Nairobi Streets
...remind you who you are, or who you’re not.
It’s 5 O’clock, the worldwide work clock-out time. Another end to busy days in our capitalist lives. I’ll have to walk again to the bus-stops for the ride home. I don’t look forward to the walk. I hate that walk. The walk drains every time. It’s a constant reminder of I have to do this all over again tomorrow. It’s a routine. Routines revulse me [unless they come with money]. Putting on that greyish jacket I donned over my corporate work-wear, I pick up my almost empty second-hand Guess bag that I got for KES300; in it, just a water bottle for hydration and the tiny tube of Vaseline for dry lips prevention along the day. A lot goes into this post-work exit moment. Zips zipped. Buttons buttoned. Loose ends tied. Everything accounted for; phone, wallet, keys, valuables (any if we’re honestly speaking). Time to hit the streets.
That long stretch from my workplace, you’ll excuse my vagueness ‘cause y’all don’t need to know the specifics lol, to the crossing point at Galito’s along Moi Avenue in between a multitude of City Hoppas, Super Metros and thousands of people going to and against in all directions, drains me. Nevertheless, it’s the only way of getting home.
Let the street games begin!
The streets don’t let you walk. They drag you into their mood. One minute you’re dodging a matatu reversing where it shouldn’t, the next you’re politely ignoring the—at this point—the 6th salonist* who swears she can ‘sort your hair.’ “Siste* salon, twist, blow-dry?” You brush past hawkers brandishing some lingerie in your face. A size 20 at that. Others are full on guard. Half selling, half on look-out for those city council officers. ‘Makancho!’ They can be here any minute. And just when you let yourself get lost in thought about it all, something reminds you tap your pocket—JUST TO CHECK. The streets have a way of keeping you half alert, half entertained, fully aware.
I like to think of them as a character. A shape-shifting one. Sometimes they’re generous; offering you cheap fruit, free banter, that random stranger who points you in the right direction. In other times, they’re cruel—snatching your phone in broad daylight, humiliating you who dare to walk with confidence, forcing you to navigate survival vis-à-vis passage as if it were a sport. And it is!
The ‘Tao’ streets are one of the few places where wealth and poverty don’t just coexist. They rub shoulders, literally. The differences in class are written into very corner. You see the gap in real time; the haves and have-nots squeezed into the same narrow pavement, pretending not to see each other but forced to breathe the same exhaust fumes. Some of us are fine, or at least we act like it. After all, who knows otherwise?
“Mrembo, kalia! Twende!” The streets objectify everything, especially women. I’ve lost count of how many times they’ve been turned into an unwilling spectacle. A body becomes public property. They pull, they push, they shout, they reduce you to a punchline or a prize. At some point, it stops feeling like harmless catcalls but rather harassment written into the city’s DNA. The streets don’t care whether you’re in a rush, whether you want the attention or nor. They violate you with eyes, voices, hands. The best you can you can do? Numb it all out.
A tag of war. More games of pull and push. “Kisii, Namanga. Bro ongea. We ni mwanaume.” But the truth is, after you’ve answered around 6-7 of these touts—you just don’t feel like doing it anymore. Another token of how patriarchy shows up in the most ordinary ways and places. It’s in the language, the entitlement, the casual assumption that women must respond. That you must respond. Must smile, must be available. This toxicity doesn’t always have to roar loudly. Sometimes it just sits there in the smirk of a tout, in the aggressive lean of a man who won’t make way as you pass. Nairobi streets are a syllabus in how ‘power’ operates. I pat myself again, JUST TO CHECK.
The icing on the cake, theft—the unofficial economy of the city. Phones vanish mid-sentence, wallets disappear in a blink, that pink/beige small cross-body pouch you think is untouchable, yanked off at… like a souvenir. Theft here is both comedy and tragedy. A funny story you retell when you eventually heal, and a constant recall of due to the times we are living in; that for some survival means taking what is theirs. It’s not always about greed. One moment, to trace the outline of my pockets with my fingertips. You know, JUST TO CHECK. Every so often, it’s desperation disguised as opportunity. But either way, you learn fast. Hold your bag tighter, trust no one, and keep moving!
Yet, for all this, I keep on walking these streets. Because beneath the chaos lies a rhythm, a pulse that’s uniquely Nairobi. An energy that weirdly fuels the best of us. The vendors with their endless hustles, the preachers with their loud faith, the kids who sell those minty ‘Tropical’ sweets with the persuasiveness of a scripture whispered in prayer. That, is the beauty hidden in madness. The streets may wound you, then again they also school in resilience.
All in all, walking along these streets tests every part of you. Your patience, your fight-or-flight instinct, when someone trails too close behind. Like how prepared are you for anything. The ‘Tao’ streets don’t just host us. They size you up, strip you down, remind you who you are, or who you’re not.
Perhaps that’s the truth of it. The streets are a mirror, showing us who we’ve become as a people: divided, resilient, reckless, hilarious, sexist, ambitious, surviving. They hold up all of our contradictions and dare us to keep walking. And so I do. Step by step, side by side with Nairobi, equal parts in love with it and exhausted by it. But wait a minute. I brush my hand against them pockets. JUST TO CHECK. Almost as if expected, M.I.A. All gone. A lesson learned.
DARN IT!
One more tweet from @sifa_bavina’s X-city-survival tips, for you the next time you’re in town.
As always, thank you for reading. these personal essays are always witty to write and i am grateful to the people that enjoy them. i have a few exciting stuff coming soon so stay tuned for that. in the meantime, if you feel like supporting my work, you can buy me a coffee. you can also follow me on instagram and twitter (again, it’s never X in my book).