By Frank Bray.
Anna has been travelling to rehearsals for the last few weeks, hoping that in the end everything will look up. Her to-and-fro journey has been bearable only because she anticipated a good amount of compensation for her toil and trouble.
“These are the things that make the fight bearable,” she told herself once.
But tonight, she’s hit by news that shakes her world—news that pulls her miles away from her confidence in what she is doing.
She’s an actor.
Around her, the world shows that everything she’s doing is underappreciated. Kakamega County has abstained from funding its artists for the 2025 National Kenya Music and Cultural Festival, scheduled to be held between 30th November to 8th December 2025 in Moi Girls Highschool in Eldoret. Some of the Kakamega teams have decided to raise money and fund themselves in representing the county. Perhaps representing themselves, maybe. Some feel the county executives have better things to do.
“Na walikua wameeka kwa budget. Lakini sijui nini ilihappen.” one Kakamega group member says to a good friend of his in the middle of Eldoret town, where the festival is to take place in a day’s time.
“Sisi imebidi tujifund. Hata ndio tumetoka kutafutia watu pahalipa kulala.”
His passion is impressive. His honest zeal and dedication almost make you cry. After the chitchat, he walks away—a son of the soil keeping himself afloat with love and grit, against all odds. A child finding his way through life, even though seemingly neglected by the father.
“Sometimes I think I made a mistake,” another artist thinks to himself.
Just recently, the county theatre fiesta was concluded in Uasin Gishu. Selected teams have gone to Nairobi for the bigger event. Last year, the preceding teams received a good token that made the journey worthwhile. This year, the teams have gone and come back empty-handed, apart from the meals and accommodations provided.
“This is not right! Aren’t our artists the stepping stones?” one artist protests. “It’s us who give them the chance to flourish by our participation. Isn’t it so?” he concludes.
“Well, it’s an opportunity for you to learn, grow, and be exposed to new things,” another interjects.
That one has a point. Let’s all be thankful. Seriously. Even the little token everyone got during the trainings was a blessing in its own way. Because for an artist, even 500 shillings peeping around is a blessing.
“Lord, we are thankful for all the opportunities you avail to us as artists. We pray that we may never lack in this battle for survival,” someone prays.
Back to Anna. Tonight, her hopes have been shattered. She was expecting a compensation of about eight thousand shillings for the eight days of the county cultural festival hosted in Uasin Gishu County. Her producer has just texted the group:
“There’s only compensation for the people performing items on that particular day.”
Her heart sinks. “There must have been a budget for the whole team. Otherwise, what will the director eat? The scriptwriter? The producer? The weeks of line mastery? The meals? Transport? Do they know what it takes to have just a single item on stage?”
“Of course. There is supposed to be funding from the national government,” says the producer.
“They budgeted for the whole team. So what happened?” she laments.
“Hiyo ingine maybe wamejinyongea.”
But since no one can verify, it’s all left to speculation.
“The truth is, there is no money. The county is working on a tight schedule,” another cultural festival participant interjects confidently.
She feels helpless and doesn’t know what to say. In the three weeks she’s been attending rehearsals, she has spent around 250 shillings per day on fare and meals. After three weeks, that adds up to about 3,750 Ksh. She’ll only perform three days out of the ten festival days, and the county provides a facilitation of 1,000 Ksh per day. That gives her a total of 3,000 Ksh for the performances. Subtracting her expenses, she actually ends up short by 750 Ksh.
The artistic voyage goes on. But to keep the spirit of art alive, she says a prayer of gratitude to the county director of Uasin Gishu for the effort he has put into making the festival a success.
She has made peace with the fact that artistry needs hard work – sometimes unpaid. Sometimes you just get lucky. If good financial luck has not paid a visit this time, perhaps it will next time. But she’ll keep hoping that the Kenyan artistic economy rises from its dust and becomes a profitable space, perhaps for her. Until then, she must keep her heart hoping.
