THE BODA BODA DISASTER

Ever asked yourself why I don't just "quickly" make money like other people?

There is a very good reason.

Actually, there are witnesses. Many witnesses. Including one very confused mzungu tourist, three angry women with shopping bags, and a goat that still looks at me funny whenever I pass through Umoja.

It started on a Tuesday. A Tuesday that felt like Monday. You know those days when your M-Pesa balance is showing three digits but two of them are after the decimal?

Yaani, I had exactly 50 bob in my account.

Fifty. Bob.

And I was supposed to meet my friends for nyama choma that evening. The kind of nyama choma you don't miss because you've already told everyone you're coming.

Si mnajua how that pressure is.

So my brain decided to find a "quick hustle." Just for the afternoon. A small thing. Something that wouldn't require capital, skills, or any real effort.

Kumbe.

I was walking through the estate when I saw my neighbor Karani. Karani is one of those guys who always has money but you never see him working. He drives a boda. A very loud, very yellow Probox that should probably be in a museum but somehow still moves.

"Bro," I called out. "Uko na job today?"

Karani looked at me like I had asked him for a loan. "Ebu?"

"Nataka kuenda na wewe for a few rides. Nikupee back up. Earn some kitu."

He laughed. First mistake—I ignored the laugh.

"Wewe? Unajua kuendesha?"

"Obviously not. But I can sit behind you, help you collect money, talk to customers..."

Karani looked at his bike. Looked at me. Looked at his bike again.

"Hapana," he said. "Hii sio Uber."

But I was persistent. A very dangerous quality when you have 50 bob and pride.

"Just one hour," I pleaded. "Let me see how you work. Maybe tomorrow I can start on my own."

Hapa ndio story inaanza.

Karani finally agreed. "Sawa. But you do EXACTLY what I say. And if anything happens... I don't know you."

"Deal."

He handed me a helmet that smelled like it had been used to carry fish. I put it on. The thing was too small but I didn't complain.

"Let's go," he said, revving the engine.

We drove to the stage near the supermarket. The one where all the boda guys wait. As soon as we arrived, I saw the other riders look at me.

"Karani, ni nani huyo?"

"Cousin," he said. "Anajifunza."

I waved. They waved back. But their eyes were saying, "Huyu atajiumiza."

---

Within five minutes, a customer appeared. A woman with three shopping bags and an expression that said she had already dealt with too much nonsense today.

"Town," she said. "Unaenda?"

Karani nodded. "Kwa hiyo ni mia tatu."

She agreed. I was impressed. Tatu mia for one ride? This boda business was better than my actual job.

We helped her with the bags. She sat behind Karani. I sat behind her. So...