I Thought Offgrid Living Was Paradise, I’m Back to Nairobi Full of Regrets 

For the longest time, I romanticised the idea of off-grid living.

You know the version social media sells you of waking up to birds instead of alarms, fresh air instead of traffic fumes, and a slower, more intentional life. No noise. No pressure. Just peace.

So when I landed a remote job as a remote assistant social media manager for an Australian NGO, earning Ksh200,000 net per month in November 2024, it felt like the perfect opportunity to finally live that dream.

Why stay in Nairobi, dealing with rent, traffic, and chaos, when I could work from anywhere?

That’s how I found myself moving to Rawalo in Siaya. The house itself felt like something out of a Pinterest board.

It sat alone in its own compound, surrounded by rolling hills and greenery as far as the eye could see. The owner had built it as an off-grid retreat but had relocated to the US. Through a friend, I got connected, and we agreed on rent of Ksh30,000 a month.

It felt like a steal. I had space, privacy, and a caretaker on site. Mornings were quiet. Evenings were magical. For the first time in years, I could hear myself think.

Given that my work was online, I invested in Starlink.

I told my friends in Nairobi that off-grid life was the dream. And for a while, I believed it.

Also Read: He Built a Mansion in Kiserian, Went Back to Renting in Just 2 Months

The cracks start showing

The first issue was power. The house had solar, which worked fine, until it didn’t.

On cloudy days or during heavy rains, the power would dip. And when there were technical issues, getting help from Kenya Power wasn’t straightforward. Sometimes it took days. In one instance, it took nearly a week.

This was tough given that my entire job depends on being online.

I started planning my work around sunlight. Charging everything during the day. Limiting usage at night. It was manageable, but stressful.

The hidden costs of isolation

Then came fuel. There were no major petrol stations nearby. Just small, privately owned ones that you couldn’t always rely on. If I needed proper fuel, I had to drive to bigger towns like Luanda or Yala.

And I drove an old Suzuki Vitara. What I thought would be occasional trips turned into regular, time-consuming errands. Fuel, groceries, supplies, nothing was just around the corner.

Food was another adjustment. In Nairobi, I could step out and have options like supermarkets, quick deliveries, and restaurants. In Rawalo, it meant planning. If I ran out of something, it wasn’t a quick fix. It was a trip.

But the hardest part wasn’t the logistics. It was the silence.

At first, it felt peaceful. Then it started feeling empty. No spontaneous meetups. No after-work plans. No casual conversations. No networking. Just me, my laptop, and long stretches of quiet.

Work became my entire world. In Nairobi, even without trying, you’re surrounded by people, ideas, opportunities. Conversations lead to connections. Connections lead to growth. Out here, I was alone.

Also Read: Why Cheap Housing Outside Nairobi Could Be Expensive

The cost of staying connected

Between the internet, fuel, and managing power, the “cheaper life” I had imagined started becoming more complicated.

Even water had its own story. The house relied on a borehole, but the water was salty. It worked for some uses, but not all. Small inconveniences started piling up.

5 months in, I sat down and asked myself a simple question: was I actually living better?

Yes, I had peace. I had space, and I was saving a bit on rent.

But I was also structuring my life around power availability, spending hours just to access basic services, feeling isolated from people and opportunities, and constantly solving problems I never had in Nairobi.

Eventually, I made the decision to move back to Nairobi. Not because off-grid living is bad, but because I wasn’t ready for what it truly demanded.