by Natachi Onwuamaegbu
with help from Dianne Saliamo
Margaret in her salon at Kenyatta Market. Photos by Elsa N. Kariuki
Margaret Ogare never had children.
It’s not that she didn’t want to. No, once upon a time she dreamed of children. She dreamed of motherhood in the same way she dreamed of heaven or Jesus or prosperity. She dreamed of motherhood until she discovered fibroids decorating her uterus and she was left without the ability to have children. Then her dreams changed.
“It was a plan from God,” said Margaret, still with a smile on her face. “Everything in this life is a plan from God.”
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One of the first things you’ll notice about Margaret’s salon is the height of the ceilings. Then the music, then the doilies. Her current doily of choice is embroidered with an image of Santa Claus and lays draped over her 2002 stereo system. A television, likely from the same year, sits high above the ground, notched onto a shelf. The light is white and bright, beaming into the alley below.
It’s all for the customer, Margaret says. That’s who she’s catering towards now – and in many ways, she treats them like she would her children. Margaret uses braiding as a form of mothering, as a form of care. And it’s not just her customers she takes under her wing and loves loves loves. It’s her niece and nephew. Her siblings. Her employees. Even strangers she meets dealing with fertility issues.
“Women with fibroids should just talk to me,” said Margaret. “And I can help them.”
Margaret poses with a photo album of past customers. Photo by Elsa N. Kariuki.
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Like many braiders, there was life before Covid-19 and there is the now. Now means less customers, less economic stability, less customer movement day in and day out. Before meant a steady flow of income, consistent customers, money for her nephew’s college fund, and everything in between.
The now means Margaret struggles to take care of herself and her chosen children.
But let’s begin with life before Covid, before the market, before Nairobi.
Margaret and her five siblings grew up in a village in Kisumu. There she learned how to braid in the same way as many of her peers, with her knees deep in the grass, first practicing in the earth, then on her siblings.
She finished high school and got married in Kisumu to a wonderful man, a kind man, but a man with a tendency to drink. Just a few years after she moved to Nairobi, her husband died of alcohol poisoning. Then, just a few months after that, the pain in her uterus became too much for Margaret to push through. She went to the doctor and there they recommended for her uterus to be removed. Margaret conceded.
“The money I made from the market – it made this surgery possible,” Margaret smiled. Over the years, the blessings of the surgery have wiped away most of the grief. Though there are still tinges of it, Margaret smiles.
“Everything happens for a reason.”
Margaret (salon owner, center) being interviewed by Natachi Onwuamaegbu (project lead, editor in chief, right) and Dianne Saliamo (executive producer, left). Photo by Elsa N. Kariuki.
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Margaret’s stall is usually full – though these days, it’s not typically with customers. Her employees sit in plastic chairs gifted by “Darlings” beauty company years and years before. Margaret still expresses her gratitude even now.
After 15 years of wear and tear, the backs of the chairs are worn out. Before you’re allowed to sit at Margaret’s salon, she places one cushion on the seat and two stacked on the back. If you have a jacket, she’ll hang it for you on a thin wire hanger, removing her own purse from the wall. That’s who Margaret is.
“In our salon you have to relax,” said Margaret. “You have to listen to our customer. You have to make them comfortable. That’s how they come back,” said Margaret.
Margaret’s stall is light, she plays music from a stereosystem and has pictures and paintings of Jesus Christ. The stall feels like a home – and Margaret works hard to make it that way.
But even though there’s a lightness to her storefront, Margaret is struggling. There are no other words for it. The people who she considers her children are struggling. She was supposed to be able to send her niece and nephew to college, and now she can’t. Her much younger sister, who works with her in her stall, often sits without work, waiting and waiting and waiting. Her employees sometimes go multiple days in a row without a customer. There are times where Margaret cannot pay her rent.
And still, she smiles.
There’s a reason Margaret hasn’t left the market: it’s home. It gave her distractions from grief, money for surgery, proxy children. There’s a structure to the market. She likes the other braiders and she respects the chairman. And, as Margaret enters her sixth decade of life, she has high hopes for what life in the market will entail.
She wants her customers back (plus more), she wants to own her stall, she wants to spend less time on her feet and more time at home.
“I do this all for you,” she said. “All for the customer. I owe everything to them.”
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Visit Margaret for coco locks, box braids, sisterlocks, and everything in between at Stall 40 in Kenyatta Market, or call her at 0722659266
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