(Spoken Words of Tribute to the Street Vendors in Kisumu)

Under the burning sun in Kisumu,
They rose at dawn—way before sunrise.
Carrying dreams in plastic bags,
And hope that drips like sweat into worn rags.

They don’t wear suits,
But their hustle is sharp.
Selling socks, chargers, njugu karanga.
One foot in traffic, the other in faith,
Praying today, maybe… they’ll make enough to bathe.

“Madam, chukua bajia! Bro, ni power bank original!”
But the crowd walks past them like ghosts, digital
Screens in their hands, wallets locked tight,
And they smile through rejection—again, out of sight.

From matatu to matatu, they weave like wind,
Faces hopeful, tired, worn thin.
“Boss, nauza maji baridi, afya, njugu! Another one, bro, earphones za bei poa!”
But most just stare through them—like glass, like air, like noise.

Few dare to meet their eyes,

Some scroll their phones, others pretend not to hear.
Fewer still ask, “Bei ni how much?”
Because to see them means to feel.
And feeling might cost too much now.

No lunch break, no health plan,
Just concrete, sweat, and the weight of a plan to feed their kids, pay the rent, try again
with blistered feet and trembling hands.

No salary at the end of the month.
No off days. No pension. No backup.
Just pure grit.

They dodge askaris like shadows at war,
Their business licenses? Dreams, nothing more.
Yet still, they stand in markets and corners, like pillars of sand.

Because dignity doesn’t always wear a tie,
And sometimes courage looks you in the eye.
From behind a stall of mangoes and maize,
With a voice that says, “Just buy. Help me through today.”

To every hawker beneath the Kisumu sun,
You are not invisible.
You are someone.
And we see you.

That mama selling mangoes with a baby on her back.
That msee with a tiny speaker shouting offers through traffic.
They’re not background.
They’re not noise.
They’re people—real people, trying to survive.

So next time, before you look away,
Before you roll up your window or say “sina pesa,”
Just remember—
That person is doing what they can.
In the heat, they hustle.
And they deserve to be seen.

********* The End**********