The Day I Became a Matatu Conductor by Mistake

After high school, my third job was as a parking attendant at a busy stage in town.

If you don't know what a parking attendant does, I honestly don't know how to explain it to Gen-Z's. Back then, we didn't have those electronic parking meters. We had notebooks. Real notebooks. The kind that got soaked when it rained and made your handwriting look like a doctor's prescription. We walked between cars, collecting parking fees from people who acted like we were personally robbing them.

The pay was two hundred bob per day.

One morning, everything changed.

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That day started like any other.

I had my notebook. I had my pen. I had my official yellow vest that smelled like the previous owner's sweat and despair.

The stage was chaos.

Matatus were hooting. Passengers were screaming. Conductors were hanging out of vehicles like monkeys on a tree branch. Everyone was in a hurry to get somewhere they didn't want to be.

Then I saw it.

A matatu called "Mbao Express" had pulled into the stage. It was one of those old Nissan matatus that had been held together by prayers and masking tape. The conductor—a young guy with gold teeth that flashed like a lighthouse—was arguing with a passenger.

"Wewe! Ulisema utalipa wapi?"

"Nilikwambia nitalipa mwisho!"

"MWISHO WAPI? TAYARI TUMEFIKA!"

The passenger jumped out and ran.

The conductor chased him.

The matatu was now full of confused passengers wondering who would collect their fare.

The driver—a huge man with a face that looked like he had swallowed a hornet—stuck his head out the window.

"CONDUCTOR! WAPI CONDUCTOR!"

No response.

The driver looked around wildly. His eyes landed on me.

"WEWE! CONDUCTOR!"

I was wearing a yellow parking vest. The conductor wears a yellow vest.

"Mimi si—"

"NDIO WEWE! PANDA! TUONDOKE!"

"But I'm not—"

"PANDA NDANI YANGA!"

He grabbed my collar and yanked me into the matatu.

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Have you ever been kidnapped by a...