A day before the highly anticipated Group ‘A’ match between Harambee Stars and Zambia in the 2024 African Nations Championship (Chan), Josephat Ochieng’s cramped shop, Sport Fanatik, located in Imenti House in Nairobi’s Central Business District, is heaving like a stadium on match day. The air is thick with the smell of new fabric, sweat, and impatience.

Customers spill into the corridor, jostling shoulder to shoulder – some tugging jerseys over their heads, others drumming fingers as they wait for their names to be branded. Mr Ochieng, the proprietor, is both cashier and ringmaster of this frenzy, barking totals, counting notes, nodding at orders. Three young men weave through the crush of bodies like midfielders in tight space, while behind them, a woman feeds names into a pressing machine that engraves names of Harambee Stars players with the urgency of a referee’s whistle.

“I’ve been in this business for 10 years,” Ochieng says, barely pausing as another customer thrusts cash his way.

“But this is the best time. The demand is higher than ever. People want the Kenyan jersey more than anything else.”

The surge in jersey sales in Nairobi, according to Ochieng’ is not random. It is fuelled by the pure electricity of Harambee Stars’ campaign in 2024 Chan. The team now sits atop Group ‘A’ with seven points after two wins and a draw. The team stunned Democratic Republic of Congo and Morocco, both of whom have won the title twice, and registered a gritty 1–1 draw with Angola.

Alfred Mwangi, a football fanatic who usually buys his jerseys at the shop says that the mix of grit, history-making glory (Kenya has qualified for the quarter-finals on its debut), and the tantalising prospect of finishing top of the group in the final match against Zambia is one of the reasons why he is buying the iconic Kenyan jersey not only for himself but also for his family.

“It (today’s match) means a lot to us, and that is why we have decided to get this ahead of the game. Everybody in the family must wear this because we love football,” Mwangi says.

It is not just business, it is patriotism monetised. For years, Kenya’s football fans wore the colours of Arsenal, Manchester United, or Chelsea. Sale of merchandise of English Premier League teams dominated Nairobi’s football economy. Now, Harambee Stars have shifted the narrative. A string of spirited performances on the continental stage has fuelled belief, and belief is expensive. Each jersey sells at between Sh1,500 and Sh1,800. For Sh50 more, the buyer’s name or the name of a favourite player is stitched into the red, green, and black.

As Ochieng puts it, “The ongoing games have promoted us a lot. Demand for Kenyan jerseys has spiked. Previously, customers bought Premier League jerseys. But with Harambee Stars’ performance, most are now buying local jerseys, even non-Kenyans.”

A few streets away, along Sheikh Karume Road, the story is the same but stripped of polish. Hawker Alex Wambua, in his 20s, unloads bales of jerseys from his vendor. His stall is a patch of pavement, his shop a spread of plastic sheets. Here, the rules are different. He hawks with one eye on customers and the other on city askaris.

“This is the best time of the year,” he says, arranging jerseys priced at Sh400, children’s tracksuits at Sh500.

“We’re not even supposed to be here due to the kanjos (askaris), but we must. Every good performance from Harambee Stars brings a flood of customers. They come early, they want the colours, they want to belong.”

Previously, when he bought the jerseys from his vendor, there was less demand for the Kenyan jerseys. Harambee Stars’ performances have become more than statistics on a scoreboard; they have become triggers for commerce. When the team wins, traders win. When the Stars shine, businesses eat. Nairobi’s economy, in these weeks, beats to the rhythm of football.

And it is not just jerseys. The football economy is rippling through transport, feeding matatus the way it feeds hawkers. On Tom Mboya Street, stage manager Eric Oduor of Expreso Limited can tell from a distance when it’s match day at Kasarani. The matatus multiply, engines growl longer, cash boxes rattle louder.

“On normal days we make about Sh9,000,” Oduor says. “But on match days, we make Sh12,000 to Sh15,000. Demand surges. We charge Sh100 fare instead of Sh50. Customers don’t complain, they just want to get to Kasarani.”

The same story plays out at Afya Centre, where 14-seater matatus ferry fans headed for Nyayo Stadium. Ezekiel Matara of Lucky Transporters Sacco admits match days are their golden ticket. “We raise fares from Sh50 to Sh70. People are excited; they don’t mind paying. The energy is different. Everyone wants to be part of the games.”

At the Kenya National Archives along Moi Avenue, where a giant screen has been mounted for fans to catch the action live, the football fever has spilled into the streets. Amid the crowd of chanting supporters, Jane Kathiani, a hawker selling sweets and bottled water, is riding the wave.

“Before, I would close by 7 p.m.,” she says, her hands busy exchanging coins as the crowd swells around her. “But ever since they put up this screen, I’m forced to restock because customers keep coming even late into the night.”

For some, it is pride. For others, survival. For everyone, it is profit in motion. Football is no longer just a game; it is Nairobi’s newest economy, driven by hope, hype, and the sweat of a team that has finally given Kenyans a reason to believe.