Githurai and the 24-hour economy

PHOTO: COURTESY

There are those who are in the so-called 24-hour economy by choice. And there are also those in it by default.

Life in Githurai is a metaphor of how a large majority of young people in this country are forced by circumstances into a perilous existence of a "24-hour economy". It is a time bomb.

This is how.

The suburb is situated 20km from the city centre astride Thika Road. Forget the confusing Githurai 45 and 44 business. Those born BC (before computer) know the numbers are a carry- forward from the days of Kenya Bus Service. The matatus took over.

The place is majorly a low-income area with all the social and economic squalor that goes with 'Eastlands'. In short, it is a large dormitory favela. It is known for all the wrong reasons. Muggings, carjacking and one Mugo wa Wairimu.

But this does not mean there is no money here. There are three major banks, a plethora of 'micro finance' Saccos, legal or illegal and a good supply of fly-by-night land-buying companies. The ubiquitous churches. Two or three upcoming supermarket chains are represented.

A vibrant, albeit disorganised wet market explains the rotting smell hanging in the air. Millions of shillings exchange hands here, mainly between the 'queens of grain', some Amazon business women who individually can employ several dons from the nearby Kenyatta University, I included.

Here lives Rubix, 30 years. During the day, Rubix dresses smartly. His cheeks have a slight shine. Safe for the tired eyes, he looks like a typical junior clerk in a blue-chip company. He is a conductor for one of the matatus. No big deal.

But Rubix perfectly operates within Githurai's 24-hour economy. Thanks to the suburb's Kadogo economy, his budget is book study of the minimalist economy typical of three quarters of Nairobi.

'Kadogo economy' is slang for the trend of retailing everything on the tiniest scale. Sugar for Sh5, flour for Sh20. Even match sticks go for one bob a stick. In these hard times, everyone can afford whatever they want.

Rubix does not cook, though. He has no house. Like many youths here, he sleeps in a bar. He stops work at 11pm and heads straight to an eatery. He buys githeri or ugali and some pieces of meat and vegetables at Sh100. Everything is fresh here. The cheapest meal is Sh20.

Then he hops into his popular pub and orders a cheap alcoholic drink, 'to kill time'. By midnight he dozes off on the table. Before long, it is 3am. Time to wake up. Outside, the young woman who sold him supper last evening has hot tea and mandazi for him.

Millet porridge is also available for Sh15. But before then, he enters a nearby building where he showers, brushes his teeth for Sh30. He leaves his clothes in a small locker. The service costs him Sh100 a month! He can get laundry services in the same place for Sh100. He does that once a week.

There is a steady supply of twilight girls and therefore no problem in that department.

Rubix is one of the tens of young men and women in many parts of Nairobi who find housing rather prohibitive. Around Githurai, a one-bedroom house goes for between Sh5,000 and Sh7,000. A single room costs Sh3,000.

Contrary to popular belief, security is no problem here, at least for those who live around. With the arrival of the 24-hour motorcycle transportation, security has greatly improved because it means there are more people moving about throughout the night. In places believed to be dangerous, passengers hire two motorcycles, the second to act as security escort.

Those who cannot afford a drink in the bars sleep in the empty stalls along the road. These are mostly handcart operators and carriers. Sometimes, the police raid the stalls in the middle of the night and cart the young men away. They are released the following day, if they bribe the police.

Mostly there are no charges, as 'loitering' is no longer a crime. The fright of slum dwellers is highlighted in the background of the ongoing Rio Olympic Games in Brazil.

Many slum (favelas) dwellers there have been hastily displaced to give way for facilities meant for the games.

Yet sometime ago Rio authorities started addressing the glaring inequality, by integrating the favelas with the city's richer areas. But like we so often do here when big money and image are at stake, the project has been quickly forgotten, faced with high-stake games.

Yet, the sustainability of a city hinges on the successful integration of the rich and poor, socially and economically. Contrariwise, it becomes a time bomb.