By Ndirangu Mwangi
There is a law on Kenyan highways that no traffic officer will teach you. It is not in the Highway Code. It is not in court. But it is written in blood, twisted metal, and the silence of families who buried someone who was “right.”
On the A104. On the A109. Trucks and buses have the right of way.
Not because the law says so. Because physics says so. Because 30 tons of steel do not care about your horn. Because a driver who has been on the road for 18 hours will not see your little saloon car before his brakes decide they’ve had enough.
You can argue. You can flash your lights. You can lean on your horn and shout “I have right of way!”
And the truck will still push you into the ditch. The bus will still collect your door. And you will still be dead, holding a legal principle in your hand like a winning lottery ticket that pays in funeral expenses.
This is not about justice. This is about survival.
When you are on those roads, you are not in a debate. You are in a jungle. The big eat the small. The heavy crush the light. And the only law that matters is the one that keeps your heart beating.
You can be the “sharp boy” who squeezes between two trailers because “they should give way.” You can be the matatu driver who overtakes on a corner because “they will move.” And you can be the name people whisper when they pass that stretch of road where the skid marks never fade.
Or you can decide that your mother’s prayer is worth more than your ego. That your child’s graduation matters more than proving a point. That being alive is better than being right.
The A104 and A109 have seen it all. They have seen the speedsters. The tailgaters. The ones who flashed their lights at trucks and demanded passage.
And they have swallowed them whole.
The roads don’t remember who was right. They only remember who stayed.
So next time you are on that highway and you see a truck bearing down, a bus overtaking, a trailer that looks like it has no intention of stopping… let them pass.
Not because you are weak. Because you are wise. Because you want to see tomorrow. Because your family is waiting for you to come home, not for the police to call them.