A huge construction project is
underway in Kenya's capital, Nairobi. They're widening one
of the main freeways. This bridge is due to be torn down.
It's located in the impoverished district of Kangemi. ARD Nairobi
correspondent Sabine Bohland calls it "the bridge of minor miracles." In
2015, Bohland reported on the thriving commerce that takes place on the
bridge. Now, she's come back. How has life changed for Cornelius
Mogaka during that time? For Jacky, who sells
vegetables there... For Saidi, who wanted
to become a journalist. And for Felix, an
apprentice carpenter. Cornelius runs a small
food stand on the bridge. His speciality is meat soup. But business has fallen off sharply
because of the coronavirus pandemic. He's more concerned about the virus
than about the bridge being torn down. It's really dangerous, because no-one
knows where it comes from. We hear all sorts of rumors, like you can
catch it at any time. You put your hand on something, and
then if you touch your nose or mouth, you get infected. The first cases were reported in
Kenya last March, and the government imposed a series of strict preventive
measures. People are required to wash their hands often -- but
that can be difficult when running water
is in short supply. We first met Cornelius Mogaka and his
family five years ago. His food stand on the bridge was a popular attraction
back then. We visited him several times during the year. People around here don't earn much
money, and it's tough for them to make ends meet. Some of them tell me
that they eat only once a day. The soup at my place costs
just ten shillings. Most people can afford that. The same soup with meat
costs 20 shillings. It's a meal that'll
make you feel good. Today, Cornelius still charges ten
shillings for a bowl of soup. That's about eight cents. But inflation has
hit Kenya hard recently. Five years ago, Cornelius told us that he dreamed
of buying his own house. We asked him how he was getting along now. What's changed in my life? Well, I'm
older, as you can see. Other than that things are still pretty much the same.
It's getting tougher for my family. The kids are growing older.
And there's more stress. Life isn't as comfortable
as it used to be. Cornelius and his wife now have one
more mouth to feed. Their fifth daughter was born three years ago. She
and an older sister often stop by their father's food stand. They have
lots of time on their hands, since the schools in Nairobi were closed last
March because of the pandemic. The bridge is located on the northern
outskirts of the city - over a freeway that is often seriously congested.
That's why the officials decided to widen it. To make room, the bridge
will have to be torn down. Almost all of the trees that used to
provide shade here have been cut down. Nairobi residents are required to wear
a mask whenever they leave the house. In crowded districts
like Kangemi, it's tough to meet
social-distancing guidelines. At one end of the bridge, a
"disinfection tunnel" has been set up. It was donated by a local businessman.
Lots of people use it -- especially because it's free of charge. Such
services are rare in Kenya these days. This tunnel is a big help -- because
you go through it, and it disinfects your entire body, not just your hands. And hat makes it harder for
you to catch the virus. But shortly after our visit, the
tunnel was torn down. City officials decided that the disinfectant that
was used there was dangerous. Nearby, we meet another friend from
2015. Jacky Nyaboke is still selling vegetables here -- at the
same place as five years ago. In 2015, there were still shade trees
here. Jacky started selling vegetables because she had to. I used to be a housewife. My husband
worked as a night watchman. But it was a tough job, and was ruining his
life -- so he quit. I asked myself how we were going to get by. We couldn't
afford to send the kids to school, and sometimes we didn't have enough to
eat. So I decided to go into business for myself, and I've
been here ever since. These days, Jacky smiles less
often than she used to -- and she looks tired. After all, she's on her feet from
morning til night. She earns only about 300 shillings a day;
that's less than three euros. The pandemic has really changed
everything. Before, we could sell a bag of vegetables in one or two days.
But now, it often takes us three days to sell everything. Some of the
produce spoils, and we have to throw it away. Sometimes, we don't earn
enough to cover our living expenses. 2015 was a special year in Kenya. U-S
president Barack Obama came to visit. Also that year, Islamist militants
killed 147 people at a university in northern Kenya. Most of the
victims were students. And there was a big fire on the
freeway bridge in Nairobi. 200 people lost their businesses. But they soon
rebuilt everything -- by themselves. It was one of many "minor
miracles" that we've seen here. At the time, Cornelius Mogaka
expanded his food stand into a low- budget sports bar, complete with TV.
It was a new source of income for him. But in 2020, because of the pandemic,
he had to shut down the sports bar. At the same time, several new businesses
opened across the street -- including a furniture shop. This is Felix Wambura. In 2015, he was
still living in the countryside. He moved to Nairobi two years ago, to
look for work. For the past three months, he's been building beds.
Before that, he worked as a driver and as a security guard. Felix has no
experience with carpentry -- but he's a fine example of "learning by doing."
He landed this job purely by chance. The bridge is an important place for
us. It brings us customers. And we can buy lots of different goods here. Life
would be a lot harder without this bridge. Everybody uses it, and
that's good for our business. Another "minor miracle": you can fit
the component parts of this bed on a motorcycle. But what will happen to
these businesses when the bridge is torn down? The bulldozers are moving
ever closer -- and when they get here these shops will disappear. Last summer, Kenya's president,
Uhuru Kenyatta, announced that some of the corona restrictions would be
eased. For example, residents of Nairobi would be allowed to travel
outside the city. And the start of the curfew would be pushed back by two
hours, to 9 PM. Perhaps another "minor miracle." But Cornelius
Mogaka doesn't think so. Life on the bridge was never easy,
even before the pandemic. Heavy rain often flooded the roads. And
power outages were common. Saidi Abdallah, a student, was one
of the people we interviewed back in 2015. Life in his
neighborhood was difficult. Saidi showed us the
shack where he lived. He often had to study by candlelight. Saidi dreamed of becoming a radio
reporter. He saw this as a way to help improve living conditions in Kenya. I understand that journalism is the
only bridge between society and the community -- so if journalists work
towards improving society, I think that everything will be OK. Another "minor miracle": Saidi was the
first in his family, which includes eleven siblings, to graduate from
university. His goal was to move out of the slum, and make
something of himself. I can only say that I'm going to get
out of there -- but I'm not in a position to do that right now. If I
do manage to leave, it would be quite good for me. I lived there as a
student, but now I've 'graduated' into the wider community. So I'll join the other graduates, and
do something important with my life. In 2020, we managed to track down
Saidi. He's now working on his family's small farm in western Kenya. He moved here, because he couldn't
find work as a journalist in Nairobi. Actually, when I came back, my family
was disappointed. They had spent so much on my education, and they hoped
to get something in return. But I just showed up here, and told them
that I was ready to start working the fields. They were disappointed, but
for me it was the right thing to do. In Nairobi, I looked for a job for
almost a year. I had to put up with all kinds of hassles, and
I struggled to pay the rent. So I just packed
up, and came back home. Saidi's mother had even sold a cow to
help pay for her son's education. That was a fortune for
her, and she had high hopes that her son
would be successful. After your son finishes his studies,
he's got to make an effort, and find a job. I helped raise the money so that
he could go to college. Now, I expect him to take care of me, buy me new
clothes, and so forth. He's graduated now, so If I need soap or sugar, or if
I get sick, it's his responsibility to take care of these things. This is often how Kenya's social
security system works. Adult children are expected to provide
for their parents. We asked Saidi if he still
planned to become a reporter. I'm just trying to cope with the
situation that has come on my land. So, I'm just trying to look for some
ways to survive. But I'm also hoping that I get journalist work and
that I can start working. The extended family can live quite
well on this farm. They have enough to eat, and they can sell some of their
surplus produce at the local market. Saidi told us that he doesn't plan
to return to Nairobi anytime soon. The city doesn't pick up the garbage
in the slums of Kangemi, so the people who live there have to
dispose of it themselves. Felix Wambura, the apprentice
carpenter, still believes that he can make a go of it in the big city. Felix and his girlfriend Silvia have
lived together since last Spring. They plan to get married one day. She
doesn't have a job right now, so his income supports them both. As the pandemic wore on, they had to
sell their bed-frame to pay the rent and buy food. But the last thing they
plan to sell is the TV. It's their link to the outside world. In Nairobi, it's all about your
mind-set. If you think positively, things will just work out -- but you
have to be patient. When I came here, I had no house. There were times
when I slept outside... Outside a kibanda. And I always kept myself
thinking positive. I told myself, 'I'm not going back home.' Every few days, Jacky Nyaboke leaves
Nairobi and drives out to a rented farm field to harvest vegetables.
She doesn't want to work like this forever. If I went back to my home village, I'd
have to start all over again. My life there is still easier than in the
city. We're staying in Nairobi just to raise our kids, and earn money for
their education. But when they finish school, we'll have no reason to stay.
We'll just go back home -- hopefully with some money that we've saved. Nothing much has changed
here in the last five years. Jacky will not be able to return home
for a few more years. She's still putting her three children through
school, and she'll have to keep working like this until they finish.
Jacky is the family's only source of income. Her husband
doesn't have a job. This is one of Nairobi's
privately-owned mini-buses that serve as taxis. They're called "matatus."
But the pandemic has cut the number of passengers to about half
-- so ticket prices have doubled. Some people who work on the bridge,
like Felix, still hope for a better life. Others, like Jacky,
are simply trying to tough it out. Some people experience minor
miracles; others struggle to get by. And when the bridge is torn down,
their lives will become even Kenya's rainy season
begins in October. The bulldozers have already torn down
some of the shops on the bridge. But some people keep trying
to turn back the tide. In 2015, crews repaired the roadway
over the bridge, as the city prepared to welcome a special guest. Pope Francis. Some hucksters tried to take
advantage of the pontiff's visit. I want the pope to bless this
water so that as many people as possible can buy it. If you
drink this holy water, God will give you His blessing. Pope Francis made a point of
visiting the Kangemi district. At one stop, the pontiff told the
crowd that he was well aware of the difficulties that the people of
Kangemi face on a daily basis -- and he denounced the
injustices that they suffer. That's all well and good -- but how
would Francis propose to actually make life better here? Any improvements are made by the
people themselves, without much help from the government or
the Catholic church. By the way, here's how that road,
freshly paved in 2015, looks today. The nearby construction work has not
affected Cornelius Mogaka's food stand very much. This afternoon, he's
preparing home-made sausages -- a popular snack for people who are
on their way home from work. Joseph Ngure has lived in this
neighborhood for years. He was here when the bridge was built
back in the 1970s. With development, some things are
torn down, and others are put up. We didn't always have a bridge here, and
then they built one. Now, they're going to tear it down. I have no idea
what's going to happen afterward, haven't seen the plans. But one thing is clear: these people
will have to move their small businesses. Cornelius
Mogaka's food stand... Jacky and her vegetables... And the furniture shop
where Felix works. But when exactly will this happen? Well, if the bridge disappears, I'm
finished. I depend on this location. It would be hard to find a new place,
and new customers. The city officials should have told us a lot earlier what
they planned to do. Then we'd have had time to prepare. But now, it looks
like they're just going to come in here and tear it down,
and we'll be stuck. We meet Felix again. He loves
football, and he comes to this field every weekend to
cheer his favorite team. Then he meets up with some friends.
First of all, they say a prayer together. Most of the
people here have lost their jobs because of the pandemic. They've formed a self-help group to
deal with the situation. They pay what little money they have into a joint
fund that pays for their health and unemployment insurance, and
pension contributions. It's all recorded in this log-book. This gathering is all about
togetherness, supporting each other, and inspiring your brother. We
remember those who can't find work, and those who have jobs that don't pay
well. It's all about helping each other, coming together, and putting
everyone at the same level. Jacky belongs to a similar group,
made up of other women who sell vegetables. They have to stick
together to survive. They're certainly not going to get any financial
help from the government. But right now, Jacky is particularly
concerned about her children. She's afraid that while they're away from
school, her son will turn to drugs or her daughter will get pregnant. I can't protect them when they're
running around the neighborhood. I leave the house at six in
the morning, and don't get home til 7 or 8 at night. I have no idea what they do during
the day. I don't know who they meet. But I try to talk to
them in the evening, and warn them about
getting into trouble. And that's a real miracle. These
people manage to overcome enormous difficulties on a daily basis -- and
they do it without complaining. They simply get on
with the job at hand. There are no bulldozers
today, so Jacky can keep selling her vegetables. Sure, our livelihood depends on the
bridge -- but if they tear it down, it's not the end of the world. We'll
just set up shop somewhere else. And when they rebuild it, we'll
come back, just like before. So here in Nairobi, life goes on
at the bridge of minor miracles -- a place where ordinary
people make the best of their lives, despite
overwhelming odds.
