House hunting in Nairobi typically starts off on a lazy Saturday afternoon towards end of the month. You stroll around areas you like trying to spot ‘Letting Now’ signage posted on the gates or on a top floor, complete with a variation of the same logo all real estate agencies use and phone contact. When you spot one and call, the fella on the other end tells you he isn’t around so he texts you the caretaker’s number who also happens to be unavailable.
A helpful guard lets you in, showing you an empty parking slot, as he makes frantic calls to whoever is in charge of tours.
You step out to take in the surroundings. The estate looks nice; cabro pavements, a convenience store, laundry shop, kindergarten, and even a water refill shop. The only vegetation in the area is frail-looking flowers along the walls. No trees. No vegetation above knee height.
A lady with terrible hair, loosely fitting clothes, and a terrible attitude comes up to you.
“Habari! Nani anataka nyumba?”
“Mzuri, sisi ndio tunataka.”
” Nyinyi wote?”
“Yeah, tuko pamoja…She is my wife.”
“Na wewe ni agent?” She says pointing at the gentleman behind you.
“Hapana, mimi ni rafiki yao. Ndio nimewaleta.”
Silence. She checks you out head to toe, perhaps hoping you would turn back and leave her to enjoy the afternoon in peace.
“Mnataka nyumba gani?”
” Tunatafuta three bedroom. Mko nazo?”
” Hakuna three bedrooms. Hapa tuko na two pekee yake.”
“Haiya, na watu wako na family wanaishi huku?”
” Sindio, wengi wako na watoto wawili.”
” Sawa tuonyeshe.”
She leads you to an elevator and presses up the arrow. A bunch of kids are playing nearby speaking in a cocktail of foreign accents. The hallmark of sophistication on this side of the city.
The elevator doors open up. You all step in. She presses 3. As the door closes you see a notice prominently stuck in the middle of outlining that it is prohibited from carrying furniture.
“Sasa watu wanabeba aje vitu wakihama?”
” Unabeba na stairs ama uvute na kamba.”
” Mpaka top floor?”
” Wee! Unaona hii scratch?” She offers while pointing at the celling. “Mtu alibeba seat ikaguza hapa. Sisi wote tulikatwa salary ya one month kulipia damage.”
You finally step out of the third floor, which has three dwelling units. She fumbles with the keys, opens the middle door.
You walk into what looks like an open-plan kitchen and dining area.
“Living room iko wapi?”
” Si ndio hii!” She says pointing at the tiny room.
You walk in. Stand in the middle of the room trying to mentally position how your household furniture would fit in.
The kitchen area doesn’t have a provision for a washing machine, dishwasher, or fridge. What’s available is space for a four-plate gas burner. You may have to stash the appliances in the corridor.
What is supposed to be a living room can only fit a 5-seater. Should you recline any of the seats then your toes might poke cooking pots and spill food through the window. The balcony is purely cosmetic. You cant step into it. There is no room for a dining table or stands to display the art collection.
Nothing outstanding about the bedrooms. You can’t fit in a bed and dressing table or an office desk in either. The only saving grace is that they are ensuite.
Disappointed, you take the stairs down to the main gate. Bid her farewell head back home. The road out of the estate is tarmacked, however, there are sections with potholes huge enough to serve as baby swimming pools during the rainy season. Plus all manner of kiosks have encroached the road making it painstakingly slow to drive least you knock down pedestrians. It’s unfathomable that people pay KSh. 40,000/month to live in such an estate.
For the last three months, I have been looking for a place to move into. I have joined tens of Facebook groups related to housing, browsed through all major real estate websites, subcontracted house hunting agents, and physically checked out more than two dozen units without much success.
What started off as a fun activity has morphed into an unrewarding full-time weekend chore. It appears that rental blocks built after 2018 are exceedingly small.
Typically, I do a cost-benefit analysis before making any decision with a financial implication because getting value for money for every coin I spend is close to my heart.
It’s evident, the closer you live to Nairobi CBD the more you have to compromise in terms of apartment size, green spaces, and general quality of life unless you are shelling upwards of 60k in rent. This has left me in a dilemma. I have to choose between moving into a claustrophobic apartment in neighborhoods perceived to be upscale hence paying ridiculous monthly rent or moving to smaller towns like Ngong, Nakuru, or Diani where I can enjoy beautiful scenery, spacious homes, and fresh food at a bargain.
Are you happy with the apartment you are currently staying in? Is it worth it?
By Mark Maish
