Taco Cat

If you’re an adventurous traveler, you’re likely familiar with the subculture of truck and minibus drivers and their decked-out vehicles: Karachi’s commercial trucks, Paramaribo’s “wilde bussen,” Manila’s jeepneys, Nairobi’s matatus. They range from garish, flashy, and not-a-little-bit gaudy to vibrant expressions of popular culture, working class struggles, and marginalized voices. Sorry about that last one—that was part of the deal for going to graduate school. You have to use “marginalized,” “agency,” or “social dislocation” at least once every few musings or they take back the degree.

These tricked-out trucks are the opposite of what I often drive: an A-to-B hunk of metal… McMidsize sedan or McMini-SUV…the height of mediocrity and middle class America. I’m looking at you, Toyota. And Honda.

While the matatus in Kigali don’t even come close to their colorful, intrepid, loud, and proud counterparts in Nairobi, they still drive at an unhinged pace and are a popular, if dangerous, means of transport for the lower-middle class commuter. Part celebration, part masculine bravado, these minibuses are a small show of anarchy in a pretty orderly city.

The minibus names and accompanying decorations in Kigali range from football-themed (Chelsea, United) or reptile-loving (Black Cobra) to the religious (I Trust in God…Express) or aspirational (Fabulous). I hear the Michael Jackson matatu turns into a roving disco at night with flashing lights and deafening music.

What do they symbolize: are they are asserting power within the cultural space, like God Bless Rihanna, which was near downtown Kigali? Are they trying to provide a narrative on class struggle, like Che: The Revolution, which I spotted on African Union Boulevard? Or an outlet for creative expression in a highly regulated state, a la Rainbow Wizzy, which had only half a rainbow on it?

I know what you’re wondering—if you had a matatu, what would you name it? Either Taco Cat, which is the same spelled backwards (I know, right?!), or I’d share a little bit of Bluntcard humor to provide a window into American values. Or, let’s be honest, a window into this lay-day’s sense of humor.

Unfortunately, unlike the mashrutkas in Uzbekistan which we could take as Peace Corps Volunteers, (and were as empty of decoration as the drivers were full of machismo and rapscallion-ness), we are not allowed to take them here in Kigali. So, I will have to analyze them from afar and photograph them from anear. Alright, less analyzing and more photographing, I get it.