I love matatus. It’s a sure sign of my increasing Africanisation. At first sight they don’t seem ideal. Often ancient and rickety, they have cracked windscreens and hanging off bumpers. Inside there is an instantly recognisable smell of blended BO and wood smoke. The seat padding and suspension are definitely insufficient for the deeply rutted and potholed dirt roads of Uganda’s capital city. But I love them!
They’re the most efficient form of transport ever, and my favourite way of travelling (after flip flops of course). They pass along every major and minor road in the country, stop everywhere to drop off and pick up and cost pennies to go miles. They run every few minutes, not according to a timetable as they leave the taxi park only when they’re full. The music is good and the other passengers are friendly . There will be an occasional grumpy goat, but given they’re destined for the pot I can’t really blame them....
I admit I’ve been lucky so far. I’ve not been on one that has broken down or had a drunk driver. The closest I’ve come to a bad experience was driving around
When I first arrived in
The other day I fell asleep on the way into