By S, KNA
A different kind of economy, characterized by the hammer strikes, the scent of sawdust, and the sound of sewing machines, is thriving in the dusty trading centres of Tindiret sub county.
Here, the Juakali sector has become the heartbeat of resilience, where ordinary men and women are building extraordinary futures with their hands and sheer determination.
Take John Kipkemoi of Songhor, for instance. From the small sparks in his welding shop come sturdy wheelbarrows and farm ploughs that serve hundreds of farmers. He started with little more than scrap metal and an old welding machine. Today, farmers queue at his shed, trusting his work more than any factory brand.
In Kapchorua, Mary Cheptoo sits behind her sewing machine, shaping bright kitenge fabrics into gowns and uniforms. “This machine is my lifeline,” she says, her hands moving quickly over the cloth. With it, she has managed to raise her children and keep her household afloat. Her story reflects the rising number of women making their mark in Juakali trades.
Carpentry has also carved out success stories. Peter Koech of Maraba is known for his elegant, hand-crafted furniture. Customers travel from as far as Eldoret to buy his chairs and beds. “People love that my designs are simple but strong,” he says with a smile, sanding down a freshly made table.
The Juakali world is also where mentorship is alive. Samwel Rono, a young welder in Kobujoi, not only makes gates and water tanks but also trains school leavers in the trade. For him, Juakali is more than survival—it’s a way of shaping the next generation.
For Grace Jepkorir, Juakali means preserving culture. From beads and sisal, she makes traditional jewelry and baskets that find their way to weddings and cultural festivals. Her work is both an income source and a reminder that Juakali is about identity as much as it is about business.
By the roadside at Chemelil junction, Elphas Kiptoo repairs bicycles with just a handful of tools. He may not have a big workshop, but his customers call him a lifesaver. Many travelers say their journeys would have ended halfway without his skills.
Old traditions still thrive in this world. Kipng’etich arap Too, one of the few remaining blacksmiths in Tindiret, forges pangas, hoes, and knives the way his father and grandfather did. “These tools will not bend,” he proudly tells customers, as sparks fly from his hammer.
In Tindiret market, David Maina runs a bustling garage where motorbikes line up daily. He employs three young men, passing on his know-how as they fix tuk-tuks and boda bodas. His garage is more than a workplace; it is a school of experience.
Not all Juakali ventures are about metal and wood. Florence Jepkosgei sells tea and chapati from a roadside stall in Kapsimotwo. To many, it looks like a small hustle, but her earnings have educated her children. “It is not much, but it keeps us going,” she says, serving hot tea to customers.
For these artisans, challenges are part of the journey. Rain seeps into iron-sheet sheds, tools wear out, and money for expansion is hard to come by. Yet their resolve is unshaken. Each day they show up, turning challenges into opportunities.
What keeps the sector alive is demand. Farmers want affordable tools, families want furniture, boda riders need quick repairs, and locals trust the hands they know. Juakali work, despite its struggles, fits perfectly into daily life in Tindiret.
It is also a story of pride. Many artisans say they would not trade their independence for anything else. “This work is mine,” says Kipkemoi, gesturing at his scrap metal and welding workshop. “Every item I make carries my name, and that’s better than a paycheck.”
In many ways, Juakali is the quiet backbone of Tindiret’s economy. It provides jobs, teaches skills, and gives families hope. The sector may not be glamorous, but it is deeply human, full of stories of survival, creativity, and dignity.
And so, under the sun and rain, with tools in hand and grit in their hearts, Juakali entrepreneurs of Tindiret continue to craft not just goods, but lives worth telling.