The family in Nairobi Kangemi thought they were securing their future when they handed their Toyota Hiace matatu to a trusted driver. Instead, they lost it.
For more than a month, the vehicle — registration KCZ 491F — vanished without a trace. The driver, Alfred Agosa, who had been welcomed like family, stopped answering calls. Each attempt to reach him from different numbers was quickly met with a block. “Our family has been devastated,” Duncan, the owner’s son, said in an online appeal. “We trusted him with the vehicle, but he vanished.”
With little hope, the family turned to Sikika Road Safety, a volunteer-run Facebook group that has grown into a powerful watchdog for Kenyans battling fraud and theft on the roads. Within days, its network of followers had spotted the missing matatu in Kakamega bu the driver slipped away before police could arrest him, but the vehicle was recovered.
“Ndio hii gari tumekamata at Kakamega but the thief has managed to escape, thanks team sikika family and police, always remember when we come together great things happen 
……the family is very happy,” Sikika anounced.
What shocked many was the crude disguise. The matatu once proudly carrying the inscription “The Sunton” on its windscreen had been reborn as “The Grace.” To some, it was laughable. To others, it was proof of how far betrayal can cut.
The renaming lit up social media. “Yaani amechange the windscreen writings from the Sunton to the Grace,” one user posted. Another asked, “The grace or the grave?” Faithful voices found divine meaning in the recovery. “And the grace was sufficient to the family. Glory to God!” wrote Caro Kenzie.
But the comments went beyond humor. They revealed a deep frustration with law enforcement. “Kesi kwa hii page inatatuliwa haraka kuliko kwa police station,” one follower wrote, capturing the widespread view that official channels are slow, costly, or indifferent to ordinary Kenyans.
For Duncan’s family, the recovery carried mixed emotions. They had hoped the matatu would provide steady income, only to be betrayed by someone they trusted. “We had put our livelihoods in his hands,” Duncan said. “Now we know trust can be dangerous.”
Sikika Road Safety celebrated the moment as another victory for collective action. “This is what we do every day — ordinary Kenyans helping each other when the system fails,” said one administrator of the group. “When we come together, great things happen.”
The suspect is still on the run. But the matatu — once stolen, renamed, and disguised — has returned home. To its owners, “Grace” now stands as both a reminder of betrayal and a strange symbol of redemption.
