Checking for mail

The official documentation for teaching certification and residency is proving to be quite a difficult process. Considering it took 2 ½ months to simply obtain the form I got it filled out and emailed back as quickly as possible. However, after a few weeks I heard from my logistics guy saying it had been rejected by the ministry of education as they only accepted original handwritten copies- not scanned and emailed.

He arranged to have the form couriered to me and said the courier would ring when it arrived. 2 weeks passed with no phone call and every time I tried to call the courier it didn’t connect.

I decided to just got to the deppo and ask them in person if it was there.  Easier said than done.

A friend who lives at the school agreed to accompany me to the nearby town and so we walked a couple of kilometres to the market to get some transport. Matatus are the most common form of public transport in Kenya, small white vans, licensed to carry 14 people and seemingly unbound by any road rules.

Every time I have travelled in one it has been quite an experience and this was no different! Initially I was offered the front seat- muzungu privileges- but I opted to sit in the back with my friend. Upon realising he had a muzungu aboard the driver was keen to get going as soon as possible, however  they never take off until completely maxed out. This means every seat taken, small pieces of wood placed between the seats across the ‘aisle’ to fit more people, a few standing up and crouching over the rest of us and a couple hanging out the door. We don’t get going until over 20 people are crammed in. I am surprised to have my whole seat to myself until a large purple satin clad mumma clambers in and sits ontop of me. I try not to feel too claustrophobic and crane my neck to see around her and out the windscreen to see what the holdup is. The road we are loading up on is under construction and not to be driven on. The construction manager in a large ute is heading straight for us and our driver seems not to notice, he glances up and immediately fangs it in reverse- hitting a guy off his motorbike. This causes a bit of a ruckus with much yelling and gestures, another guy appears and ousts the driver, climbing into the seat and taking over. The driver runs around to the other side of the van and hangs out the door.

After 30 minutes of fluffing about finally we are off, weaving our way at relatively high speed through the market. We go over a particularly large bump and the two guys hanging out the door fall off.  An opportunist sitting by the door takes it upon himself to slam it shut and we leave our former driver in a cloud of dust. I am mildly interested as to who actually owns the vehicle and why it is appropriate to kick out the driver but everyone else seems unperturbed.

About 5 minutes into our journey a loud bang causes the van to stop. We have burst a tyre. Considering the rough roads and the state of the car I am not surprised! The driver gets out and locates the spare tyre- which happens to be also burst. He flags down an oncoming matatu which bears the same company name- it pulls over but upon hearing what we want they aren't interested in helping and speed off again amidst loud cursing in Swahili from our driver who is unimpressed at the lack of camaraderie. Eventually a matatu from another company pulls over and gives us one of their tyres, but it is taking a long time so my friend flags down another matatu and we squeeze in the new one- once again over 20 people on board.

One of the guys standing up and crouched double across us starts clicking his fingers for money, I’m not sure exactly how it works as it seems that only some people pay and they seem to pay different amounts. After about 20 minutes my friend tells me to pay 140 shillings for our fare (about $1.60 for the two of us).  

We appear to stop at random places for various reasons, at once stage the cops pull us over and the money man has a quick conversation. I suspect ‘something small’ changed hands as any more than 14 passengers is a punishable offence and yet we take off after only a few seconds.

It takes around 40 minutes to get to town and we find the courier office in a matter of minutes. I tell her my name and ask for my letter, she has a look through some boxes and tells me sorry its not there. I glance at my friend in alarm and then ask her to look again. She starts leafing through a mountain of paperwork asking when it was sent. I produce all  the details I have and upon seeing the receipt number she quickly locates the letter.

The journey home is much the same as the trip there, a particularly memorable moment when the driver goes over a bump rather quickly and the man next to me becomes irate yelling ‘you are driving silly, you nincompoop!’ then sneaking a self-satisfied glance at me, as if hoping I would be impressed with his English. I struggled to hold in my laughter and turned to look out the window.

Checking the letterbox at home has always been one of life's little pleasures and I guess even though it took over 3 hours here it was overall an enjoyable experience!