By Maxwell Omondi and Alex Njeru
As darkness drapes the township of Ndagani which hosts Chuka University in Tharaka Nithi County, most homes wind down, children are tucked in, and the streets fall silent. But while much of the town sleeps, a different kind of marketplace stirs quietly to life.
From 10:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m., a group of resilient women transform this semi-urban space along the busy Nairobi-Meru highway into a makeshift bazaar. Their food stalls—dimly lit and minimally equipped—become lifelines for the town’s night shift workers, from boda boda riders to hospital staff.
“I’m Janet Kamau, a resident of Ndagani,” says one of the vendors, standing beside her modest stall. A single battery-powered lamp casts a soft glow on trays of hot potato chips, boiled eggs, and samosas. “I’ve been working here for four years. I sell things that are easy to eat on the go.”
Janet begins her second shift only after completing her first: making dinner, putting her children to bed, and preparing her supplies. Then, with a heavy bag on her back and heavier responsibilities on her shoulders, she walks through the hushed streets to her corner of the night.
“It’s quiet at night, but not lonely,” she adds with a faint smile. “We know each other here. We talk, we laugh when we can, and we support one another.”
Her customers are those whose jobs keep them awake: taxi operators, watchmen, cleaners, and late-night commuters. Her stall offers more than just food—it offers a sense of community.
But behind the camaraderie and small talk is a struggle for survival.
“This market pays for everything—school fees, rent, hospital bills,” Janet says. “But even then, it’s not enough. Some days I go home with very little. Prices go up, but our customers’ pockets don’t grow. It’s a struggle.”
Just a few steps away, Lucy Ndeke tends to a sputtering charcoal stove, flipping chapatis with practiced ease. A night vendor for five years, Lucy switched to nocturnal business after the daytime hustle proved unprofitable and overcrowded.
“At night, the customers are more consistent,” she explains. “But that doesn’t mean the money is good. Some nights we barely make anything after buying stock. You work the whole night and go home with almost nothing.”
Challenges abound: cold nights that drive customers indoors, the ever-present fear of insecurity, and occasional harassment from intoxicated patrons.
“There are security lights but are not enough,” Janet notes. Sometimes we get scared, especially when drunk people show up and start causing trouble. But we can’t afford to leave because we depend on this place.”
Beyond safety, exhaustion takes a heavy toll. By dawn, while others are waking up, these women are just winding down—only to begin another shift as mothers, caregivers, and homemakers.
“My shift ends at dawn, but my day isn’t done,” Janet says. “I go home, wake my children, prepare them for school, clean the house, and maybe catch a short nap, if I’m lucky.”
Yet, amidst the sleepless nights and harsh realities, hope endures. Both Janet and Lucy dream not of riches for themselves, but of better lives for their children.
“I want my children to rest at night,” Lucy says. “I want them to have jobs where they don’t have to worry about rain or fear. I want them to dream big.”
In the stillness of Ndagani’s nights, these women keep the heartbeat of the town alive. Unseen by most, uncelebrated by many, they are the silent engines of a fragile economy—carrying more than just food, but also the weight of resilience, hope, and survival.
Mt Kenya Times