Life. Seasoned with perspective.
“Sometimes the mind needs a quiet escape no one sees coming. In the stillness far from the city, something shifts within. What you find in that silence might surprise you.”
The road stretches dry and endless, a ribbon of dust twisting through thorny scrub. I slow often for goats and lazy cattle that wander across like they own the place, their bells clinking in the still air.
After a while the monotony turns soothing, a desert rhythm that quiets the mind. By the time I reach my gate, my welcome party is ready: Bandit and Judo, my German shepherds, tails whipping the air, leaping high enough to knock me off balance.
I love these dogs, but this trip isn’t about them. It’s about me — my weekend escape. What Gen Z calls kujiita mkutano — calling a meeting with yourself.
For months the pressure at work had been relentless, the kind that sneaks under your skin until your body waves a white flag. I dragged myself out of bed like a zombie, hitting snooze more times than I could count. Names of friends slipped my mind mid-conversation. You’d think exhaustion guarantees sleep, but no — I tossed and turned until dawn. Even my immune system and skin seemed to be at war. Something had to give.
Across Kenya the signs are everywhere. News bulletins carry stories of people buckling under unseen weight: a young professional found dead in his apartment, a student gone without warning. Depression and anxiety top the list of mental health issues. Statistics put prevalence at just over 10 percent, with those aged 18 to 35 most affected. But mental strain cares nothing for age or status. It sneaks in on everyone.
So I drove out of the city and off the grid. The plan was simple: disappear for a weekend and clear the fog in my head.
The small house in the drylands feels like an old friend, one who never complains when you go silent. After wrestling Bandit and Judo’s joy to reach the doorway, I drop my bag, sink into a chair, and finally breathe. No traffic, no deadlines — only a breeze that smells of dust and freedom. Work obligations keep me tethered, so the phone stays on but face down. The sun slides across the window in slow golden arcs. My heartbeat begins to match that pace.
Soon, I wander to the chicken coop, a surprisingly therapeutic ritual. Tim, my cheerful farm hand, greets me with a grin and updates me on the flock. We spot a cockerel with patchy feathers, victim of too many rooster wars. Without much debate we make a call: dinner is sorted.
Later, I take a long walk through the neighborhood, Maasai rungu in hand. The air is sharper here, every sound a little louder. I greet passersby, trade a few jokes, and let my thoughts drift. After more than an hour, I head back, dust on my shoes and calm in my chest. Evening brings ugali and chicken, simple and perfect. My body finally begins to unclench.
Sunday is slower still. I spend most of it on the verandah, watching clouds slide across a deep blue sky. Neighbours drop by. We talk about crops, football — nothing important at all. That easy communion, people showing up just because they can, is something the city rarely gives.
By the time I pack up to leave, I feel lighter. Not magically fixed, but steadier. The drive back lets the lesson settle in: we hunt for solutions in pills, in endless scrolling, in promises of instant relief. Yet the antidote often waits in the simplest pause. A quiet room. A long walk. A weekend without noise.
You don’t need a farm or German shepherds to reset. Maybe it’s a park bench, a quiet rooftop, or a phone left on silent for an afternoon. Whatever your version, protect it fiercely. Your mind and body will thank you.
Here’s the truth the bush whispered back: happiness rarely hides in the next big achievement or the perfect life plan. More often, it waits in small pauses — the moments we gift ourselves when we step away from the grind. Take that pause before the world takes it for you.
About the Author
Kibisu Mulanda is a media executive and strategic communicator with over 20 years of experience in television, NGO storytelling, and youth-focused content. He is the Acting Head of Switch Media Ltd and teaches media at the Kenya Institute of Mass Communication (KIMC). A Certified SIYB Trainer, he blends storytelling with strategy to drive social impact.
About the Author
