What’s the difference between Thika Road and Peponi Road in Nairobi? It is more than the spelling, width or age.
Thika Road, which is newer and wider, took care of hustlers – there’s a pavement for them. Peponi has none. You either compete with cars, or walk in the gullies, which are now filled with rainwater.
It seems that despite the fact that there are only about 1.5 million cars in a population of almost 50 million Kenyans, no one cares about those who walk; the hustlers.
We think roads are for cars, but they’re also for human beings, including those who own no cars. Surprisingly, you find people walking on the Southern Bypass. The road linking Waiyaki and Ruaka is full of pedestrians. On most roads, and with the rains, pedestrians have no walkways – we punish them more after they’ve been punished by rain and nature. We even make it worse by splashing water on them.
It seems no one seriously thinks of hustlers. They’re an afterthought. Few bus stations have shelters for them, let alone restrooms or, in hustle-speak, toilets.
The focus on non-hustlers is deeply ingrained in our psyche. It has roots in the colonial era where we were segregated based on colour. After uhuru, we continued that exclusion. Some residential areas have big signs written ‘No matatus allowed’ – read, no hustlers allowed. In big hotels and other high-end shopping areas, prices keep hustlers away.
The exclusion soon becomes mental. Our thinking changes to reflect where we live or where we were brought up. Sadly, by the time we grow up, we’ve become used to that exclusion in our schools, churches, hotels, residencies, jobs and even the jokes we crack.
Grand illusion
Everyone thought that with the Constitution, the hustler’s golden age would start. But that seems to have been a grand illusion.
From the national level to counties, the hustler seems to matter only once every five years when votes are in demand.
When dreaming big, with strategic plans and constitutions, we talk of the hustlers, but the reality ignores these men and women who run our economy in silence.
Vision 2030, the 2010 Constitution and the Big Four agenda are all about the improving the life of the hustlers. And so was the coming of uhuru, which promised hustlers a golden age after they’d offered cheap labour to the colonial regime for years.
But the reality is different. Hustlers aren’t woken up by an alarm clock, but the urge to satisfy the most basic of needs, like food or shelter. The day passes without the certainty of tomorrow. Their dreams at night are nightmares; only faith and family relationships keep the hustler ticking.
Shall we one day care about the hustler? Must the hustler wait for Christ’s resurrection to enjoy their lives? Can’t they enjoy it now and not in the afterlife?
Ignoring the plight of hustlers is our soft underbelly. They’re the majority and will always be with us. Surprisingly, if we took care of hustlers, even non-hustlers would be happier – they wouldn’t have to worry about big gates, razor wires on electric fences or a lack of sleep in big mansions.
Other nations have done it, why can’t we?
