The person I'd like to describe is Mr Kamau, a retired schoolteacher who lives on the same lane as my parents in Nyeri, in central Kenya. I've known him since I was a child because he used to give me extra maths lessons for free.
His life is simple in almost every way. He lives in a small, two-room house with a vegetable garden at the back, where he grows kale, beans and a few banana plants. He doesn't own a car; he walks to town or takes a matatu if it's too far. He has one basic phone, which he uses for calls and nothing else, and as far as I know he's had the same radio for about twenty years. His days follow a routine: he works in the garden early, reads the newspaper at midday, and in the afternoons children from the area come to him for help with homework.
I once asked him why he doesn't buy more things now that he has a pension, and his answer has stayed with me. He said that every object you own asks for a little bit of your time, because you have to clean it, fix it or worry about it, and he'd rather give that time to people. I think that's the main reason. He also grew up with very little, so he knows how much is actually enough. And honestly, he seems happier than most people I know who have much more. He's rarely in a hurry, he sleeps well, and he always has time to chat. When I'm stressed about work in Nairobi, I sometimes think about his garden and wonder whether I'm chasing the right things.