by Natachi Onwuamaegbu
with help from Dianne Saliamo

Photos by Elsa Kariuki
It was Connie’s mother who first showed her the beauty of Kenyatta Market and the ability it had to change lives. But when Connie’s mother passed away in February, it’s the market – the structure it provides, the people in it, the loyal customers – that is helping her work through her grief and lift her up.
In the corner of her storefront, aptly titled “Connie’s Hair Salon,” is a small tribute to her mother: a printed photo glued to a thin piece of wood. Connie has the photo leaning against a stack of towels. It’s minimal yet central, just like Connie’s mother.
Connie was named after her mother, a force who raised 12 children alone in Nairobi using only her salary from working the market. After years of working as an apprentice in the market, the older Connie opened her own salon and ran her successful business until she retired seven years ago.
Then, just six months later, the younger Connie opened her own salon. Luckily, there weren’t two “Connie’s salons” in the market at once.
But Kenyatta Market has been a part of the younger Connie’s life for as long as she can remember. She began as a guinea pig, having new styles experimented on her by her mother and other braiders in and out of the salon. Then she became an apprentice, learning the skills and crafts of braiding, twisting, and locking hair. Then she struck out on her own, buying her own shop and keeping the older Connie’s legacy alive. Then, believe it or not, the cycle repeated.
Connie’s eldest daughter took after her mother and grandmother and picked up their passion for beauty. At 22, she works as a freelance nail artist for a few of the salons in the market. And, much like her mother and grandmother, she absolutely loves it.
Connie doesn’t regret following her mother into the market — how could she? It gave her her livelihood, her daughter her livelihood, allowed her to raise four children, and allowed her to get closer to her mother in her last years. A few months before her death, the older Connie came into the storefront and sat, telling stories and helping out with customers.
“My mother is — was — my friend,” said Connie. “She loved me so I love the work that she did.”

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The older Connie’s death came as a shock, not just to her eldest daughter but to the many braiders who worked for or around the matriarch.
“She would get here at 6am and leave late, really late,” said one of Connie’s braiders. She piped up in the corner of the salon, filling the silence left when the younger Connie was asked what people remember about her mother. “She was always here, she was always working. It made it so we all wanted to work hard.”
Connie nodded along. “My mother was a hard worker. That’s why I’m a hard worker. That’s why I’m [in the market] right now.”
It’s true that it was an odd time to be in the market – Connie had taken a few days off to begin sorting her mother’s assets and affairs. We caught her the week before her mother’s burial. She came to work, to take her mind off her grief and her responsibilities by doing exactly as her mother would have done: pouring herself into her business.
And the market turned out to be a good place to be during this time. As soon as we sat for the interview, Connie pushed a book to me. In it were names and names of fellow braiders, shop owners and customers. Next to their signatures were numbers, usually ranging from 100-2000, and their phone numbers. These were pledges, donations to have Connie’s mother transported and buried back home in Busia, Kenya.
Most of the braiders on that list don’t have a lot to spare. Covid has been hard on most small business owners, especially those in Kenyatta Market. Connie herself used to expect 30-40 customers a week. Now she’s lucky if she hits 15.

photo by Natachi Onwuamaegbu
But when asked whether she considers her coworkers as family, she shakes her head.
“No they’re just friends,” she says, drawing the distinction clearly in her mind.
She thinks they’re just friends but they act as a family, picking one another up when one falls down.
And Connie’s needed the support. She’s had to leave her stall in her employees' hands as she deals with the details of her mother’s funeral. And all throughout the interview, she’s fielded call after call, either from clients or family members or friends offering their condolences. It’s a lot. But, each time she has to leave the interview, one of her coworkers fills in, telling us about the beauty of her mother, the history of the stall.
One day, Connie wants to expand her business. But she doesn’t want to move out of Kenyatta Market or the beauty industry. She can’t.
“This is my passion,” said Connie. “How could I do anything else?”
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