I would have laughed it off as an unattainable fantasy ten years ago if someone had told me that I would eventually become the landlord of the exact building I used to patrol. I was a night watchman back then, making just enough money to get by, having no contacts, no savings, and most definitely no chance of ever getting out of poverty. Every night, I would stand outside that four-storey Ruiru apartment building with my eyes wide open and my flashlight in hand.
I was hardly noticed by the renters. Most wouldn’t even say hello to me unless something was wrong. I didn’t hold it against them; to them, I was just the uniformed man who remained hidden. However, I studied them every night when they got home from work. I observed their way of life, their demeanors, and their rent payments to a landlord I had never met. Not because of its size or beauty, but because it stood for everything I lacked—stability, authority, and ownership—that building captivated me…. CONTINUE READING
