Mashini Estate: Beautiful air, terrible roads and one brave matatu

We already know that house-hunting in this modern-day show is a process that shows you character development that often starts with optimism, a budget, and a prayer.

You almost always end up being shown shege with houses with tiles that look like laminated checkerboards and toilets that seem to have survived a war. So when I stumbled on a house in Lanet’s Mashini, it felt like divine intervention.

Spacious. Quiet. Air is so fresh that it probably reversed my carbon footprint. Sukuma from the neighbour's farm. Even the cows here looked emotionally stable. But, of course, all good things must come with a caveat, and in Mashini it’s the road.

Calling it bad is disrespectful to bad roads. This one is worse. A road so rugged, it doesn’t lead you anywhere—it tests you. And somehow, this same road borders the barracks and is supposed to welcome an airport someday.

Which airport, Bwana? You’d ask. Just the nonexistent one that we’ve only ever spoken about since 2019. At this point, huwa inanyongwa na mate for how often we speak of it.

Still, I settled in and convinced myself the road was good for my back posture (spoiler: it’s not). I figured transport wouldn’t be too hard. I was wrong.

The morning commute is where dreams go to retire. There’s one matatu. One. It picks old folks from Karandi- bless the owner, they move with the grace of people who owe time nothing.

By the time we’ve finished gathering everyone still brushing their teeth when we arrived, you’ll have already missed that 8 a.m. meeting at 8:20 a.m.

And in the rare ocassion that other matatus dare explore this route, the conductor whistles at you from two hills away like you’re a goat with selective hearing. So now you’re on the roadside doing star jumps trying to get his attention, looking like you're auditioning for “Mashini’s Next Top Passenger.”

Sometimes you even get on, start moving, then go back. Yes, reverse because someone else waved down the vehicle. And now you’re all headed back to pick them up.

But then night falls, and you’re forced to use nguvu za giza to guide you if you’re home late because clearly kuna penye pesa ya development iliishia.

People sleep early here, just not for my neighbor upstairs who seems to believe their sole purpose in this life is to rearrange furniture at 10 p.m. sharp.

Then there’s another uncultured one who clearly missed the memo on rural serenity and insists on blasting secular music at 7 a.m. like he’s paid to be your alarm.

Every morning is a concert you didn’t RSVP to. What do they say, you can remove the man from the village, but you can never really remove the village from the man? Sigh!

Then morning comes, and nature clocks in before you do. Birds chirp, cows moo, goats and sheep bleat in unison as fresh air wafts the smell of manure your way.

So you stay. Not because it’s convenient, but because it’s grounding. And sometimes, that’s the kind of madness you need.

As narrated by Elijah Njuguna.