Several weeks ago I found myself in downtown Nairobi at the chaotic bus terminal/stage/nasty dirt lot after dark needing to find my bus back to Ngong, a suburb I was staying in at the time. After finding several buses full and the bus stage beginning to empty, panic rose inside me. Would I get a bus back? If I didn’t what would happen? Then I heard a conductor in his early 20’s say: “Hamsini Hamsini Hamsini – Ngong Ngong Ngong!!!” It was my bus and for a good price – 50 schillings instead of 100 or more! Anyway, I get on the bus and move to the back row and prepare myself for a long, but hopefully uneventful journey home.
The conductor methodically walked down the isle taking everyone’s fare. Everything seemed normal until I paid him. I handed him a 100 schilling note expecting to receive a 50 schilling note in return, but when I asked for change he said, “no change…” He had done that for the entire bus: promised them a fare of 50 schillings and then charged them 100 schillings. It was late at night, and the only option was to pay or walk. By charging each person two times what he quoted us, he pocketed an extra $15 or so for himself.
The whole bus silently endured the injustice until my back-row seatmates began to make a fuss. A guy sitting two people down from me wanted to beat up the conductor. I guess he thought that with the conductor incapacitated, he’d redistribute the money—a Kenyan Robin Hood of sorts. We calmed him down, the way strangers treat each other with a reserved politeness. “Nah, it’s not worth it, it’s just 50 schillings…” Our row then began to grumble about the injustice amongst ourselves. After we had exhausted the subject, it became clear that nothing was going to happen. So I, being the only white person on the bus began to repeat the chorus he yelled to get us on the bus. “Hamsini Hamsini Hamsini – Ngong Ngong Ngong!!!” (fifty fifty fifty – Ngong Ngong Ngong). The whole bus giggled (and also giggled at my strongly American accented Swahili). Our row then started shouting things like, “Coward! Thief! Liar!” Seriously, what could he do? Protest his innocence, throw us all off? He just stood stonewalled with his back to us.
The people in Kenya who run the buses and other public transportation companies are part of the selfish underbelly of Kenyan society. They routinely overcharge, and overload their vehicles to dangerous levels. A matatu (see image) by law is only allowed to carry 14 people. However I’d say the average Nairobian matatu carries around 20 people and rural area matatus average closer to 27 or so people (plus chickens, goats, feed etc…). Since I am without a car here, I have ridden on more public transit than I care to recall in since coming to Kenya in August.
Back on the bus, my blood pressure starts to rise from the surfacing resentment I had from all the other underbelly conductors and drivers. Maybe it was the fact that I had been on public transportation for three hours already that day, maybe it was the fact that I was exhausted from spending two weeks traveling throughout all of Western Kenya with characters like this guy. Whatever the reason, this guy was about to get what all those other idiots had coming to them.
Amid my boiling desire to publicly vomit my mental wrath (and or stomach contents) onto the conductor, a friend’s voice floated through my head, “What would love look like in this situation?”
“Crap, can’t I just be pissed off for just a bit? I’m too tired to weigh the ethical/spiritual/moral possibilities of this situation…”
Seemingly out of my control, my thoughts then turn to an early scene in Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables when Bishop Myriel extends mercy to thief Jean Valjean by pretending to have given his silverware to him in front of the police. In fact the Bishop says, “Why yes, I gave my silverware to this gentleman – but he forgot the candlesticks…”
Then, my ever-growing pious thoughts turn to Zacchaeus in the 19th chapter of the Gospel of Luke. Zacchaeus is a Jew and a the chief tax collector. He overcharged his own people and had the Roman Army as his collection agency. Jesus approaches Zacchaeus who is stupidly hanging in a sycamore tree. The crowd stands with baited breath anticipating of Jesus’ forthcoming tongue lashing to Zacchaeus. Instead, Jesus smiles and says, “Quick, come down! I must be a guest in your home today!” Jaws hit the Jerichoian dust. Jesus had done the unthinkable, not only was he actually talking to this tax collectors of tax collectors, but insists on visiting his home!
Back in the bus I begin to think, “I’ll do the Bishop thing, I’ll give this character some extra money and maybe he’ll think about it…” But then my legs raise my torso; my right arm takes out 1000 schillings (about $10) and begins to wave it above my head. I then become aware of a crazed and sarcastic zealousness overtaking me. “Friends, it is obvious that our dear conductor—err, I mean thief—is in great need of money since he has had to steal from us. Had he been an honorable thief, he would have just told us he was taking our money because he needed funds for his child in school, etc. So friends, let us generously give to raise money for his obvious dire need.” I began to pace the aisle like a crazed auctioneer. “I’ve got 1,000 schillings, who will make it 1,100 schillings, ok, now I’ve got 1,200 schillings, let’s give till it hurts people – alright here’s another faithful brother we’re at 1,300 schillings…”
I gather the wad of money, walk up to the conductor (who has ignored the aforementioned spectacle) and slam about 1,500 schillings into his chest. “Here! Here is money freely given from all of us!” He mumbles that he doesn’t want the money. This was the wrong thing to say. I announce this to the bus, “He says that he doesn’t want our money! But he sure wanted our money when he was taking the fare – didn’t he!!!” Many nod, and give their approval—my cheer leading section in the back of the bus shouts their indignation with a hearty amen. Then an idea hits me…
“Friends, maybe our dear thief doesn’t know how to say thank you! You know, he’s not a very smart thief…Let us teach him.” So I lead the bus in saying “Asante sana,” using skills I would use to conduct a choir and cajole a group to participate. All on the bus were joining in and having a good laugh. I am saying everything that comes to my mind now. “You know, maybe he doesn’t know Swahili, so let us teach him it in English…” So everyone laughs and says, “Thaaaank you…” like they’re teaching a child how to say it. I graciously thank the bus for their participation and sit down.
Finally, my stop begins to get close and I move from the back to the front of the bus next to the conductor. I lean in and ask with a satisfied smile – “Have we learned anything today? – Are you ever going to do this again?” He mumbles that he has learned his lesson. The bus slows for my stop. As I leave the bus, I say, “He’s learned something! Hallelujah, Praise Jesus!” I leave to the cheers of the bus and people saying that there needs to be more people like me in the world.
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Zacchaeus recieves Jesus in his home with joy and most everyone has (except the nay saying onlookers) a marvelous time at the party. Throughout Jesus’ life, he constantly broke the mold and expectations of the crowds and religious leaders. In visiting Zacchaeus’ home, Jesus showed love and acceptance to cultural untouchables. I’d imagine that Zacchaeus had not received such a show of genuine love from anyone in quite some time. It is obvious that this love has an effect on Zacchaeus. As the party winds down, Zacchaeus clears his throat and makes an announcement, “I’m giving my riches to the poor and if I have cheated people in their taxes, I will give them back four times as much…” (the law only demanded 20% for restitution) When one thinks about it, after paying back all the people he ‘possibly’ cheated four times what they were owed and giving his riches to the poor, Zacchaeus went from Donald Trump to Ghandi in a matter of seconds. Yet, the fulfillment he then found in his life far outweighed the monetary expense. The text doesn’t tell us what happens…
Too often, I think that love is misconstrued with niceness, politeness or a ‘let’s just get along’ attitude. Jesus’ love was often counter cultural and ruffled plenty of feathers. The gossip surrounding Jesus was scandalous – “he hangs out with prostitutes and tax collectors… and did you hear about what he did to the Temple…” In today’s culture the tax collectors and prostitutes are likely, “thooose people…” You know the type I’m talking about: the people that society politely ignores or unfairly stereotypes. Yeah, Jesus actually sought them out. This story would suggest that by simply being with them, his presence communicated that they were loved, valued, and accepted. No tongue lashings or Torah beatings for them – Jesus reserved those for the religious leaders.
Unfortunately for our bus, nobody got their money back… and I’m not Jesus or Robin Hood. However, had my zeal overpowered me and I became the stupid mzungu (white man) that got up screaming at the injustice and selfishness of all the bus conductors in Kenya, nobody would have come to my aid — and, I would have likely been thrown off the bus or worse. Yet, I somehow stumbled into a creative place to voice the injustice and discover a strange community with my fellow victims. We sacrificially gave to make a point and used social shaming to teach a lesson to a corrupt thief.
Regardless of me being right or wrong, it’s been the best 1,000 schillings I’ve spent in Kenya.