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From braiding grass to braiding hair: Doris' story of entrepreneurship in Kenyatta Market

by Natachi Onwuamaegbu
with help from Dianne Saliamo

To find out more about this project and Kenyatta Market, visit our welcome note on our home page.

Photos by Carly Steyer

There was a year without customers.

Doris Mwikali Chengo had just moved from the back of one braiding shop and into her own on a whim and a prayer. She had the talents – Doris had been braiding before she knew what braiding was – and she had some money saved up. Opening up her own store only made sense. But that year that followed? The year of waking up at 6 a.m. and closing up shop at 9 p.m., the year of watching customers flock to rival salons – even to the other hairdresser who shared her storefront, the year of no income, no sleep, no prospects, it would take a toll on anyone. But not Doris.

“I read the Bible from front to back that year,” said Doris with a smile. “The whole thing, every page because I didn’t have customers. Of course I never lost faith.”

And her faith paid off – or she got lucky (though the born-again Christian would emphasize the former). One day, one event, led to a snowballing of good fortune – but to get to that, you have to understand how Doris ended up in Kenyatta Market in the first place.

She started with just one shop. Well more specifically, Doris started in the back of one shop.

That’s not quite right either – Doris started by selling fruits and vegetables, waking up at midnight and collapsing in bed at 9pm. But before that, Doris was a college student studying accounting, and before that, she was a housewife raising her three children. Much, much before that, she was a schoolgirl, doing her friends’ braids late at night. Doris would giggle, pressing her fingers deep into trusting scalps. Maybe that’s where her path to Kenyatta Market began.

Doris never thought she’d end up here. She recognizes this even after 11 years working within the market. To get to one of her storefronts, she weaves through the stalls, placing her feet on one side of the drainage system, waving hello to her butcher, her sons’ barber, the tailor where she got the bright yellow dress she wore that day. It’s safe to say Kenyatta Market is now her home. Life, with its twists and turns led her here, with three stores, 20-40 customers a day and 15 employees. And it really is a Cinderella story – to go from struggling to feed your family to building your own house, paying your child’s university tuition and planning on opening a brick-and-mortar spa in town.

Doris calls it a blessing, gesturing behind her as she sits and gets her nails done in front of her packed shop. It must be the influence of an otherworldly power, she said.

“I thank God and God alone.”



Carly Steyer


How it started

So let’s begin by trying to understand that school girl, the one who harnessed her talent without realizing its potential.

Doris grew up on a farm a few hours east of Nairobi. One of her responsibilities was to take her father’s cows out to graze. As you may guess, Doris’ story does not include a passion for farm life – but those days on the field led to one of her first memories braiding. As the cows ate, Doris would pluck at the grass, taking a handful and twisting and knotting until her name was yelled and it was time to return with the livestock.

“No one really taught me how to braid,” Doris laughed. “It’s like I was born with the skill.”

In school, grass was traded for human locks – her friends volunteered their scalps to Doris’ craft – and, although she did not view it yet as a job, she happily braided her classmates' hair late into the night.

But braiding fell into Doris’ rearview mirror when she left high school and got married to her husband. While he worked, Doris took care of their kids and began taking night classes at the local college. She wanted to be an accountant but she only got one year in.

“I studied CPA [accounting],” said Doris, “but then [my husband] lost his job. I had no alternative but to stop.”

Even then, the market wasn’t her first foray into entrepreneurship. She started selling fruits and vegetables to local vendors, waking up at midnight to source the produce and ending her day at 9 p.m.. Eventually, the nights and days of endless work caught up to Doris’ system. One day, she just collapsed. She was later diagnosed with pneumonia, likely due to the chill evening air Doris worked in day in and day out.

“It wasn’t a life to live,” said Doris.

She, of course, was forced to take a few weeks off from work to recover. At that time she was in and out of the hospital, she couldn’t breathe –

“I couldn’t stand either. I couldn’t do anything.”


Blessings on blessings

It doesn’t feel natural for Doris to stay in bed all day – it never has. Even as a child, she’d always find something to do, a way to keep her hands busy. But being as ill as Doris was, it wasn’t like she had much of a choice. The time in bed allowed for some self-reflection, people-watching, and a chance to think about her next career move.

She began to notice one of her female neighbors leaving her house at 9 a.m. and returning to the compound around 4 p.m.. The only thing more appealing than the hours? The fact that this neighbor seemed to be making money. A lot more than Doris used to make.

“I asked her about her job, and she told me, and then I asked her if she could bring me to Kenyatta Market. She said yes.”

So that’s where Doris’ entry into Kenyatta Market really all began. It started slow. Doris was hired as a finisher – someone who finishes braiding the ends of someone’s hair. It wasn’t much – as a newcomer and a finisher, she made a fraction of what other braiders made – but she’s a fast learner (“I always have been.”) Within a few months, she was moving up the ranks and even drawing in clientele of her own.

Eventually, Doris had too many clients to operate out of someone elses’ shop (“the store owner and I had… let’s say disagreements”) and she bounced to a few other salon’s with openings. Then the timing was right; someone was selling their shop and Doris had just the right amount to purchase it.

Things seemed beautiful, like everything was just falling into place – and then they were bleak. Although Doris had that initial influx of clients, she still didn't have enough clients to fill her own; and the customers she did have started to move away.

So came the year of silence. Of praying. Of reading. Of sweeping blown-in hair out of her empty shop. Of sitting each and every day waiting for customers who did not come. It’s a wonder Doris didn’t give up – and it’s a wonder she hadn’t sold her store before her big break came through.

It started with random customers who’d pop into her shop on a whim.

“I would say welcome (karibu) and they would just come in,” said Doris. “God’s work.”



Omoke Ogao

More magic

Buses in Nairobi are characterized by blaring hip-hop music and flashy lights. It’s a chaos that you learn to get used to – but it isn’t conducive to conversations. Not that that’s ever stopped Doris.

One morning on her commute into the market, Doris sat next to a nurse from Kenyatta Hospital. Over the loud music and the jerky bus stops, she managed to convince that woman to let her do her hair. Like with every other client, Doris killed it.

After that, the client recommended Doris to her colleagues. Then a few months later, there was another random client – who turned out to be an influencer (“I didn’t even have an Instagram account at the time,” chuckled Doris. “But like I said – I learn quickly”). Her free advertisement led to a deal with Safaricom and Techno: Doris was tasked with organizing the braiding of over 20 models. Then the owner of Darling Beauty, one of the top suppliers of braiding supplies in Kenya, offered her a 300,000 shilling line of credit, which turned into a 1 million shilling line of credit. Then Doris opened her next store. Then her next one.

“This market… it’s just a blessing to me,” said Doris. “It’s God’s will.”

And if you know Doris, you know she doesn’t let the blessings stop at her. She brought her sister, her cousin, even her daughter (on school vacations of course) into the market to make some extra money. It’s not that Doris’ talents are genetic either: to teach her sister how to braid, she would “literally get hold of her hands and fingers and show her the movements,” Doris laughed. “Now she loves it.”

Other women have just shown up at her store looking for a job. Doris offers to teach them.

“You don't have to be learned to know how to braid,” said Doris, referring to a lack of education. “That’s why this market helps so many women.”

If you ever watch Doris wind through the market on the way to one of her three shops, her devotion is evident. She stops and says hello to another braider, holding three large packets of hair. They stop and chat for a bit, Doris laughing at something the other braider says, before continuing on down the path.

“Really, we can do anything in the market. Any type of hairstyle, any type of braids. I just wish people knew how talented we are.” Doris paused, clasping her hands in front of her pelvis. “That’s what I want people to understand from my story – how we can really do anything.”


Visit Doris in Kenyatta Market's stall 221

Follow her on Instagram

Call her for appointments at 0724780932



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(you can also reach us at natachi@ndezacollective.com)

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© 2023 by Natachi Onwuamaegbu

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