taxi but deep inside me I feel like we have not yet had the best.  The driver immediately says 'anti awo mba nyiize nnyo. Mbeera nobusuungu bungi. Nga nina kunuuna bunuunyi bbeere.'   The taxi now moving and all it’s occupants in stitches feels like one big family.  Unfortunately, my stop is coming up.  Maaso awo and I walked out of the taxi laughing like a deranged man. Good heavens, I love Kampala taxis!!!!



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