The Weight of the Basket in Kigali: A Story of Rising Costs
Mama Zawadi adjusted the cloth pad on her head, the weight of the charcoal briquettes in the woven basket pressing down. The usual ache in her shoulders felt heavier today, mirroring the knot in her stomach. The price of charcoal had crept up again this week, another sliver of her meager earnings swallowed by the ever-hungry market in Kigali, Rwanda.
Living in a small room in Nyamirambo with her two grandchildren, every franc counted – and lately, they weren't counting for much. The price of ishyimbo (beans), their staple, had become a weekly source of anxiety. Even the cost of the small kerosene lamp they used at night felt like a significant drain.
She remembered a time, not so long ago, when the money she earned selling a few handfuls of vegetables at the vibrant market and the occasional load of charcoal was enough. Enough for a simple meal each day, enough to send her youngest grandchild, little Keza, to the local primary school with a few coins for a mandazi. Now, it felt like she was running faster just to stay in the same place.
Yesterday, Keza had come home with a sad face, clutching a half-eaten sweet potato. "Mama Zawadi," she'd said, her voice small, "some of the other children didn't have any lunch today." It was a stark reminder that their struggles were not unique.
As Mama Zawadi walked the familiar dusty path towards the market, the vibrant colours of Kigali seemed muted. The laughter and chatter felt a little less joyful. She saw others, their faces etched with the same worry, haggling fiercely over small piles of produce. The cost of living was a weight they all carried.
She thought of her eldest grandchild, Sibo, who had dropped out of secondary school last year. There simply wasn't enough money for fees, uniform, and books. Now, he tried to find odd jobs, carrying goods at the market or helping at construction sites, but the work was irregular and the pay barely sufficient. The rising costs were stealing their future, one franc at a time.
Later, as the sun began to dip below the hills, casting long shadows across Kigali, Mama Zawadi counted her earnings. It was a little less than she'd hoped. Enough for a small bag of beans and maybe a few sweet potatoes, but the thought of the next day, and the next, hung heavy in the air. Every transaction was a careful calculation.
As she walked home, the weight of the empty space in her basket felt just as significant as the weight it had carried earlier. The cost of living wasn't just about numbers; it was about the weight on her shoulders, the worry in her heart, and the uncertain future for her grandchildren in Kigali. It was the constant calculation of how to stretch every franc, every resource, to meet the most basic of human needs. And in that struggle, Mama Zawadi knew she was not alone.
BY Denish Ondieki
X @OndiekiDen11880
Fb/ Jeremiah mogire
http://www.youtube.com/@DenishOndieki
Comments
Post a Comment