One of the values that Kenyans like to identify in themselves is resourcefulness. And so when a bus drove off the Kericho-Kisumu road, tilted on 2 wheels, and wedged itself at a 45 degree angle into the mud of a tea-field, someone sensed a business opportunity. He dashed from town with a tray of peanuts, which he sold for 30 shillings per bag to the jumpy bus passengers milling along the side of the road. It took two hours of digging, pushing, and pulling to get the bus back on the road, so the vendor was able to sell of his whole stock. Of course, there was nothing noteworthy about this event, bus crashes and hawking being two prominent beats in the rhythm of Kenyan life, and I wouldn't have mentioned it except that I was one of the passengers.
I really have no one to blame but myself. Sure, the driver was talking to his friend, eyes off the road, when we slowed down and drove down the ditch, but that's what Kenyan bus drivers do. No, I should have known better- the warning signs were all there. I had convinced Vivien that we should take the bus from Nakuru instead of the matatu on the grounds that the bus was safer. Of course, Kenya likes to confound reasonable thinking and logical planning. If you cut a vacation a day short to get to a meeting, you'll find the meeting has been postponed a day. If you walk a mile across town just to get a plate of your favorite pilau, you'll find that the restaurant has just run out. So of course, if you take a bus for safety reasons, it will crash. I should have known.
The second cause for concern was the pastor. He came on-board as the bus was filling up, and delivered a long sermon about the importance of prayer. Once, he told us, he had asked people on a similar bus to join him in a prayer of appreciation for God, and after being rudely turned down, the bus left Nakuru and was promptly hijacked. He asked us to bow our heads and join him. After the story we had heard, what choice did we have? The passengers all prayed, and afterward, the pastor left the bus telling us that because of our prayers, God would guarantee a safe and easy passage. As we stood, four hours later, looking at our listing bus sinking into the deep mud, someone mumbled "That pastor was really the devil in disguise." I don't know. I just think God doesn't appreciate having words put in His mouth by a two-bit bus station minister. I empathize with Him.
