Yet Another Reason to Be Grateful for UHP

Today is the first day back to the office from a holiday weekend.  Aaron and I anticipated a busy traffic morning, and since we don't have the truck at our disposal at the moment, we left early.  By a whole 15 minutes.  (But anyone who knows me well will understand that this is quite an accomplishment.)

On our mile-ish walk to our "stage" (bus stop), we were pleased to see a matatu heading our way--driving in the wrong direction we were headed, for the purpose of picking up passengers.  Less physical exertion for us.  Whoopee.

We got on the "mat" and sailed smoothly to work.  The long traffic jams were uncharacteristically absent from our commute, and we arrived at the office uncharacteristically early.

My co-worker mildly gasped when I walked in the door.

"You have your transportation, then?"  she inquired.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Your car.  You have it now?"

"No."

"Well how did you get to work?"

"Uh.  By matatu?"  (Not sure why she was interrogating me.  I mean I was early, wasn't I?)

"Oh.  Well did you know there is a matatu strike?"

I had no idea.

This is not a surprising thing, nor is it the first time it's happened.  (I just still have no idea--and neither do the Kenyans--why these drivers, who are not employees of any one entity, strike.  It hasn't accomplished anything but causing huge inconveniences for their customers.)

Enter several of my co-workers. (The rest of which have yet to arrive at work.)

Their morning commutes weren't such a breeze:  Several of them walked long, long distances to finally find a ride the rest of the way.  Some of them fought their way on to the matatu, just to pay a double fare to get to work.  And one told me her matatu had a police escort. 

Ha!Ha!  I thought that was a funny joke.

Only it wasn't a joke. 

Apparently it's not such a benign strike:  Striking matatu drivers will attack other non-striking matatu drivers--by starting their mini buses on fire.  Only those with police escorts are truly safe.

Really?

There are joys of living in a third world country, and then there are joys of living in a third world country.

The evening commute should be interesting.