Cruising along streets and highways, matatu are among the
most exuberant graphic statements in contemporary Kenya. In larger cities and
towns, other public graphic statements, such as billboards, are professionally
produced in a generic international marketing style, while smaller, independent
shops or franchises, particularly in smaller towns and neighborhoods, employ
hand-painted text and images. Matatu, however, utilize a freewheeling graphic
language of their own.
Matatu are buses that provide public transportation for the
majority of Kenyans who do not own cars. They are often covered in dramatic
text and brightly colored images, often freely layered and scattered across their
exterior. The most dominant typography bares the name or theme of the bus, for
example “The Premier” in vinyl space-age typography across the back window, or
“A$SAP” (the name of an American hip hop collective) in a condensed serif along
the side. “A$AP” uses a black, white and red punk-rock theme: figures in red
hockey masks present the passing car with a raised middle finger, politely
blocked by a censor bar, and anarchy symbols float around the matatu’s title.
This rebellious attitude suits what I’ve seen of the matatu
industry in Nairobi rather well. They’re often not only the loudest-looking
things on the road, but also the rudest. I’ve seen many matatu swing from lane to
lane with little warning, stop to pick up passengers in the middle of the road,
and, once, block several lanes of traffic and scatter pedestrians in order
climb over a traffic island and make a u-turn.
Matatu are independently owned and operated. Each bus is
designed express its independent spirit, even when a fleet of them is owned by
the same operator. Eschewing generic uniform brand building within a fleet,
each bus attempts to make and individualist fashion statement. However, I have noticed
some common themes: sports stars (particularly footballers), rap and hip-hop
artists, appropriated corporate logos, and a few Christian figures and sayings.
“Cool Gang” has a hip-hop theme: spray-painted on its side
are graffiti portraits of Tupac Shakur and Jay Z, surrounded by cool-sounding
English statements like “150% dope,” and a dozen Rocawear logos filling one
window. Passing by in a bus like this in a car is akin to reading a graphic
stream of consciousness text. It posits a theme and then any associated visual
or textual statements that come to mind are added one after the other.
The smaller buses that I’ve seen (white minibuses with fewer
than 15 seats) tend to have more Swahili text. “Karuri Karuri” has what looks
like a Swahili joke on its back bumper: “.C JUI”, which sounds like sijui, meaning “I don’t
know.” But why spell the first syllable with a period C? Is that the owner’s
initial and part of his last name? Unlike the larger, rebellious-looking buses,
the only graphic statements on many of the smaller buses are of what co-op, or sacco, they belong to and the towns at
which they make stops. Sometimes, though, this is accompanied by a more demure
adoption of corporate logos, like one bearing an Ecko Unlimited logo, and
another covered in the names of rap and hip-hop stars. These appropriated
graphic statements confuse me: are they advertising for that company or has the
operator adopted a graphic statement to represent himself?
Business and city conditions seem to favor the larger,
wilder looking buses. They carry more people and relieve the traffic gridlock
that plagues city commuters. The look of each bus is designed to appeal to a
hip, young urban workforce. At night, you can see them speed by, lit up like
space ships or Vegas casinos, ferrying travelers cross-country. On the crowded
side streets of Nairobi where I’ve seen matatu gather to pick up passengers,
the operators call out to the crowds, advertising their destinations, rates and
amenities. The wild look of the buses adds to the cacophony, drawing the eye
just as the barkers draw the ears of passing trade.
