KESHO TENA!(Tomorrow Again)

The problem with Nairobi was not hunger.

People adapted to hunger.

A man could survive on smokie and tea for three days and still joke with his friends.

No.

The real problem was hope.

Hope kept people waking up at 4 a.m. to board overcrowded matatus toward opportunities that did not exist.

Hope made graduates print CVs using borrowed money.

Hope made mothers back in the village say:

“Kesho things will be better.”

Tomorrow.

Always tomorrow.

Brian Otieno stood outside a cyber café near Archives staring at his phone screen.

M-PESA balance:

KSh 17.40

He laughed quietly to himself.

Not because it was funny.

Because sometimes life became too embarrassing for sadness.

A matatu passed loudly beside him blasting gengetone through distorted speakers.

The conductor leaned outside shouting aggressively:

“Tao! Tao! Haraka msee!”

Brian ignored him.

His stomach had been empty since yesterday afternoon.

Inside the cyber café, another young graduate wearing a clean black suit carefully printed CVs.

Brian watched him silently through the window.

Fresh hope.

Fresh suffering.

Same story.

Three years earlier, Brian had graduated from university with a degree in procurement and logistics.

His mother slaughtered a chicken that day.

Neighbors came to celebrate.

Everyone kept saying:

“Sasa Brayo umeomoka.”

Now life has changed.

But Nairobi had swallowed him slowly.

Interview after interview.

“Tutakupigia.”

We’ll call you.

Nobody ever called.

At some point, Brian stopped updating his WhatsApp profile picture because he was tired of relatives asking:

“Ulipata kazi?”

Did you get a job?...