Rude Empath

Photo by Mario Ayala via dribble It might be safe to assume you do not have a personal chauffeur if you aren’t in the 1%. Save for the occasional COVID Uber where you ride back left with a little less than the stipulated social distance between you and the driver in the jam-weaving Suzuki Alto 400. However, using taxi-hailing applications on the regular wouldn't amount to a financially sustainable practice - unless you are Bezos, at which point you might as well own the franchise and its competitors. So, reliable public transport is the way to ride. However, the term reliable has lost its lustre to a point we do not consider all it encompasses: proper pricing, predictable routes, effective communication and calculable timing. No one, forgive the generalisation, living in the outskirts of Nairobi can say, "I paid normal fare rates despite it raining cats and dogs", not with their chest! Meaning people have had to stow their pride and make the tuma kitu call that they had ...

M otorists using multimodal roads as their private F1 tracks, please! Spare us the unnecessary theatrics. Not until you can afford a personal race track. In the meantime, only allow your speedometer to clock 180 km/h in the dead of night on a clear road stretching for miles on end where there are few pedestrians if any. I see no downside. Should you gain entry into the great Ferrari track in the sky, let it be a ticket admitting only one: you! The fact remains that Kenyan motorists are starved for that nationally authorised speeds - 80kmph rightly popped into your mind - stuck in traffic for excessively long periods.  At the sight of a mere 15cm of road, it's pedal to the metal to make up for the lost time. Unfortunately, in the haste, road users who rank  lower  face higher risks resulting in negative cross-user biases.  Joe is the proud owner of a navy blue KAA 001A Subaru inherited from his maternal uncle's cousin. He conquers the dusty rough road from his ...

“Hi there and karibu. Is this your first time dining with us?” The waiter gracefully hands you a menu and goes on to share the chef's special. An introduction into what will be a gastronomic journey to leave you all smiles. On the contrary, just the thought of visiting a public service office in my motherland sets off an inconsolable migraine. Take my imaginary hand, let us take a stroll  through one.  Offices are meant to open at 0800hrs, shockingly (if you live up to Chronos’ ideal) this is not the case. When it eventually does, so-so cleaning eats up another 10-15 minutes: time in which the civil servant would be efficiently utilizing to have breakfast but instead are recapping yesterday's episode of Maria.  Finally, the door swings out. Eyes widen with hope. We flock. She points back to the rickety, chipping, blue bench. The ‘nice’ lady is now yelping into the hallway, “I'll call you when I'm open” where we are sitting despondent, after one brave young...