The discordant fences of jagged rusty iron sheets have formed miniature unkempt prisons around the once airy residence. This has created a slum and paled an estate that was once home to some of East Africa’s finest politicians.
To access this cradle of democracy, a visitor must jump around numerous puddles of stinking water and weather the zombie-like gazes from small groups of stoned faced youth. Here, miraa is the holy communion, washed down by liberal sips from glasses of potent cheap gin around open-air coffee tables.