The media has been awash with debate on the deadly bus crash in Ntulele, Narok County, that killed 41 people and left tens of others with injuries. The blame has been apportioned to everyone and everything;
greedy car owners and their inexperienced and often intoxicated drivers,
corrupt traffic police officers, overloading and our badly designed
roads.
But from a personal experience, I think the greatest contributors to road accidents in this country are the acquiescent, timid passengers who refuse to act in the face of clear and imminent danger.
It baffles me why 14 grown-up passengers in a matatu or 60 for the big buses would quietly watch as a driver with a death-wish speeds them off to their own sure deaths.
I strongly believe that if passengers can find their voice, errant drivers would not be driving them to their graves early as it happens almost daily in this country.
Sometime in 2011, I travelled to Eldoret on one of the many 11-seater public service vehicles that ply the route. Barring any heavy traffic, the journey normally takes about five hours, with a brief stopover in Nakuru.
But soon past Kangemi, just after we had cleared the heavy city traffic jam, I realised the driver had a death-wish. Right from takeoff at the stage, he was in an unexplainable rush.
His indicator was forever on the right side; whenever trucks obstructed him, he overtook on the left side, squeezing the car through the shoulders of the road.
At some point near Nakuru, an oncoming transit goods vehicle was forced off the road to give overtaking space after our driver, on top flight and wildly flashing the headlights, gravely misjudged the distance of the truck.
Head on
After hitting my head on the roof of the car for the umpteenth time as our man on the wheels ‘flew over” another bump, I cried out in a loud voice “wewe dereva utatuua” (you will kill us driver.)The mad driver drove on as if he had heard nothing and I protested some more.
Finally my protests got to him and he harshly told me to shut up or come upfront and take the steering wheel. The driver, a fairly elderly man, was beyond angry with me. At a stopover in Nakuru, he violently grabbed me by the hand as if he was spoiling for a fight. His other hand was balled in to a fist. His eyes were bloodshot and he was almost biting off his lower lip in anger. I yanked myself free from his vice-like grip. Foam forming at the sides of the mouth, he informed me that he had been driving before I was born and I had nothing to offer him in the way of advice.
He offered to refund me from his pocket my fare from Nakuru to Eldoret. I refused though he kept shoving Sh300 to my face. I stood my ground.
When he left for the toilets, I called the company.
A lady picked up the phone and I explained our ordeal. Gratefully, she was understanding and thanked me for letting the company know of their misbehaving driver.
I saw him receive a call soon after and he went to some distance to receive it thus I did not hear what they were talking about. But when we boarded the vehicle, I knew he had been warned; from the dizzying speeds he was doing from Nairobi, the car was now crawling at 40km per hour.
The driver was punishing us, this time slowly. Very slowly.
Murmurs of disapproval from passengers elicited no response. Having asked for low speed, I could not possibly tell him to increase it now.
No one else seemed brave enough to talk to him.
We took off from Nakuru at around 3pm, but arrived in Eldoret past 7pm. As I took out my bag, a lady with a small child who had been quiet throughout the entire journey said to me, “Asante for what you did. My husband was killed by a speeding matatu a month ago.”
But from a personal experience, I think the greatest contributors to road accidents in this country are the acquiescent, timid passengers who refuse to act in the face of clear and imminent danger.
It baffles me why 14 grown-up passengers in a matatu or 60 for the big buses would quietly watch as a driver with a death-wish speeds them off to their own sure deaths.
I strongly believe that if passengers can find their voice, errant drivers would not be driving them to their graves early as it happens almost daily in this country.
Sometime in 2011, I travelled to Eldoret on one of the many 11-seater public service vehicles that ply the route. Barring any heavy traffic, the journey normally takes about five hours, with a brief stopover in Nakuru.
But soon past Kangemi, just after we had cleared the heavy city traffic jam, I realised the driver had a death-wish. Right from takeoff at the stage, he was in an unexplainable rush.
His indicator was forever on the right side; whenever trucks obstructed him, he overtook on the left side, squeezing the car through the shoulders of the road.
At some point near Nakuru, an oncoming transit goods vehicle was forced off the road to give overtaking space after our driver, on top flight and wildly flashing the headlights, gravely misjudged the distance of the truck.
Head on
After hitting my head on the roof of the car for the umpteenth time as our man on the wheels ‘flew over” another bump, I cried out in a loud voice “wewe dereva utatuua” (you will kill us driver.)The mad driver drove on as if he had heard nothing and I protested some more.
Finally my protests got to him and he harshly told me to shut up or come upfront and take the steering wheel. The driver, a fairly elderly man, was beyond angry with me. At a stopover in Nakuru, he violently grabbed me by the hand as if he was spoiling for a fight. His other hand was balled in to a fist. His eyes were bloodshot and he was almost biting off his lower lip in anger. I yanked myself free from his vice-like grip. Foam forming at the sides of the mouth, he informed me that he had been driving before I was born and I had nothing to offer him in the way of advice.
He offered to refund me from his pocket my fare from Nakuru to Eldoret. I refused though he kept shoving Sh300 to my face. I stood my ground.
When he left for the toilets, I called the company.
A lady picked up the phone and I explained our ordeal. Gratefully, she was understanding and thanked me for letting the company know of their misbehaving driver.
I saw him receive a call soon after and he went to some distance to receive it thus I did not hear what they were talking about. But when we boarded the vehicle, I knew he had been warned; from the dizzying speeds he was doing from Nairobi, the car was now crawling at 40km per hour.
The driver was punishing us, this time slowly. Very slowly.
Murmurs of disapproval from passengers elicited no response. Having asked for low speed, I could not possibly tell him to increase it now.
No one else seemed brave enough to talk to him.
We took off from Nakuru at around 3pm, but arrived in Eldoret past 7pm. As I took out my bag, a lady with a small child who had been quiet throughout the entire journey said to me, “Asante for what you did. My husband was killed by a speeding matatu a month ago.”
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