Matatu Art and Culture: A Historical look at the jaded and fading fame
After independence, Kenyans were liberated but still stranded, as public transportation was still a major nightmare. OnlyLondon’s Overseas Trading Company (OTC) operated a fleet of busesplying a mere dozen routes. People would walk for miles and hike rides just to go to work or travel from one place to another. This prompted the then President Jomo Kenyatta to commission the first matatus in Nairobi—a fleet of pickups and lorries. Wooden benches were installed in the vehicles dubbed, “Face me, I face you”. Owners even built tents on the trunk of the pickups to shelter passengers from harsh weather. “It was an unprofessional way of transport,” recalls a bespectacled Simon Kimutai, the Chairman of the Matatu Owners Association (MOA) at his office along Ngong’ Road. He narrates his recollection of a protest delegation against the establishment of the informal matatu industry requesting Kenyatta to ban matatus in the late 60s. It was met by the President’s tough declaration, ‘Sell your bus to buy a matatu!’ as he supported the expanding trade.
The renowned matatu culture then started taking shape in the 70s and blossomed its way into the 80s, during which different models of the Ford, Volkswagens and Peugeot also acted as alternative means of transport. “Matatus were flashy, their touts and drivers would converge in areas and call out for passengers in uncouth ways. The culture attracted rebels,” says Kimutai, adding “Designated matatu terminus and professionals were needed.” By the early 90s, Kenya’s economy was liberalized and a lot of the 9-seater mini-vans previously used in the tourism sector were bought by investors and converted into matatus. The law permitted matatu painting with at least three colors but they all had multi-colorful graffiti made up of art work that was often vulgar, political or carrying some sort of social satire.
By mid the 90s, the matatu art and culture went overboard. Drivers drove furiously fast while breaking literally all rules. Being inside a matatu was an enthralling ride; music blasted off invisible speakers and the insides were decorated by fascinating stickers with famous sayings and catchy slogans like ‘kama uko na haraka shuka ukimbie’ (If you are in a hurry, just alight and run instead) or ‘No Smoking’ yet touts would hang out swinging on moving matatus like baboons while smoking and intoxicating passengers (they still do). Images and illustrations of skimpily-dressed, mostly American musicians and models and iconic people like Bob Marley were must-haves. Nairobi city was celebrated as home to one of the most vibrant matatu cultures in the world.
The new millennium kicked in with a bang that would later be the start of the culture’s slow decline. ‘Pimping’ moved on to the next level; huge plasma screens playing movies and music videos (mostly western hip hop), with some even showing explicit content were not uncommon. This prompted the government to crack its whip in 2003, when the late Transport Minister John Michuki introduced the infamous ‘Michuki law’ that required all matatus to be painted plain white with yellow lines, install seat belts and speed governors. After fighting a losing battle, most operators adhered to the rules while some just couldn’t operate without the art.
“We [matatu operators] now get arrested if a matatu is found with graffiti. The business has changed a lot without it. I miss the days when graffiti was a tourist attraction. The rules imposed have killed the potential of artists; I don’t know why people are still studying art,” says a nostalgic 33-yearold Kenny Otieno who’s been working as a matatu tout in Buruburu route 58 (once-famed to have boasted Nairobi’s fastest and funkiest mats) for over 15 years now. The Chairman of MOA Mr. Kimutai urges all operators to join forces to professionalize the industry even more “If graffiti were to come back, it must be legal, respectable and used to earn profits through advertisements. Matatu owners need to be educated on how to register art to maintain the culture,” he says.
As of today, it’s legal to own a monocolored matatu if it’s logbook indicates the vehicle’s specific single color. Graffiti and plasma screens in or on matatus will guarantee operators an arrest. Art has since transformed into ‘matatu madness’ with matatu drivers now terrorizing other road users and drivers, especially women and those driving vitz or probox models or cars with an “L” sticker. They have now mastered the art of ducking traffic police, oncoming rain and dangerous manholes while overcharging passengers at their will.
A 2010 government policy to phase out matatus in the city in favor of larger, 25+ seater-buses hit a road block. The industry’s present regulation may not be sufficiently deterrent as few matatus still keep alive the stunted resurgence of the one-time illustrious genre. As Nairobi mourns the demise of its moving gallery, future generations may never know how it felt to ride in moving art. However, matatu operators’ past ability to defy authority is still a source of inspiration for many in a society still plagued by economic and political struggles. “Although the business enriched makangas (touts) more than matatu owners, the 90s was the best time to ride in a matatu. It wasn’t one—without graffiti. You can fold fingers to count matatus with graffiti today,” notes Kimutai, also a former matatu driver and current owner.
[Editors note: The first matatus were pioneered in central province, an area dominated by kikuyus. The name matatu was adapted from Kikuyu (for three) and the first fare cost 30 cents.
By Anyiko Owoko
