Day 6 Story 5

Not so many years ago, my best friend growing up in Kenya had a most interesting experience.  

His family was stuck in one of Kenya's legendary r traffic jams that anyone living there  during the late 90s and turn of the century will vividly remember.   They had been inching along in their Pajero a few meters at a time after a heavy downpour flooded Nairobi's streets.  In many low-lying places the water was deep causing many smaller cars to stall out.  

After a couple of minutes the rain let up and all that was left was the jam, or as several of my friends in Kenya like to joke, a BlueBand.  BlueBand is the local margarine.  It is thick and heavy.  The idea being that when jam is warm it is a little more fluid whereas the local margarine is pretty much a hydrogenated viscous substance regardless of the temperature.  

At the time the traffic jams were so bad and moved so slowly that many in Nairobi simply called them "BlueBands" instead of jams.  The frequency of such conversation made many a man salivate, especially around meal time, leading to the development of road side food vendors selling anything from the common to the bizarre,  but that is another story for another day.  

As my friends sat in their vehicle waiting for the traffic jam to break up, the most unusual thing happened.  Without warning a bicycle slammed into the side of their vehicle going at least 30 kph.  The noise was so loud inside the car that their family thought they had rear-ended someone.   Jumping out of the vehicle they saw a rather dazed and wet  bicyclist sitting in the middle of street with his bike wheels still spinning a few feet away.  He had come flying down the hill above the road they had been stuck on.  

As they reached over to try and help him, the thought came to their mind, he's probably hurt and needs medical attention.  How are we going to get him to the hospital? Much to their surprise the bicyclist jumped up to shake their hands with an appreciative smile on his face.   "Asante sana!" (thank you very much) he excitedly exclaimed.  He explained himself as he shook their hands warmly. 

 "The brakes on my bicycle don't work." Everyone stood around curious to hear the rest of his story. "Everyday I have to come home from work down that hill," he said pointing to the hill behind him.  "My brakes went out several days ago, so everyday I have to choose a different car to help me stop."   

No one moved in disbelief.  Finally, my friend asked, "you mean you slam into a different car everyday?"  

"Oh yes," he replied.  "Your vehicle was one of the softer ones that I have hit. Asante sana." 

My friend's dad put his hand into his pocket and handed the bicyclist some money. 

"Go get your brakes fixed."  

"Asante sana," he said with a big grin on his face. 

As to whether he used the money to fix his bike or to buy himself a good meal remains a mystery.  The newspaper had an article a few weeks later about a certain bicyclist in a certain part of nairobi who had been slamming into the back of various vehicles at a certain intersection. Apparently, he would get up, smile, and ask for the driver to help him fix his bike.