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“Happy New Year, Bwana!" Eastleigh's spirit soars despite 2024's looming challenges

A scene of the Eastleigh streets by night. (Photo: Abdirahman Khalif/EV)

By Patel Okumu | 02 Jan 2024

The New Year dawned on Eastleigh like a hesitant sunrise, peeking through the haze of financial anxieties that clung to the streets like dust. 2023 had been a year of tight belts and furrowed brows.

The New Year dawned on Eastleigh like a hesitant sunrise, peeking through the haze of financial anxieties that clung to the streets like dust. 2023 had been a year of tight belts and furrowed brows, with rising taxes squeezing the life out of businesses, the lifeblood of most families in this famous Nairobi business hub. Yet, under the harsh realities, a fragile ember of optimism flickered, refusing to be extinguished.

Mama Asha Abdul, who ran her small electrical and Mpesa shop with tireless grit, voiced the shared concern. "Taxes suck the air out of our lungs," she sighed, tapping her calculator with a worried frown. "But we have children. School fees knock on the door soon, and they can't wait for taxes to come down."

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Amina Mahamoud, her colorful boutique humming with post-holiday customers, paused to confirm the spelling of her name ("Mahamoud, two Ms!") before echoing the concern about university fees. "Don't even get me started," she chuckled, the lines around her eyes etched deeper by financial anxieties. But then, a sliver of light danced in her gaze. "We Eastleigh women," she declared, "are weavers of silk from cobwebs. We'll figure it out, you mark my words."

Boda boda engines whined like impatient mosquitos, weaving a soundtrack to Eastleigh's anxieties. Onyango Mitula, his helmet pushed back and revealing sweat-dampened curls, recognized me with a shout. "Happy New Year, mzee!" he roared, his voice carrying through the din. I grinned back, our past rides forging a bridge across the busy street. "Happy New Year, Onyango," I echoed, stepping closer. As if picking up from our last conversation, he shook his head, sighing about the skyrocketing petrol prices. "Makes riding like pushing a boulder uphill," he muttered, the humor barely masking his concern. "And school fees? Forget it. Haven't even dared to think that far." Yet, his eyes, crinkled at the corners, held a defiant spark. "We hustle, we adapt, we survive. That's the Eastleigh way, bwana."

Mama Jane Mwangi, her vegetable stall bursting with fresh healthy greens, nodded in agreement. " 2023 was lean, but the rains nourished the land again. My hands will feed my children," she declared, her voice ringing with quiet confidence. "School fees may come, but so will customers." As if on cue, Onyango, still lingering nearby in hope of a fare, shouted out..."Jane utanikopesha school fees”, we all roar back laughing.

In the corner, amidst a teetering Everest of second-hand textbooks, Amos Mwesigwa finally cracked a smile, sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Hallelujah! Some action!" he boomed, his grin splitting his face like a ripe mango. "Books be takin' flight since the kids returned from their festive frolicking. Looks like they recalled they got brains buried under those holiday hats!" I chuckled, "Just make sure you don't charge them double for remembering." He winked, his eyes glittering with mischief. "If a mint condition 'Looking for a Rain God' ever graces my shelves, you, my friend, might get it first. But prepare for a hefty interview fee!"

His infectious enthusiasm spread like wildfire. From Mama Aisha, the tailor finally swamped with school uniform orders (worrying about meeting the Saturday deadline), to the young man setting up his mobile phone repair stall, a collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the air.

Yes, the struggles remained, etched on faces and worn hands. Taxes still clawed their way through pockets, and school fees loomed on the horizon. But in the face of adversity, the spirit of Eastleigh, woven from resilience and hope, refused to be subdued.