When one goes to the bonded warehouses in Nakawa where used cars are kept, one thing you may not think about is how these cars get here.

I travelled to Mombasa recently to drive a car to Kampala and got first hand experience of what it means to have those mainly Japanese cars delivered here.

Having arrived in the coastal city, I located the car where it had been parked by the clearing agent so I could have it serviced and ready to hit the road.

I was directed to a Kobil fuel station opposite Mombasa railway station but discovered that the car had a big mechanical problem; I couldn't drive it.

After two days of no progress I decided to come back to Kampala. As I walked up to the Akamba Bus booking offices, a young man who looked suspicious walked up to me asking whether I was going to Malaba or Kampala.

When I asked why he was interested in my destination, he told me there were used cars that were being driven to Kampala and I could pay less than the bus fare and yet travel comfortably.

Cheap ride

I took the offer and entered the car that was parked in an alley to avoid the city authorities. The crime here would be loading passengers in cars that are not permitted to do so. Instead of the KShs 1,800 (approximately UShs 45,000) I would have paid on the bus, I parted with KShs 1,200 (UShs 30,000).

After getting two more "passengers" in the back seat of the Toyota, we set off from Mombasa at 3p.m. for the long journey to the Kenya-Uganda border; approximately 1,080 Kilometres.

As I was settling in, the driver who I later managed to identify only as Shaban started making phone calls asking where the people on the other side were or where they had reached.

That scared me so much that I decided to send a text message to my next of kin telling her that in case of anything I had boarded a "numberless car" from Mombasa. I quoted the chassis number that was written on the windshield.

After about one hour of driving we came to the first customs check point at a place called Mariakani where the drivers are required to present all documents relating to their cars. There was a lot of traffic here, so we had to wait for over an hour for clearance.

As soon as this was done, we hit the road for the leg to Nairobi. I started chatting with the driver and asked him about life as a driver on this road.

He told me that the problem they have now is that there are fewer importers of vehicles and yet the number of drivers has gone up which has resulted in payments going down to 160 dollars from the 300 they used to earn three years ago.

"That is why now we are forced to have passengers in these cars such that we can be able to make ends meet," Shaban said.

He, in addition, said they have to bribe the Kenyan traffic policemen who take advantage of the situation. As we approached a town called Mitito Dai, we found the first traffic checkpoint and policemen flagged us down. Shaban told me to observe what he was about to do.

As soon as he pulled over, he got a KShs 50 (approximately UShs 1,250) and inserted it in his driving permit and then swiftly jumped out of the car. He handed it to the policeman who then went behind the car and in a few seconds was back where the driver was standing and handed him his driving permit and off we went.

This was repeated for all the checkpoints and roadblocks that we came across until we got to Malaba.

My now new friend told me that the other problem is the armed carjackers that they find, especially in the Tsavo National Park; that is why they move in a convoy and keep in constant touch with each other on phone.

This allayed my earlier fears.

We reached Voi at sunset and Shaban told me that when night falls they reduce speed because there are so many trailers on Mombasa road and some of them have bad drivers.

At this point I asked what time we would get to Nairobi and he told me midnight. I dosed off.

Miraa treatment

Shaban pulled out a paper bag full of miraa which he offered me, saying it would keep me awake because he needed to talk to me throughout the journey so that he stays awake.

I declined the offer but promised not to sleep, having sensed the danger of him dosing off and the disastrous consequences.

With coastal turabi music playing from the car stereo, we zoomed towards Nairobi as he continued chewing on a mouthful of miraa and gum, making it difficult for me to pick out his words.

Towards midnight, we started seeing the Nairobi skyline from a distance. When we reached Athi River, road works were ongoing and it was really rough; we got a flat tyre.

Just before Nairobi, there is a customs checkpoint at Mililonge and it is here that we sat down for a meal. I decided to have a beer and to my surprise, Shaban ordered for one too.

I asked him why he was having a beer when he is a Muslim and he said it would help keep him awake for the remaining journey.

We proceeded to Nairobi and Shaban said we had to park at a fuel station in Westlands and wait for the rest of the convoy to come through before proceeding to Malaba.

We also had to refuel but one of the other drivers had the fuel vouchers.

We waited for two hours before all the other drivers got to Nairobi and they decided that no one would proceed to Malaba at that hour, so we spent the rest of the night at the fuel station.

We made ourselves comfortable in the car seats and were woken up at 6a.m. by the convoy leader who suggested we would refuel in Nakuru instead.

Without freshening up, Shaban started the car and off we went.

Same routine, bribing the police and stopping at each checkpoint we came across.

Just before Nakuru, we got to our next customs checkpoint of Gilgil; it is here that we had breakfast of half a loaf of bread and a big mug of tea for just KShs80 (approximately UShs 2,000).

Destination Malaba

After the break, Shaban told me that after refuelling in Nakuru there would be no more customs stops other than the police checks and that we would be in Malaba by 4p.m.

This had already been a long ride and here he was telling me we would be in Malaba in seven hours!

After refuelling in Nakuru, I enjoyed the scenic view of the rift valley, the Flamingos in lake Nakuru as Shaban drove away.

We passed Eldoret then Bungoma and finally approached Malaba.

Shaban then told me there was no way they could get cleared through customs at that hour for them to be able to proceed to Kampala and so they would spend another night at the border, but this time in a lodge as accommodation is cheaper in Malaba than Nairobi.

He offered me a beer and we exchanged phone contacts and I bade him farewell.

It was a truly gruelling experience. I wondered how they managed to do this week in, week out.