Having "mental problems" in Kenya is no joke. I am not talking about the men, women and children who require psychiatric intervention and psychological support as they navigate the confusing neurons of their brains using therapy and chemicals. I am talking about the most stressed out lot on God's Green Earth: the motoring public of Nairobi. Whether we admit it to ourselves today or are simply waiting for the day our parents, siblings, co-workers or lovers find us in a foetal position, driving in Nairobi is bad for our continued mental health.
Allow me to speculate mightily about things of which I am totally ignorant. There are, unless the High Court, Court of Appeal and (its bete noire) the Supreme Court say otherwise, two new additions to the National Assembly. Without proof whatsoever, I shall declare that these two men have held driving licenses for some years. I'd now like to dig a hole in which I am standing and declare that the new representative for Mathare has or has had a driver for a considerable portion of his driving past, but that fellow in Gatundu South, for whom an election proved unnecessary, has never had a driver and is quite unlikely to get one any time soon.
I say this without a shred of humility: glaring at the online profiles of the two new waheshimiwa, you get the sense that while the Mathare guy might have spent a little too much time under mummy's religion-infested thumb, he is at heart a rather pleasant fellow. He smiles. A lot. Toothily too in his campaign photos. He doesn't look the sort that would hurt a fly. Actually he doesn't look the sort that you would suspect of anything bad. His recent election - and his previous attempt - puts a giant question mark over his apparent goodness, but still, a nice guy.
But that Kiambu guy is another kettle of fish. He also smiles toothily in his campaign material. But you get the sense that it is not a smile of joy or glee like that of the Mathare chap. This Kiambu guy has a smile that is reminiscent of the Sicilian mafia hitman whose contract has been settled in full. I think the reason for the two apparently different personalities is Nairobi traffic.
For some reason, Nairobi is not defined by order or chaos, but by apparent order out of chaos. Traffic lights work, but no one obeys them. Traffic signs are frequently erected, but they always end up in scrap yards of one form or the other. Road markings are notable by their absence or incomprehensible design. Driving schools abound, but anyone who thinks ten hours are enough to be proficient in the operation of mechanised vehicles needs mental healthcare more than I do. The rules are a confusing mishmash of national and county ones and a hodgepodge of enforcement agencies: National Police, Administration Police, on rare occasions, Kenya Defence Forces, Nairobi County Inspectorate, National Transport and Safety Authority, and matatu crews of dubious qualification. So it is any wonder we do not slaughter each other using our vehicles or the firearms we seem to acquire like candy these days.
Those who are driven to work, whether it is by chauffeur-driven personal limo or by public transport monsters, are considerably less likely to arrive at their destination with a homicidal desire to take out their motoring frustrations on someone else. There are exceptions of course; if you are one of the sad people who have to experience an Umoinner, Utimo, Mwamba, Forward Traveller...a dozen crowded and stuffy moving discotheques from the farther, violent bits of Eastlands, you might be even more homicidally frustrated than the equally sad people who own Imprezas with massively loud exhaust systems but who can't exceed the 15kph speed limit that Nairobi seems to impose on traffic, never mind what the signs actually say.
It is frustrating to discover that everything you have been taught since you were taught about right and wrong, respect and courtesy, greed and need, matters for shit when it comes to moving several tonnes of steel and rubber from point to point in the name of commuting. Every chance you get to make the other guy's life miserable, you must take because he will not be grateful that you showed him any courtesy. Any chance you get to get away with chancy driving, you must take otherwise you will be taken for a complete dolt. And when it all goes tits up and you have a chance to flee, please do so or the innocent bystanders will take the opportunity to relieve you of your valuables and, in certain extreme cases, your life.
There is a mental health epidemic coming; I hope the mental health authorities of Kenya have started building facilities for the flood. If we are electing men who think of foreskins as metrics of governance, that day may be closer than you think.
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