Next, private owners own matatus. They hire drivers and conductors. The job of a conductor is to open and close the door and to collect the money from the passengers. The job of the drivers is to drive within a quarter-inch of other matatus without colliding. They both work in tandem: when running smoothly, the conductor, driver, and matatu seem to all be part of one big, shouting, honking, swerving machine.
Matatus are of varying sizes: small-ish (licensed to carry 11 passengers), regular (licensed to carry 14 passengers), and huge (licensed to carry 24 passengers). Almost all matatus are of regular size. And naturally, a regular-sized matatu can and will fit way more than 14 people. For instance, the conductor can sit on a passenger's lap.
All that to say, the taxi parks are an experience I simply can't get enough of. During the day, they are loaded with matatus. Conductors and drivers alike yell out their destinations. Walk up to anybody and shout out a stage name, and two or three arms will point the way.
At night, there is a stunning transformation. The traffic jams are such that there are fewer than a quarter of the matatus there would otherwise be. Waiting for an hour to get onto a matatu is not unheard of. Best of all is the mass of humanity: waiting around for matatus; idling; or buying or selling food or trinkets or whatever else might fetch a few shillings.
My camera wouldn't be able to capture the night shot of walking down the steps into Old Park. I haven't found a picture online of Old Park at night: maybe because it would be stupid to wave a camera around. Regardless, a picture can't describe the rush that comes over me every time I walk down the steps into the sheer concentration and diversity of people.
I'll miss Old Park when I'm gone.