What happens at Nairobi’s Garden Square from 5pm

Garden Square, where Nairobi residents meet to plan funerals. (Photo: Courtesy)

At the roundabout that connects Parliament Road and City Hall Way, a pedestrian has four options: move towards Parliament, away from Parliament, towards Uhuru highway or the opposite direction heading towards Kencom.

If you chose that last option you will immediately be confronted by the sacred walls of Holy Family Basilica on your left and a sense of nothingness on the right.

Nothingness; not so much because there is nothing, but rather because what you will see are tall trees that seem to hide everything else on that side of the road.

It is only as you inch farther down the street more is revealed. There, a stone block – pure concrete and ballast – stands conspicuously. It is a dwarf architecture with no iron sheets.

‘Garden Square Restaurant & Bar’ is written on a board somewhere at the top. In reality, Garden Square is a household name at least to middle-class Nairobi. Those who have clocked dog years walking the streets of this city have plenty to say about the restaurant.

“That place is always full: people are always streaming in and out. Someone needs to find out what goes on in there,” my 47-year-old friend would say.

So, on one Tuesday afternoon, I walk into Garden Square. Before going in a guard goes through my bag and haphazardly passes a metal detector all over me then shoos me in.

There is no apparent queue. But the trickle of humans barely leaves the man at the entrance with a minute to be still. A narrow alley ushers you into vast space with tents, plastic chairs, cubicles and humans – many humans.

“Where do I sit?” I ask a waiter.

“Are you here for any particular meeting?” the young man enquires. At which time I say I only want to have some tea and read a book.

“You can sit in the restaurant or at the bar counter or anywhere that has not been booked yet,” he says. But the place is booked from end to end.

People, clustered in no apparent or deliberate style, seem busy with meetings.

At one corner three men and six women are embroiled in an argument – speaking in their vernacular. About three steps away, a woman fidgets with her phone, sitting in a gazebo, perhaps waiting for someone. The umbrella bears a handwritten name as well as time booked for a meeting. For instance, ‘Joyce Moraa, 5-8’.

And right next to me at the bar counter a loud-mouthed clique of big-belly men are not having enough of beer. They too are speaking in mother tongue. I find out (from the waiter) that meetings at Garden Square start at 5pm and end before 9pm.

“Rarely do we have meetings earlier,” he says, “but sometimes we allow meetings from 10am to 2pm; but not in between.”

The restaurant, he says, is synonymous with meetings.

“People meet here mostly for fundraising, to plan funerals or organise weddings. Sometimes it could be people who share an ancestry and just want to talk as an extended family,” he says.

Later, I get hold of the manager – that is how he introduced himself.

Individuals buy space for meetings at the restaurant which they use within specific timelines. According to the manager, they allow all types of meetings that have no political affiliation.

“Those have always turned violent,” he says. “We have learnt to keep off any kind of politics.” Space at the restaurant is measured by the unit and every occupied space has monetary value.

One gazebo, with a seat capacity of ten people, costs Sh1,000 for four hours. The veranda, with an overhead rain shield, capable of holding 12 seats, goes for Sh1,500.

Human traffic

Cubicles meant for 15 persons fetch Sh2,000 while a double cubicle (for 50 people) costs Sh6,000. If you needed a meeting space for 80 people you would need to pay Sh10,000. For the whole of the space, the manager tells me, Sh100,000 would suffice.

I ask the lonesome lady who she is waiting for. She says: “We are meeting to raise money for a funeral. We need to transport the body home for burial.”

A tall and heavy-set man didn’t seem so excited about my question. But then he said, after staring at me for a couple of uncomfortable seconds, “Why would you want to know? How will that help you?”

The main restaurant, located within the main building, has much less human traffic. The bar, adjacent to the restaurant, is not as forlorn though. Within the front yard, at the entrance, there is hardly any space available to park a car.