Driving begins in various ways: perhaps at a local driving school, in your father’s old pickup, or in a friend’s parent’s car. Regardless of the starting point, every aspiring driver eventually encounters the rite of passage known as driving school. This experience often serves not just to impart driving skills, but primarily to secure a license.
In Kenya, the licensing process presents a unique flexibility. For a fee ranging from Sh3,000 to Sh5,000, you can walk into an NTSA center, answer a few basic questions about road signs or traffic lights, and emerge with a license.
At the NTSA center in Thika, instructors are already compensated for their roles. When your name is called, you face simple inquiries, and with a few correct answers, you leave as a licensed driver, albeit Sh5,000 poorer.
Ironically, those who fail driving school often possess the most practical driving skills, having honed their abilities on the chaotic streets of Nairobi rather than in a classroom setting.
This is where the nganya culture comes into play.
To grasp this phenomenon, one must examine the unemployment landscape in Kenya. Many public service vehicle (PSV) drivers start as jobless youths, transitioning to touts who learn to navigate the bustling streets before ever grasping a steering wheel. They master the art of dodging pedestrians, weaving between vehicles, and adapting to the surrounding chaos.
Eventually, these individuals graduate to driving roles, earning “squads”—trips assigned by vehicle owners. They receive payment per trip, allowing them to sustain themselves day by day.
On the streets, survival hinges on instinct rather than strict adherence to rules. Hesitate, and you risk losing money; proceed too cautiously, and you might be sidelined.
For matatu drivers, survival demands a TAT mentality: tough, alert, and tactical. They weave through lanes, cut corners, disregard road signs, and assert their presence in traffic—not out of recklessness, but out of sheer necessity.
Once they acquire their own vehicles, these drivers purchase licenses and fully integrate into the system. However, newcomers quickly discover that the streets pay little heed to their knowledge of traffic laws.
Consider a young woman navigating the roads for the first time in her newly acquired wine-red Demio. Despite completing driving school and mastering the rules, she faces immediate challenges as she merges onto the highway. Horns blare, and shouts of “Learner, songa mbele!” echo around her.
Sweat beads on her forehead as her heart races. Despite following every rule, she finds herself in chaos; the lanes are a blur, and she struggles to maintain her position amid the frenzy.
Indicating her intentions proves futile as drivers crowd her space, leaving her feeling trapped. She intended to head to Survey but ends up in Meru, paralyzed by fear of changing lanes amid the cacophony of honking horns.
No one acknowledges her as a newcomer. This is merely day one.
The likelihood of a scratch on her vehicle looms large. Her initiation into driving is nothing short of brutal.
Matatus rush past on the left, nduthis swerve in from the right, and pedestrians cross with carts as boda bodas dart by like projectiles. Even hawkers set up shop right in her path.
While police are meant to uphold the law, they often become part of the system, accepting bribes from overloaded buses and reckless drivers, allowing the chaos to continue.
In this environment, rules only apply to those willing to follow them, and most drivers learn to navigate the system to survive.
Quickly, she grasps that survival relies more on instinct than memorizing road signs. She learns to interpret the behavior of other drivers—detecting hunger, panic, ego, or fatigue. She becomes adept at knowing when to assert herself, when to merge, and when to retreat.
Leave space, but not too much. Dismiss the L sign; it offers little protection here. Driving in Nairobi transforms from a skill into a fight for survival.
Frustration builds as she screams, curses, and shakes within her Demio. Yet, gradually, patterns emerge: rush hours, corners dominated by matatus, and streets ruled by nduthis.
She evolves into a driver who is alert, instinctive, careful, yet daring.
The chaos persists. Kiambu Road represents just one battleground; each street presents a new test, each day instilling fear, humility, and instinct.
One day, amid the tumult, her heart may skip a beat, but she will find that she is indeed breathing just fine.
In Nairobi, driving is not merely taught; it becomes an intrinsic part of who you are.
