Ten cheeky tricks Kenyans use to dodge matatu fare

Public transport in Kenya, particularly the ever-colourful matatus, is a travelling theatre of daily drama. From boisterous conductors shouting “tao, tao!” to the endlessly inventive commuters who treat each ride as an improvisation, every journey offers a fresh anecdote. Yet nothing quite matches the sheer cunning displayed by some passengers determined to dodge paying their fare. Here are ten cheeky and often hilarious ways Kenyans try to avoid parting with their coins:

Pretends to be deeply asleep

This classic needs no rehearsal. No sooner has he settled into his seat than he leans heavily against the window, eyes firmly shut, head nodding with every bump in the road. For dramatic flair, he may even add the occasional snore. When the conductor taps him for payment, he remains unresponsive, lost in an exaggerated slumber. Only vigorous shaking will rouse him, after which he wakes pretending to be utterly befuddled, insisting he didn’t hear anything.

Claims the phone is off

As soon as the conductor reaches her row, she dives into her handbag to “retrieve” her phone. Suddenly, her eyes widen in feigned shock. “Eh, simu imezima!” she exclaims, as though the phone has betrayed her. The irony, of course, is that she was scrolling through it with great enthusiasm just moments earlier. She promises to resolve the issue at the next stage, but when the conductor returns, she responds indignantly: “What do you expect me to do if my phone has gone off?”

Insists firmly that he has already paid

This tactic depends entirely on confidence. He stares the conductor straight in the eye and boldly declares, “Nishalipa!” as if the matter is closed. When questioned, he acts deeply offended, demanding to know how many times he is expected to pay. His unwavering insistence—delivered with dramatic indignation—often wears the conductor down, leaving him unsure whether the payment might actually have been made.

Claims they have passed destination

When first asked for fare, he buys time with a casual “Ngoja kidogo, nitalipa.” By the time the conductor circles back, he suddenly exclaims, “Nishapitisha stage yangu!” as though the oversight has only just occurred to him. He then leaps off at the nearest stop before the conductor can press further, disappearing into the crowd with choreographed urgency.

Changes sitting positions

This method requires strategy. Before the matatu fills up, he squeezes himself into an obscure corner. Once the vehicle becomes crowded, he stealthily moves to the middle. When the conductor’s attention diverts—perhaps as he bangs the door to signal the driver—our fare-dodger casually relocates to the front, blending in with passengers whose fare has already been collected. His plan is simple: to alight swiftly during a traffic slowdown before anyone notices.

Fakes phone call

She launches into an elaborate “phone conversation” precisely when the conductor approaches. She gestures politely for him to wait, mouthing that she is in the middle of something urgent. Minutes stretch on, yet the call never ends. A closer look reveals she is speaking to no one at all. The objective is to delay long enough for the conductor to forget about her altogether.

Creates a fake emergency

This tactic involves full-scale acting. She clutches her stomach, groans softly, and may even pretend to vomit. Other passengers, alarmed by the apparent medical crisis, urge the conductor to let her alight quickly for treatment. If someone kindly offers to pay her fare on her behalf, she accepts with humble gratitude, the ultimate success of her performance.

Asks a neighbour to pay for her

She selects her seatmate with precision. When the conductor arrives, she murmurs that she is facing a small problem and asks whether he might pay her fare. With  her charming beauty, poise, and a well-timed smile, she knows few men will refuse. Many oblige willingly, hopeful of exchanging contacts afterwards. 

Fakes a sad story

As the conductor nears, he suddenly pats his pockets in distress, announcing that he has lost his wallet. He may even produce a tremble in his voice. Fellow passengers, moved by his apparent misfortune, often contribute a few coins, allowing him to complete the journey without paying a cent.

Jumping off during traffic jam

When traffic stalls and the conductor is occupied collecting fare, he slips off the matatu and blends seamlessly into the crowd. In a tough economy, saving that Sh50 feels like a triumph worth the risk.