As a transport minister, Kenya’s John Michuki was greatly admired.

He is remembered as the man who finally put the matatu business in its place — as a service to citizens and not some autonomous mafia that held passengers to ransom, infuriated other road users and generally operated as a law unto itself.

The death toll from matatus crashing while racing for business, their drivers often high on miraa, was more than unacceptable. It bordered on murderous.

And John Njoroge Michuki stopped all that.
The Michuki Rules, posted in February 2004, decreed that all matatus should install speed governors, end overloading by ensuring all passengers were seated and wore safety belts, insisted that matatus operated only on defined routes, and that their drivers and conductors should be identified with badges and, more importantly, have clean police records.

The Rules were upheld by the police who had previously regarded matatus as mobile ATMs and Kenya enjoyed relative sanity on the roads.
These simple steps saved lives. But it all came at a cost. For one of the Rules and, alas, the one that seems to have lasted longest, stated that matatus should have a new livery — all white except for a horizontal yellow band around the middle.
The flamboyant decoration and colourful branding that had seen some of the Nissans and Isuzus bought for museum exhibits were all gone.

And that was a shame.

I often wonder how this improved road safety. There was an argument that a sober exterior would be reflected by a new, responsible attitude of owners and drivers.

Right. I suspect it was done primarily to show the matatu owners who was boss. Whatever the reason, something magical went out of our lives.

The matatus had boasted graffiti of a world class standard. Slogans included, “The darker the berry the sweeter the juice,” while popular icons included Beyonce and Bob Marley with religious themes enjoying a vogue too.

Ever alert to changing times, owners and artists often reflected the news of the day with Obama and Kofi Annan both honoured with minibuses named after them. A great tourist attraction, the decoration of the matatus was a constant joy, even as their erratic road manners occasionally had me and no doubt thousands of other drivers praying for an AK-47 mounted on the bonnet.