Wasted lives in rusty kiosks of Maringo Estate; once a gem

The morning air is chilly and brisk; a flock of crows fly back and forth over the deciduous yellow jacaranda trees, with its fallen foliage flowers making a good impression of a tattered yellow and brown carpet on the ground. A chorus of birds rises above matatu hoots, with conductors whistling and shouting ‘beba, beba tao’.