The taxis here are called matatus. They're kombis that run in their foreordained and unalterable courses, like stars, while their conductors lean out the open window and bang the sides of the sliding door, yelling out said courses: "Tambula Wandegeya! Nakawa Kamapala Wandegeya Kamowkya!" Like a star, each matatu is unique and has an outlandish name, emblazoned across the top of its windshield in gaudy lettering 10 inches high. "God is Able". "God is Final". "Bismillah". "God's Plan 3". "Jesus is the Answer". "Black Jesus". "Patience Pays". "Be: Patience". "Be Smart". "Sleek Figures". "BIG".
I don't know who names these sweaty heralds of God's glory licensed to carry 14 passengers. But I like having them around, reminding me that my life is not my own. Or that it is. Depending on which starry, Technicolor matatu names Fate sends past my eyes. Here's the best one I saw today:
"Love: God | Fear: Stan"
1 comment:
I knew Stan was trouble.
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