Story Thread

‘Our agency does not rent out houses to beggars. We are not a charitable organization. I am tired of begging you to pay rent. Hama from our houses kaa umeshindwa kulipa rent!’ My house agent said over the phone.
‘Ata nyumba si zako!’

I thought of saying that. Instead, I said, ‘I am sorry, madam. This month flipped me upside down.’
‘It is almost coming to the end of the second month, Mr. Sakwah,’ she reminded me. ‘Do you think I was employed to beg you to pay your rent? There are so many people who can

afford your rent.’ She was doing what she was supposed to do, but I felt her tone was condescending. At the end of the phone call, she gave me a two-day ultimatum to clear the two months’ rent arrears or risk facing an eviction.
‘I swear, by the end of the two days,

I would have paid you.’ I promised her.
‘I hope this time you will live to the end of your promise.’
I sat on my bed downcasted. I had exhausted all avenues to raise the rent. One of the most dreaded stories in Nairobi is someone selling their bed, or TV,

or cooker to settle rent. It was eventually happening to me. I walked around my house figuring out what I could do without and what was a necessity.
In the end, I settled on my shoes. I had seventeen pairs of shoes. I am an introvert. I have never understood my obsession

with buying shoes. I collect shoes like one would collect trophies. Some, I rarely use. Most of the shoes were expensive, based on my means at that time. 7 pairs of boots; billionaire boots, official ankle boots, casual boots, polo boots. I had them all, 3 pairs of sneakers,

2 pairs of leather loafers, two pairs of official shoes that I had never used since I bought them.
My shoes, when new, were worth more than 40K. If I sold them at half their price, I was going to raise the rent on time.

I was going to be a hawker, I was going to be one thing I never imagined I would be. Nairobi is like a strong wind and Nairobians are like a kite in the strong wind. Sometimes you don’t choose where the wind takes you, you just fly along and hope that Nairobi lands you in comfort

I boarded a mat to Town. In the matatu, I thought of all the possibilities that awaited me. I might fail to sell anything, or get arrested by Kanjos, or get robbed. Something evil is always lurking in the streets of Nairobi. You just don’t know which monster awaits you.

Getting arrested is where my mind dwelled on. It had reached a point in my life where I thought going to prison wasn’t such a bad idea after all. At least in the cell, I would eat something. Cabbage soup for supper, Saltless githeri soup for lunch.

Plus, I wouldn’t live under the constant fear of receiving a call from my agent reminding me that I am no longer economically fit to stay in their houses as I had been for the last two years.
5 PM, I landed at Latema Road like the hawker that I was.

Tom Mboya Streets in the evening has the right human traffic that any business person would love. Before crossing Latema Road to Tom Mboya Street, I looked left for pickpockets, looked right for county askaris, looked left again for any overspeeding matatu, then crossed the road

.
It was almost impossible locating a vacant space along Tom Mboya Street where I could display my shoes. Luckily, while walking, another hawker rolled up his sac and vacated his space. I quickly occupied the space ahead of anyone else.

I spread the sac, and spread the old bedsheet on top of the sac, and started arranging my shoes on it. Barely a minute after spreading the sac, a commotion happened. I quickly baled the shoes together in readiness to scamper from the grasp of the preying kanjos.

The last time I experienced hawkers running away from kanjos was four months earlier. I was buying a 300 bob belt from a hawker. I paid the hawker with a 1000 bob note. I placed the belt in my backpack. When I zipped up my bag and lifted my head to ask for my balance,

hawkers were running away from the vicinity of Kanjos. The hawker I bought the belt from, taking advantage of the chaos, disappeared with my balance.
The commotion ended almost as soon as it had started. A poorly raised man ran towards Odeon Building well aware that

running in town scares hawkers. He was shouting ‘kanjos’ ‘kanjos’ and started laughing in amusement when some hawkers started scampering away. He was roughed up by the scout-hawkers after learning he was a clown after amusing himself at the sight of hawkers running away.

I spread the bedsheet again. The next face was to start shouting to attract customers; an equivalent of advertising. I tried to come up with the most creative tagline that would stand out from the rest. ‘EX-UK’ sounded the most unique.

I thought I would attract one or two freshly salaried gullible Nairobians to fall for the EX-UK tag.
I cleared my throat and started shouting, ‘EX-UK, EX-UK, EX-UK.’ Immediately I shut up my lips after learning that my voice could not travel beyond my throat.

My voice could not match the range of those next to me. On my left, there were three guys selling women's blouses at 100, though I suspect the blouses cost more than the 100 bob that they were shouting.
‘Mia’, ‘Soo’, ‘a hundred’. They shouted in turns to attract customers.

On my right, there was a lady selling sweatpants for 150. She was shouting ‘One chwani, one fifty,’ at the top of her lungs. Next to her, there was another man selling black bras for 100 bob.

He had the largest crowd of female customers seeking to add another black bra to their collection of 3 black bras. I still don’t understand why women were more attracted to the hawker selling black bras more than the one selling different colors of bras with the same price.

Behind me, several touts and deputy-touts were shouting, ‘Kirigiti-Kiambu-eighty, Kiambu-Kirigiti-eighty, kirigiti-Kiambu-eighty’ to attract commuters plying towards Kiambu. The cacophony created by the shoutings choked mine to its early death.

I cleared my voice, raised my voice to try and match their range. I only ended up sounding like a puppy who is learning to bark in a park of mature barking dogs during a dog mating session.
I decided to completely shut up.

I dedicated my business under the mercy of a swahili saying that says chema chajiuza kibaya chajitembeza. My shoes were the classiest of those on display around.
True to my intuition, I attracted my first customer. I couldn’t have been happier.

One didn’t need to make all that noise to attract a customer, I thought. These other hawkers were doing it the wrong way, let your product sell itself- I muted to myself.
This guy walked straight towards me. I smiled under my mask.

Instead of squatting or bending to sample the shoes, he looked straight into my eyes and said, ‘I know you from somewhere.’
Dejected, I asked him, ‘me?’
‘Yes. Aren’t you Sakwah Ongoma? The author who writes threads on Twitter? Man, I love…’

‘Who is that? What are you saying? I don’t know anyone called Sakwah.’
The guy pulled a confused face, a sheepish one, the one a person pulls after identifying the wrong person in a crowd.
‘I thought... ‘
‘No.’ His eyes were apologetic.
‘Sorry, you are a striking image of…’

‘Toka enda, ama unataka kuniibia? I know people like you?’ His apologetic eyes turned into balls of fear. He walked away. At that time, I didn’t want to be recognized as the author that I am. I was ashamed of hawking. The way I denied myself, vehemently,

Simon Peter would have been envious of my denying talent. ‘Kuleta mchezo kwa kazi,’ I said as he disappeared into the crowd.
Soon after, my next customers came. He was dressed in a fighting suit, carrying a leather backpack. He had earpods stuck on his ears.

It was not hard to guess that he was a freshly employed lawyer. Who else walks in town with a backpack, suit, and earpods?
He bent forward and asked, ‘how much are those?’ His accent betrayed him. It should have been an Onyango, or Ouko.

He was touching the most expensive shoe on display, my most favorite. Brand new billionaire boots range from 4,500 upwards. I bought mine for 5,500.
‘3K,’ I said. ‘There is room for negotiation,’ I added although I knew Otis wouldn’t love such a room.

‘That is too expensive.’ He disappointed me.
‘How much do you have?’ Jasiala picked the shoes on his hands.
‘What is its mileage?’ he asked.
‘Three months, I bought them three months ago.’ I said, assuming that Jatelo had asked about the usage of my shoes.

‘Okay, I will call you later, Omera. Good evening.’ Call me later? I only realized that Osiepa had been on the phone all along when he pulled the earpods from his ears.
‘You said 3K?’ He asked. I nodded my head. He checked under the sole for the shoe size.

‘I will take two pairs of the billionaire boots and one pair of office shoes.’ I almost went down on my knees when the guy paid 8K for the shoes, I didn’t believe it. Was he even a Kenyan? Na venye tunapenda kunegotiate? I was only 4k less than my monthly rent.

I prayed for more customers like that guy. Almost immediately two more customers came at the same time. The frequency of customers almost convinced me to swap writing stories for hawking. Hawking was easier, I convinced myself.

One of the two just peeped on the shoes and walked away almost immediately. The other one stuck around.
He picked polo boots that I was selling for 2K.
‘1K,’ he said.
‘Man, importing these shoes from the UK is very expensive. The import duty has gone up.

I am selling them cheaper than even the guys at Eastleigh. Ask around.’
‘I know they are expensive, but these are second hands.’
‘How much are you willing to add on the 1K?’ I asked him. He was hooked. His eyes liked the shoes.
‘1300.’
‘Make it 1800. 2 soo nakutolea ya fare.’

‘1500, Mwisho.’
‘Sawa.’ I conceded. He reached his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled on his phone for a few seconds. He was probably locating his M-Pesa application to pay. His face changed suddenly.

He returned the phone into the pocket, looked me straight into my eyes, and said, ‘Is this your usual location? I will pass by tomorrow to buy the shoes. I like them.’ He walked straight into the crowd and disappeared. I was disappointed.

At the end of the day, I sold three more pairs of shoes and managed to raise 12 800. God never forsakes his people. I went back home and promised myself to try it again the following day. Back home, I debated whether I should use whatever I had collected to settle half the rent

or whether I should pay after I had raised the two months’ rent the following day. Three things informed my decision; one, paying half the rent would have cost me more M-Pesa transaction fee than paying at once.Two, paying 24k at once was going to be a show of might to the agency

I needed to flex my muscle to prove to her that I still had the power to pay rent. I wanted to show her that I wasn’t as poor as she thought. Then thirdly, Satan, Satan convinced me to sleep with money in my M-Pesa.

The following evening, I located another spot on the same street. I waited for more than an hour before I received my first customer. He called me Morio and offered a ngumi mbwegze. This guy at some point made me feel like he was about to purchase the whole stock.

He asked the price of almost every pair of shoes. 30 mins later, he stood on his feet and held a pair of boots and another pair of sneakers in his hands.
‘I want these two,’ he said.
I smiled. Suddenly, all the hawkers bundled their merchandise, lifted them on their backs,

and started running away from Kanjos. That time around, Kanjos were around. Morio took the advantage of the melee and disappeared into the crowd with my shoes. I remained conflicted about whether to run after him or run away from the askaris.

By the time I made up my mind strong arms grabbed me.
They confiscated my shoes and dragged me towards an old and ugly Nairobi County pick-up parked opposite Imenti House. I was bundled into the pick-up alongside other disgruntled hawkers.

I was naive, I was scared and I was a novice in the city. They looked into my eyes and saw a scared man, one whom they could feed his naivety. My crimes were pronounced; hawking without a license, hawking in prohibited places, et al.

In court, a police officer threatened, I was going to be jailed for a year or pay a fine of a quarter a million. ‘Or you can pay a 50k cash bail or fine,’ he said.
After intense negotiation, I ended up paying 8K cash bail.