By DAMACKLINE ONDICHO

Imagine growing up in a family where every ordinary day carries the possibility of an emergency. Where a simple walk to work, a climb up a tree or a drive down the road can suddenly turn into a hospital visit. For my family, that has been our reality for years.

My father has lived with epilepsy for long. It is a condition that has shaped not only his life, but also the lives of everyone around him. Epilepsy does not simply bring epileptic attacks, it brings fear, uncertainty and at times deep emotional pain. For us, it has meant hospital corridors, sleepless nights and learning responsibility earlier than most children do.

My father is a mechanic, owning a small spare parts store and he is the sole breadwinner of our family. He is a husband and a father of three , myself and my two younger sisters. I am now at university, my second sister is in Form Three, and the youngest is in Grade Nine. But our journey to this point has not been easy.

There were times when my father would be involved in accidents caused by sudden epileptic attacks. Often, he would not even remember what had happened. When he got injured, he would be admitted to hospital and my mother would have to stay by his side. That left us at home alone, learning to cook, clean and look after one another in ways children are rarely prepared for.

I still remember the August holiday of 2023. My father climbed a tree to pick avocados. Moments later, he fell. He broke his leg so badly that doctors had to insert a metal plate during surgery. For weeks, our mother remained in hospital with him. At home, we tried to be brave. But spending two weeks without seeing either parent is not something any child easily forgets.

Epilepsy does not only attack the body, it also attacks the spirit. My father has been a patient in many hospitals not because the disease worsened, but because of injuries sustained during epileptic attacks. Falling anywhere, anytime, without warning, is a heavy burden to carry.

There were moments when he would lose hope and question his own worth. “What is the importance of living when you live with pain every day?” he once asked. After going for a casual job and failing to reach his destination because he collapsed on the way, he began to doubt himself even more. At times he would ask, “How can I be a useful and hardworking person like this?”

Even when we tried to comfort him, the frustration lingered. After his surgery, he began taking phenobarbital to control the epileptic attacks. The medication helped, but recovery was slow. Staying at home for months, unable to work, made him short-tempered and withdrawn. It was difficult for him to accept that his body could no longer function the way it once had.

Six months later, he started walking again slowly, with a limp, using crutches. But he was smiling. It was not the walk of a defeated man. It was the walk of someone who had survived.

Gradually, life began to stabilize. My father learned to accept himself as a person living with epilepsy. He became more careful and more disciplined with his medication. Though the disease remains unpredictable, he has developed resilience. And as a family, so have we.

Growing up in such circumstances has taught me lessons no textbook could ever provide. I have learned responsibility, patience and empathy. I have learned that strength is not measured by physical ability alone, but by the courage to continue despite limitations.

Epilepsy is often misunderstood in our communities. Some see it as a curse or something to fear. But it is a medical condition that requires understanding, proper treatment and emotional support. Families living with it need encouragement, not discrimination.

Today, as a university student, I carry my father’s story with pride. His journey has shaped my determination to succeed. Where I am today is not just for me , it is for the man who kept standing up after every fall.

Living with epilepsy in the family means living with uncertainty. But it also means living with courage. Sometimes courage is simply choosing to rise again, even when you know you might fall.

The Writer is a Second Year BA Journalism and Mass Communication Student at Chuka University 

By VICTORIA JUMA 

As the cost of living rises and financial support becomes increasingly uncertain, many Kenyan university students are turning to the thriving second-hand clothing trade to sustain themselves while pursuing their education.

At dawn in Nairobi’s bustling Gikomba Market, sellers navigate the narrow pathways stacked with tightly wrapped bales of second-hand clothes. The air fills with the sounds of bargaining, rustling fabrics and the occasional cheer when someone discovers a fashionable gem hidden among the piles.

Among the seasoned traders are an unexpected group of entrepreneurs and university students. In a few hours, many of them will be seated in lecture halls attending classes. But before lectures begin, they are already working, selecting jackets, jeans and shirts they hope to resell later in the day to fellow students on campus.

Across universities in Kenya, selling mitumba imported second-hand clothing has quietly become one of the most common side hustles among students trying to keep up with the rising cost of living.

Turning Necessity into Opportunity

University life often comes with financial pressure. Rent, food, transport and learning materials can quickly stretch students' budgets beyond their limits.

Even for students who receive financial support from parents or government loans, delays or limited funding often leave them searching for additional sources of income.

According to research by the global survey firm GeoPoll, about 71% of Kenyan youth engage in side hustles to supplement their income, highlighting a growing culture of entrepreneurship among young people aged between 18 and 35.

Within universities, this trend has become increasingly visible. Students are running small businesses ranging from photography and baking to online freelancing. Yet mitumba trading stands out because of its accessibility.

With just a few thousand shillings, a student can buy a small batch of clothes and sell them at a profit. For many young traders, identifying fashionable pieces such as oversized jackets, vintage denim and branded sportswear has become part of the business.

“Students want to look stylish but most cannot afford clothes from high-end fashion stores,” says Brian Mwangi, a third-year university student who sells thrifted jackets and hoodies on campus. “Mitumba allows them to dress stylishly without spending too much.”

Global conversations about sustainable fashion have also contributed to the popularity of thrift clothing, making second-hand outfits not only affordable but also socially acceptable among young consumers.

A Student’s Hustle Story

For Faith Mutua, a second-year communication student, selling mitumba began as a simple way to solve a pressing problem that is rent.

“I realised the money I was getting from home could not cover all the expenses,” Mutua says. “After paying rent and buying food, there was almost nothing left.”

Mutua started small, buying a few trendy ladies tops and dresses from  the Chuka local  market using KSh2,000 she had saved. She washed and ironed them before posting photos on her WhatsApp status. Within a few days, most of the clothes were sold.

Encouraged by the demand, she later began sourcing more fashionable pieces from Nairobi’s Gikomba Market, one of the country’s largest hubs for second-hand clothing.

Today, she sells jackets, vintage jeans and hoodies to fellow students, sometimes making enough profit to cover all her expenses. “Balancing business and school is not always easy,” she says. “But the hustle helps me avoid constantly asking my parents for money.”

Beyond the financial benefits, Mutua says the experience has also taught her practical skills such as budgeting, marketing and customer relations, lessons she believes will remain valuable long after graduation.

Balancing Books and Business

Despite its advantages, running a small business while pursuing a university degree is challenging. Student traders often divide their time between attending lectures, sourcing new stock and marketing their products.

A typical day might involve morning classes, afternoon trips to markets and evening hours spent advertising clothes online or delivering orders around campus. The balancing act becomes even more challenging during exam periods when academic responsibilities increase.Yet many students say the hustle is worth the effort.

Apart from generating income, running a small business equips them with practical skills such as negotiation, budgeting and time management. “These are things you don’t learn in class,” says Mwangi. “But they help you understand how business really works.”

The popularity of mitumba trading among students also reflects the broader importance of the second-hand clothing industry in Kenya. According to research by the Institute of Economic Affairs, the sector supports more than two million livelihoods in the country, making it one of the largest sources of employment in the informal economy.

At the same time, youth unemployment remains a major challenge. Data from the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics shows that young people aged between 18 and 34 make up a significant share of the country’s unemployed population, pushing many to explore entrepreneurial paths.

As evening settles over university campuses, a few students remain outside hostels arranging thrifted jackets and dresses neatly on small racks, hoping to make one more sale before the day ends. Their stalls may be modest, but the determination behind them is unmistakable.

Moving between lecture halls during the day and mitumba racks in the evening, these students represent a generation navigating economic uncertainty with creativity and resilience proving that sometimes the path to opportunity begins with something as simple as a second-hand shirt.

The Writer is a Second Year BA Journalism and Mass Communication,  Chuka University