The rise and rise of street food culture in Nairobi's estates

On the bustling streets of Nairobi, where the city’s dark alleys hum with activity, groups of Kenyans—young and old—gather casually, drink in hand, indulging in their favorite street delicacies.

The aroma of sizzling meat, deep-fried potatoes, and seasoned sauces fills the air, drawing in passersby eager to grab a quick bite.

For years, Nairobi has been home to an ever-growing street food culture, fueled by affordability, convenience, and taste.

From mutura, the beloved blood sausage, to the now-popular smokies and boiled eggs, vendors have taken over bus stops and sidewalks with their small white trolleys.

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Ogolla and his brother, his business partner, move swiftly, serving one customer after another.

“I’m busiest in the evenings compared to the daytime,” he says, flipping chapatis and stuffing them with smokies before drizzling them with sauce.

For Ogolla, business is steady throughout the day. He starts his operations in the afternoon, preparing bhajia and samosas before moving on to sausages and smokies.

“My business has grown much faster here in the estate compared to the CBD. There’s too much competition in town, and I wasn’t ready to constantly fight with City Council officers,” he explains.

When Ogolla started his business, he only had a small trolley and limited stock—just smokies, sausages, and boiled eggs.

Over time, his stall has expanded into what feels like a mini fast-food restaurant, except customers eat while standing or on the go.

“I started my business with just Sh3,000, which covered food, cooking oil, and other essentials. Back then, prices were lower, so I was able to get started with just a three-litre bottle of oil,” he recalls.

He initially borrowed a trolley from a friend but later managed to upgrade to a better setup.

Unlike some street food vendors, Ogolla takes hygiene seriously. He and his brother ensure their stall is clean, and their food is prepared and served in a sanitary environment.

“Selling beside the road doesn’t mean customers should eat dirty food,” he says.

For Ogolla, choosing to operate in an estate rather than in town has been the best decision. He earns more than he did before, with prices starting at an affordable Sh50.

“I have a degree in computer science, but with Kenya’s high unemployment rate, I had to find an alternative way to make a living.

“Yes, I went to school, but this business provided me with a faster way to earn money, no matter how little—it’s my hard-earned income.”

While moving to estates may offer some relief, it limits customer reach and revenue potential, a common challenge for many street vendors who rely on high foot traffic to maximise sales.

Street food in Nairobi has evolved significantly, adapting to consumer preferences. Traditionally, mutura reigned supreme, sold in dimly lit corners and paired with kachumbari.

Today, new favourites such as smochas—smokies wrapped in chapati with various sauces—have captured the market.

These snacks cater to Kenya’s fast-paced urban lifestyle, providing quick, affordable meals for workers, students, and late-night revellers.

Despite the booming demand, inflation has significantly impacted street food vendors. Kenya’s annual inflation rate has fluctuated over the years, hitting 9.2 per cent in 2022, before dropping to 3.5 per cent in February 2025.

The most affected commodities have been food products, with the prices of meat, chicken, and cooking oil surging.

“In 2020, I bought cooking oil for Sh300 per litre. Now, it costs nearly Sh600,” says Ogolla. “I have no choice but to increase my prices, which drives some customers away.”

Just across the street from Ogolla’s stall, Muthoma, a seasoned mutura vendor, has built his own loyal customer base.

His spot, right in front of a bar, attracts a diverse crowd—young and old, drunk and sober, all eager to grab a bite. Dressed in a white apron stained with grease and sauce, Muthoma expertly flips his blood sausages on the grill.

Beside him sits a wooden chopping board with neatly sliced pieces of mutura, served with salt, kachumbari, and ugali. Customers dig in without hesitation, hands reaching for their share, hygiene concerns tossed aside for the moment.

“Mutura is a great business,” Muthoma says. “I started with just Sh2,000, and thanks to this bar here, business has been nothing but lucrative. I always have customers, especially in the evenings.”

He acknowledges that hygiene is not always a priority for his customers.

“I’m not saying I’m dirty,” he says, “but with the nature of this business, our aprons are bound to get messy. That doesn’t stop people from eating. They love mutura, and they always will.”

For him, mutura has been more than just a source of income—it has sustained his family.

“This business has fed my family and put my children through school. I’ve been here in Ngumba for the last 10 years, long before these smocha stalls popped up.

“My customers have stuck with me, and I’m grateful. People have been eating mutura for the longest time, and I don’t think they’ll stop anytime soon.”

With the growing popularity of street food, however, comes increasing scrutiny. In town, City officers are constantly clashing with street hawkers, and the most recent wave of crackdowns has seen vendors being ordered out of the CBD due to overcrowding.

This shift has pushed many entrepreneurs to relocate their businesses to estates, where they face fewer regulatory battles.

“City County officers seize carts and fine us up to Sh5,000,” says Ogolla. “Sometimes, they take everything, and you have to start from scratch.”

Despite the challenges, the street food industry remains lucrative. Vendors selling mutura, smokies, sausages, bhajia, and samosas have created a thriving informal economy.

Similarly, the price of beef and sausages has doubled over the last five years, forcing vendors to adjust portions or find alternative ingredients. Customers, on the other hand, are feeling the pinch.

“I used to buy mutura for Sh10, but now the same portion goes for Sh50,” says Ned, a loyal street food enthusiast in Nairobi’s CBD.

“I still love it, but I can’t eat it as often as before.”

Earnings vary widely depending on location and time of day. On a good day, a street food vendor can make anywhere between Sh3,000 to Sh10,000, while a slow day might bring in as little as Sh1,000.

The profitability of these businesses is heavily influenced by market trends, competition, and fluctuations in food prices.

“Since the bar stays open late, I keep my business running until 1am, earning approximately Sh8,000 on a good day. My customers are always drinking and eating, so there’s a steady flow of business,” says Muthoma.

“However, I do experience losses, especially when rumours spread that mutura is made from dog or cat meat. Such talk discourages some people from eating, costing me a few customers here and there. Competition is also tough.”

The appeal of street food businesses lies in their relatively low startup costs and high demand. Many young entrepreneurs, unable to secure formal employment, turn to selling food as a means of survival.

Others see it as a stepping stone to larger ventures, using street vending as a way to build capital for future business expansion.

Street food has also become an attractive business for its flexibility. Unlike restaurants, vendors do not have to worry about rent, electricity bills, or staff salaries.

The ability to set up shop almost anywhere and cater to a steady stream of customers makes it a viable option for many.

Unlike restaurants that require significant capital, street food businesses can be launched with as little as Sh5,000 to Sh20,000. A basic setup includes a trolley, food stock, and a gas burner.

With Nairobi’s growing population and increasing cost of living, more people opt for affordable street meals instead of expensive restaurant dining.

Vendors can easily relocate to high-traffic areas during peak hours, maximising sales.