My Red Car – Beauty or the Beast?

All the cars in the taxi company I was now working for had names. These names were derived from the radio call sign which was usually based on the registration number of the particular vehicle. Some of the names were interesting like "computer", while others were a bit tardy such as “new mike”. There was a romantic couple of cars by the names of “Romeo 1” and “Romeo 2” respectively.

My car, my red car, was aptly named “Victor”. I believe this was due to the number of grown men over whom she had come out a victor. Many had driven her in the past, and many had given up their dreams of becoming famous taxi drivers because Victor always won in the end. I was determined to persevere although from what I had heard, it would be a tall order as many had fallen by the wayside in their pursuit of defeating victor.

Most of the cars in the company were white, some of them off-white. Some were gray. A few were green. One was red, and Victor was her name. She stood out from the rest. She was not a normal red. She was a very bright shade of red – like blood – like oxygenated blood; and oxygenated was what she was. Her paint work work was really good, almost no scratches – save for a few on the bumper corners, the evidence of near misses by drivers gone before me.

Victor’s interior was in sharp contrast with the outside. The upholstery was in fine-printed black and white fabric but the dashboard and door panels were in heavy black plastic. The ceiling was in immaculate white. At a glance, it was a beautiful and comfortable car – at a glance.

I came to know of Victor’s first shortcoming on my first night on the job. It had something to do with the seats. They tilting knobs had stuck with the seats upright and they could not be reclined. That was rather inconvenient especially because I had to sleep in an upright seat in a cold car –well, the heater didn’t work as well. At least my recently acquired “brand new” second hand jackets would keep me bearably warm. The interior of that car was not all gloom however. It had a really nice Daewoo sound system (I guess that was because Daewoo used to make electronics before they decided to try their hand at making cars – not so successful at first, and Victor was among their first batch of experiments – A Daewoo Racer).

Victor had a powerful engine and could move really fast. However, she was not very friendly around town as she had a manual steering. Maneuvering that car in tight spot used to be like attending a gym weight lifting session session. Thankfully, the car was very stable especially when cruising. I couldn’t even tell when I had a puncture – and those were numerous, I had to rely on bystanders to warn me. That was how stable Victor was.

Powerful engine and stability aside, the car had serious technical issues – and severe unpredictability. Sometimes it could just decide to accelerate itself without any input from me. The first time it happened I almost banged into another car. Other times I would release the clutch only for it to disappear right under the dashboard. The next time I needed to use the clutch, I would have to stop the car and look for it. Victor was one moody girl.

I was recruited during the famous El-Nino rains. There used to be very heavy downpours in Nairobi at night. This didn’t help me much because Victor had only one wiper, and that wiper had only one speed – very slow. To make matters worse, her headlights were perpetually dim and could not illuminate anything beyond two meters away. The only way I could drive a bit safely was by following other cars going my direction head to toe – until they got home, or got suspicious of me and threw me off. When that happened, I would crawl and wait for the next car to follow. Alternatively, I would drive by instinct, literally feeling the road. Needless to say, any client I carried in Victor at night, swore never to use our company again unless he or she was assured that it would be any other car that be sent to pick them.

Victor had functional windows but the driver’s window reached only half way. This ensured that I was well soaked from my right shoulder all the way down. I didn’t look forward to nights, and more so wet nights. I had waited so long to drive Victor and now I didn’t know whether to love her or hate her. I could not tell if Victor was a nice girl, or a horrible one. Maybe I will never be able to decide if Victor was a Beauty, or a Beast, or both, or none. One thing I know, she ushered me into the real world, and for that, I will always be grateful.

Learning the Ropes - And Overcoming the Villager in Me

My first day of work was filled with mixed feelings. It started with the excitement that the job opportunity induced. It was followed soon after by apprehension caused by wondering whether I would be able to perform competently. Eventually all this was replaced by intense nervousness when I realized that I did not know the route to anywhere in Nairobi. This was with  the exception of the route the buses from my village took when taking us to the city.

I can vividly remember my first client. She was a black American living in a Nairobi suburb know as  Loresho. It was the very first time that I deviated from my usual route. One of my colleagues had taken instruction from the control room. He had then explained to me patiently how I was going to get there. He had told me a bit about the client and how she liked to be handled. This came in very handy when I picked her and I was able to strike a good rapport with her. I had learnt an important lesson in customer care - that it is useful to get some background information of a customer before meeting.

That first assignment as a taxi driver went very well, but it was too short. I dropped my client in thirty minutes during which we had chatted like old friends. I drove back to base and waited. The endless stories which never ended were a good way to kill the time as we waited for the next client. That was the time I learnt how to multitask. I would be talking, listening to the stories, listening to the radio call, and looking out for walk-by clients, all at the same time.

We respected each other as colleagues, but we were in stiff competition with each other. The reason for this was that we were not paid a salary. Instead,we earned a commission which was 20% of all money collected less the expenses such as fuel and parking fees. This meant that each day was different in terms of earnings. On some days one could make a lot of money while on others, even raising money for bus fare was a big problem.

In those first days, I learnt to distinguish a potential client by the way he or she walked or looked. I also learnt the art of diverting the attention of other drivers if I spotted a client from far off and wanted him to come close before striking while the rest were still glued to my story. This,in addition to my growing database of the places I knew helped me to adopt to the job albeit too slowly.

While initially my colleagues were helpful, they eventually got back to concentrating on earning their commissions. The outcome of this was that few were willing to give me directions to new places that I was sent to. The worst of it all however, was when some of them would intentionally misdirect me so that I get lost. They would then offer to get the client - and the commission. Meanwhile, I would be left with extra kilometers covered with no money. This situation used to be referred to as a "bounce"

Despite the hardships, I soldiered on. I, the village boy, was finally in the big city and I was going to make things work. The amazing thing was that I never once considered quitting. Things were hard and the working hours were crazy. We had 24 hour shifts. We would report at around 8 a.m. in the morning, work the whole day - and the whole night - and leave the following day at around 9 a.m. Consequently, every car had two drivers - except my red car. Nobody else could stand to drive that car and any new recruits could only drive it for one day before quitting. In those first days, I was the only one who could drive and park as I wanted. The issues about that red car were so many that it has to be a story for another day.

I started working three days before pay day. I was therefore able to proudly accumulate a commission of one thousand seven hundred Kenya shillings for three days work. When I got my money, I went straight to our local market where I bought two second hand jackets to wear to work during the chilly nights. I was also able to fit brand new soles to my faithful shoes. I didn't feel like a villager anymore.

My job - Finally!

It had been one week since missing my job opportunity. I was feeling completely dejected. I was regretting my failure to take up the bakery job, which had also already  been given away. That had been a sure chance, unlike this non-starter job as a cab driver. So much for my father's advice of meeting new people. I was not meeting anybody new - not now and not in the foreseeable future. I was stuck in a rut - but not for long.

The person who had been hired in my place turned out to be a clown - outside of a circus. Apparently, someone had mis-adviced him that being a taxi driver was an easy way of becoming rich. Taxis in Kenya base their charges on the mileage covered with a passenger. The number of kilometres covered from when the car leaves the parking base, to the time it returns - after having picked and dropped a passenger - is what determines how much that particular customer will be charged. After many years in operation, the taxi company had relatively accurate estimates of the distances to and from most destinations. At the end of the working day, the driver remits takings that are commensurate with the total distance covered during the shift.

The man did not understand this. He would take a client to the airport, which is 20 kilometres away, and record in his worksheet that he went to an estate that is 3 kilometres from base. He would then consider the surplus money to be his bonus. He did this within his first week of work - and one week was the long he lasted. He was fired and I was sent for.

I woke up very early the following day. I dressed up in my "official attire" and went to work - using fare given to me by my brother. I arrived long before the shift was over, and waited. This time I was waiting happily. The car arrived from the car wash and it was gleaming. It had a full tank of fuel. I had my blank worksheet ready to be filled with many jobs - or so I thought. I inspected the car, was shown how to operate the radio call, and I was good to go. I was excited to be driving the most beautiful car in the company. I would later come to learn that its beauty was only skin deep. I would also find out the reason why it was usually assigned to newest driver.

Pursuing the Unknown – A Test of Resilience

When I left the village to look for a job, I had no intention of attempting to make a living from there again. Neither did I intend to sit and wait to be called back to the taxi company. Instead, I intended to wait every day next to “my” red car until it was fixed. It was with this resolve that I borrowed bus fare from my brother and went to “work” the following day.

The other drivers were nice to me. They respected my brother and they extended this respect to me. We would sit in their cars and chat while they waited for clients. Most of the conversations never ended. This was because a driver would either be called on the radio call to pick a client, or one would just walk up and board. This way I learnt to be content with a large catalogue of interesting but unfinished stories.

On those long waiting days, I was very conscious of the differences I observed between the already working drivers and myself. They used to dress well and they seemed to have lots of money. They also had refined manners. This I attributed to their exposure to a diverse clientele. Another attribute which I found particularly beneficial to me was their generosity. For all those days I had not started working, I never went without a meal. They really spoilt me.

Just like the drivers, the cars were also neat and clean. They were all the latest (for those days) models saloons and sedan (this was only one). They were washed everyday and serviced regularly. They were in tip top condition. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on one. Though many of the drivers promised to let me work with their cars on weekends, or some other not so busy day, they never did. This was because I had not been interviewed and in that company, an interview was as good as a contract – recognized by all.

Every day that I went to wait for my car, I expected to see a mechanic coming with his tool box to fix it. However, this did not happen – at least not when I would have wanted it to happen. Other people were recruited, they waited with me, then gave up and went away never to come back. I told myself I was not going to give up. I really needed this job. Eventually, I also gave up – after almost a month. I became uncomfortable asking my brother for bus fare – not that he complained of anything.

Two days after I stopped going to wait, I was informed that the red car had been fixed and assigned to someone else. I was back to square one.

Reporting to work – and bursting my bubble!

On the morning of my first day at work (or so I thought), I was bursting with excitement despite a few problems here and there. For one, I could not raise the bus fare but thanks to my brother I was at least sure of getting to work.

Proper attire was another challenge. The few pieces of clothing I possessed had seen better days during my life as a student. My wife had done a pretty good job of pressing my shirt and trouser to perfection. The obvious inadequacy was the faded look – and the shoes.

I had only one pair of shoes at the time, and it had done a lot of mileage. It was the pair I had used during my college days, and the very same one I had used during my stint as a hawker. Our local cobbler knew every stitch on those shoes by heart, having repaired them countless times – often on credit. The soles – on both shoes – had cracked right through, making the shoes to “bite” my feet as I walked. Owing to the cracks, my torn socks were always either dusty or wet depending on the weather. I used to have to “arrange” the shoe soles so as to hide the embarrassing gaping cracks whenever I sat down in public.

I used to have one belt. It was of the kind that used to be bought as part of a trouser which was popular then. Due to over use, it had reduced in length and was down to the last available hole. It was the one thing keeping my ill-fitting trousers on, owing to the fact that I had lost a lot of weight.

It was in this pitiful condition that I reported to work, eager to earn an honest living and uplift my status. I was introduced to the operations director, who was a co-owner of the company. He received me very well and was confident that I could do the work. He did not even interview me as he had a good rapport with my brother and he concluded that my brother could not bring him an unqualified person.

No contracts were signed. Instead I was taken to the parking lot and showed the car I would be driving. It was a beautiful red Daewoo racer with neat upholstery and powerful sound system. I couldn’t wait to drive it. There was one problem though – the engine had previously seized and had been dismantled so the car could not move any time soon. I was sent home with the promise that as soon as it was fixed, I would be sent for, but I should keep checking. I was so discouraged when I went home that day. My bubble had burst.