Kenyan mornings are sacred: A steaming kikombe cha chai, the hoarse roar of impatient matatus, the growl of bodabodas weaving through chaos—and millions of Kenyans scrolling through their phones, poking fun at memes with one common and collective sigh: “Weuh! Maisha imekuwa ngumu.”
Our coping mechanism hidden in laughter. Behind every meme, a truth wrapped in silence. Hakuna rahisi in this economy, and nothing is guaranteed—except our relentless Kenyan spirit. Take Mageto from Kasarani.
Always up by 3:30 a.m., loading trays of boiled eggs and kachumbari into a bucket a she prepares to hit the market. She squeezes into a sardine-packed matatu bound for Githurai. Her dream? One day owning a kibanda—not just for survival, but to serve dignity with every plate. Her days are long, her profits small, but her belief is mighty.
Then there’s Obaseki in Rongai. A government auditor by day, a wines and spirits owner by night. On weekends, he transforms into a rugby coach—giving boys from the hood something to chase besides crime and peer pressure. This is not hustle for luxury. It’s survival.
Ashley, a beauty products vendor from Meru doubles up as a makeup artist and a content creator. She is chasing virality not clout—she’s chasing rent, purpose, and a break from the economic chokehold.
This is Kenya. Not the polished lives of influencers on overpriced staycations.
Not the “soft life” sold on social media posted via lipa polepole phones. But the raw, unfiltered grind of the Wanjama’s, Cheboo’s, Omondi’s, Kamwari’s and Moha’s—people who breathe hope despite their bank balances and stretched mobile loans.
They have mastered the art of surviving without a safety net. Told to work hard, stay in school and trust the system. The very system that’s corrupt, bloated, and underfunded?
Where your degree can’t get you employed, your job can’t afford you rent, and your side hustle is taxed before it can take off?
This isn’t just economic hardship—it’s economic betrayal.
Once sold a promise of a better economy, yet the only thing trickling down is despair. Leaders continue to drown in luxury while wananchi tighten their belts as they yearn for the next political rally to receive handouts.
Projects stall, taxes rise, food prices spike, and fuel pumps read like blood pressure monitors.
Still—we rise! Kenyans have mastered the art of turning pain into poetry. But when we speak, we do not whisper! Ata mawe hutupwa na WiFi.
Look at the hashtags. Look at the streets. Look at the courage oozing from our youth. From Occupy Parliament to digital protests and grassroots boycotts, the message is clear: “We are tired, but not defeated.”
A new Kenya is taking shape—one that refuses to be ignored, one that knows tweets can topple thrones and ballots can redraw history.
In the face of tear gas, live bullets, water cannons and senseless abductions we chant! In the face of crisis, we innovate. In the face of betrayal, we choose to believe! The true Kenyan spirit: stubborn, fiery, resilient, and radically hopeful.
We’ve been told “mtu ni kujipanga.” But we now know: kujipanga peke yako is not enough. The nation must rise together, or perish altogether.
So whether you’re a student in Juja sharing a house with six roommates, a mama mboga in Kisii hoping for better sales, a TikToker in Kisumu praying for a brand deal, or a parent in Eldoret praying for school fees—know this: You matter. You belong. And you deserve better. And while the state may forget to fund our dreams, we must never forget to believe in them!
By Kamaru Mathenge
