Road Trip Chronicles

The other day a colleague gave me a story of how dreams come true; well as a young boy he always admired Toyota Corollas and had a dream of owning one when he grew up.
A couple of years ago he had traveled to Kisii and his family was to join him a couple of days later but when his family arrived, no one was talking to him (walikuwa wamefura kama mandazi) because their journey from Nairobi to Kisii involved seating in the boot of a Probox. His children vowed they would never use public means to travel to the village again and true to their words and his beliefs, the next journey to Kisii was in a personal car; a Toyota (better than a Corolla).

The story of his family seating in the boot of a Probox reminded me of my fifteen-hour road trip from Nairobi to Mombasa last year.

Having had a very rough last quarter of the year, I did not plan to travel home as was the norm in December. As the days passed and Christmas approached, my daughter kept asking when we would go and visit her cucu. I kept making plans and changing my mind each day so by the time I decided to travel home the trains, buses and flights were fully booked till after twenty-eighth. The disappointment on my daughters face after learning she would not spend her Christmas and New Year’s Eve at the beach made me change make last-minute travel arrangements.

I sent someone to town to try to look for any available bus and luckily they found a very nice-looking shuttle and made a booking on my behalf.

With all bags packed and my babies and I looking forward to a fun filled vacation we arrived at the shuttle booking office one hour before the scheduled time of departure where we were warmly welcomed and directed to the waiting area.

A few minutes to departure, I was taken aback when we were directed to a bus instead of a shuttle. To make matters worse, my ticket read Prestige Shuttle and the name on the bus was Mombasa Bus, a blue, rusty and ancient bus. I tried resisting boarding the bus but after some convincing I boarded. Thirty minutes later, there were only fourteen out of forty-three passengers with no sign of a driver or a turn-boy. It was at this point that I decided to engage a couple seated in front of us in a conversation.
The couple seated in front of us had tickets from a different shuttle from the one I had booked and their departure time was two-hours earlier. Another guy seated behind us had a ticket from a third company, and his departure time was an hour earlier. We had been played!

Having woken up earlier and sitting in a non-moving bus for one and a half hours, my little man was restless. He was demanding something to eat and wanted to go out and play. My little princess wanted to use the washroom. I thought of cancelling our trip and call a cab to take us home but after calling my mother, I was convinced otherwise. I took a deep breath and composed myself before walking to the shuttle’s booking office to demand a refund.

The guys at the office who were initially so friendly and welcoming got so rude and defensive and it took a lot of patience convincing before they agreed to take me to a bus that was leaving in the next ten minutes.

High in spirits, I rushed back to the blue bus to pick my suitcases and babies and a few minutes later we were in an old Chania shuttle. Our joy was short-lived as soon as we got to our seats in the second last row of the bus. One of the seats was supported by a sisal rope. Despite the tonne of emotions, my babies and I had to find a way and get comfortable and belt up for the journey that was initially scheduled to start three hours earlier.

I called my mother and brother and told them our story and informed them that we were en-route; as usual my mum whispered a prayer for us. Despite being in an old and uncomfortable bus, I felt relieved and was really looking forward to spending time with my extended family but joy was only short-lived.

One hour into our journey as we approached Machakos junction, there was a loud sound coming from under the bus. I thought it was a tire burst but I later found out that it was something to do with the radiator. We got to the petrol station, and the turn boy informed us that we would have to wait for another hour as we wait for another bus to come to our rescue. Being a typical African, I was totally convinced that this was a sign for me to abort my journey and go back to Nairobi but then again, I could not imagine the hustle of crossing the road with my luggage and babies then try looking for a matatu so I decided to look for a   nyama choma joint.

After our meal we went back to the petrol station, and the other passengers filled us in with the latest update. There was no free bus coming to our rescue, so we had to wait for a mechanic to come and fix the radiator. I remember my dad (who was in Nairobi) called and said we had enough drama for one day and he was coming to pick us but I turned down the offer, my mind was made up.
I decided to join my little man in playing with the goats in a nearby open land to pass time, my daughter on the other hand got busy watching DIY videos.

A few minutes to 7.00 PM, ten hours from the scheduled time of travel, our hopes were raised by the sound of ignition from the bus. Despite being dusty and sweaty from all the playing, we boarded the bus and prayed we would not experience any other complications on our way. Considering all the day’s activities, we just adjusted our seats and slept as soon as we hit the road.

Thankfully, we got to Mombasa at 3.00 AM and my brother was there to pick us up. Mum had initially prepared dinner as we were initially expected to arrive at around 6.00 PM but there was a change of plan. Considering how I had described the bus we were in and the photos I had shared on the family WhatsApp group, she could not sleep. Besides her checking up on us every one hour, she prepared tea, mahamri and ucuru wa mukio for us.

I made a promise to my daughter and made a prayer to God.