By Chelangat Caren,
Somewhere between paying rent, buying food and topping up mobile data, many Kenyans have quietly
realised that survival itself has become a full-time occupation.
The cost of living is no longer a headline—it is a daily conversation in matatus, markets and office corridors.
It shows up in smaller shopping bags, postponed plans and difficult household choices. For many families,
the month now feels longer than the money, no matter how carefully it is stretched.
Food prices remain the most unforgiving. A trip to the market that once felt routine now requires mental
arithmetic and compromise. You pick this and drop that. You buy less. You promise yourself it’s temporary.
But “temporary” has dragged on for months.
For young people, the pressure cuts even deeper. Jobs are scarce, and those available often pay just enough
to get by, but not enough to build a future. Many graduates juggle short-term contracts, side hustles and
unpaid internships, all while being told they should be grateful for “experience.” The result is a generation
that is constantly busy, yet perpetually uncertain.
Small businesses—the backbone of the economy—are also feeling the squeeze. Rising electricity bills, higher
transport costs and reduced consumer spending have forced some traders to close shop earlier, downsize, or
shut down altogether. Behind every closed kiosk is a family recalibrating its hopes.
Government assurances have not always landed where they were meant to. While policy statements and
budget speeches speak of long-term fixes, wananchi live in the short term—today’s fare, tonight’s meal, this
week’s rent. There is a growing gap between economic language and lived reality, and it is breeding
frustration.
Somewhere between paying rent, buying food and topping up mobile data, many Kenyans have quietly
realised that survival itself has become a full-time occupation.
The cost of living is no longer a headline—it is a daily conversation in matatus, markets and office corridors.
It shows up in smaller shopping bags, postponed plans and difficult household choices. For many families,
the month now feels longer than the money, no matter how carefully it is stretched.
Food prices remain the most unforgiving. A trip to the market that once felt routine now requires mental
arithmetic and compromise. You pick this and drop that. You buy less. You promise yourself it’s temporary.
But “temporary” has dragged on for months.
For young people, the pressure cuts even deeper. Jobs are scarce, and those available often pay just enough
to get by, but not enough to build a future. Many graduates juggle short-term contracts, side hustles and
unpaid internships, all while being told they should be grateful for “experience.” The result is a generation
that is constantly busy, yet perpetually uncertain.
Small businesses—the backbone of the economy—are also feeling the squeeze. Rising electricity bills, higher
transport costs and reduced consumer spending have forced some traders to close shop earlier, downsize, or
shut down altogether. Behind every closed kiosk is a family recalibrating its hopes.
Government assurances have not always landed where they were meant to. While policy statements and
budget speeches speak of long-term fixes, wananchi live in the short term—today’s fare, tonight’s meal, this
week’s rent. There is a growing gap between economic language and lived reality, and it is breeding
frustration.
What makes this moment particularly delicate is fatigue. People are tired—not just physically, but
emotionally. They are tired of adjusting, coping and “being resilient.” Resilience, after all, was never
meant to replace stability.
Yet even in this strain, something quietly Kenyan persists. People still help each other. Neighbours
extend small favours. Families share what little they have. Humour survives, often dark, sometimes
defiant. It is how many cope when answers are slow in coming.
But goodwill alone cannot carry an economy. At some point, policies must translate into relief that is
felt, not just announced. Jobs must be created that pay living wages. Taxes must be balanced with the
realities of ordinary households. Dialogue must replace dismissal when citizens raise concerns.
The true measure of economic recovery will not be found in graphs or projections, but in kitchens,
classrooms and shop counters. It will be seen when survival stops feeling like work—and life begins to
feel livable again.