He was the kind of man who looked like he knew his way around a tasting menu, the type who’d debate the merits of single-origin coffee beans with a barista. He was affluent, I decided, observing him from my corner of the Hob House garden in Kitisuru. He was seated in the garden with his wife. I suspect this was his wife because she had a strict look to her, and she kept moving the salt shaker away from him because he looked like the kind of guy you have to keep taking the salt away from, otherwise, he will have some food along with his salt.
It was mid-morning, a “beauteous” day, as the affluent would probably say. Hob House, bathed in warm beams of sunlight filtering through the foliage, resembled a tropical paradise plucked straight from a travel brochure – Palawan, maybe, or Bora Bora, places I’m sure this guy had ticked off his list. I was there to meet a lady who ran an internationally known art gallery in California that specialized in abstract American art from the post-World War II era. However, she now sells art to people who easily fork out 100 million shillings for a painting you can turn over on all sides and still not know what it is. I wasn’t buying her art, or writing about her art, I was interviewing her for a foundation she started in Samburu that provided clean water to children. She turned out to have a shock of white hair. I was more fascinated with her than her Samburu project, I’m ashamed to admit. She was also pleasant; the human form of warm sunshine against your face.
She was likely also affluent, I suspected.
As I waited, I observed the man I suspected was affluent. His mouth was in constant motion. Probably expounding on the “beauteous” nature of the day. His companion listened with an air of practiced detachment, the kind wives perfect. Because that’s how wives are – they give the impression that they aren’t listening while absorbing everything you are saying, everything you aren’t saying, and everything you want to say. And they will remember each word in five years when you don’t even remember you have ever been to Hob House.
They will say, “Remember that day we went for brunch at the Hobhouse?”
“Hob House?” the man will ask.
“Yes, we went just after your aunt broke her arm.”
“My aunt br–?”
“Anyway, you had just come back from a trip from Riviera Maya and the airline had lost your luggage so you were in a pretty vinegar mood, and you told me that the day was beauteous. I asked you what that meant and you said it meant beautiful and I said, ‘Why don’t you just use the word beautiful instead of beauteous?’ and you said “Once you fly the Airbus A380, you don’t use such words”. You were wearing your blue linen shirt with the last button missing.
“Have we been to the Hob House?”
“Yes. You ordered green falafel wrap with tahini sauce and salad.”
Then the man will sit there questioning who he is, and if this is life happening, or it’s a dream.
My Samburu lady was running late, which was fine. My mind was already on a journey of its own, fueled by the lush scenery and a potent dose of drinking chocolate. I wondered about the couple. How long were they married? Five years? Ten? Long enough to perfect the art of companionable silence, punctuated by knowing glances and the occasional exasperated sigh. They had that comfortable rhythm of a couple who’d explored the world together. Their comfortable silences, and shared glances speaking volumes about their years together. They seemed like the kind of folk who wake up and decide to fly to the Maldives for a “change of scenery”. The kind whose passports brim with stamps from destinations you only see on Pinterest vision boards.
As if the universe was tuned into my thoughts, a notification popped up on my phone. My bank, Standard Chartered, was tempting me with USD 100 off on Valentine’s travel deals in partnership with KQ’s Holiday destinations.
Meanwhile, a different kind of drama was unfolding at the nearby bird feeder. A kaleidoscope of feathers and beaks – weavers, sunbirds, and those tiny bee-eaters – gossiped and squabbled over the prime feeding spots. I wondered if they were the affluent of the bird world, enjoying the luxury of a well-stocked feeder. Or was affluence more than just access to resources? Was it about the confidence of a well-tailored suit? Was it about owning your space, and moving through life like you wrote the rules instead of following them? Or was it the knowledge that a delayed flight wouldn’t mean a scramble for a last-minute hotel?
To be sure, I went on Google.
“Who is an affluent person?” I Googled.
Google reported that affluent people “own their thinking, their actions and the results they produce.” They don’t blame others, and they aren’t concerned about who gets credit. Rather, they are focused on what they are accomplishing and the impact it will have.
Hmm.
I looked up from my phone and mulled over this as I stared at the birds on the feeder.
I then Googled: What do affluent people do when they wake up?
Google said affluent people wake up early, between 4:30 AM – 6:30 AM to maximize their day. Because early mornings provide ‘quiet, uninterrupted time for personal growth and planning.’ Affluent people resist checking emails, or social media immediately after they wake up, instead they focus on “intentional activities” before engaging with the outside world. “Some write in a gratitude journal or reflect on things they appreciate. Others practice meditation, prayer, or deep breathing to start the day with a clear mind. Some engage in ‘exercise & movement’, yoga, or stretching to improve mental clarity, discipline, and overall health. Affluent people eat a nutritious breakfast. Many avoid sugary foods that cause energy crashes later in the day.” Affluent people read or learn something new, listen to podcasts, or audiobooks, and then plan and prioritize the day. “Many take 10-15 minutes to review their goals, schedule, and key tasks rather than reacting to urgent but unimportant tasks.” (This is getting personal, I thought). Some practice “visualization techniques, imagining their goals as already achieved.” Others set affirmations to reinforce a positive, success-driven mindset.
I put aside my phone.
The affluent guy was now listening to his wife who looked like someone who could execute a great Taraksvasana yoga pose, otherwise known as the handstand scorpion pose. Her skin looked like a quickly stirred mocha. With one arm draped languorously over the back of his chair, he listened intently to the plumes of words from his wife’s mouth. He looked like a man who has never shied away from doing hard things. Who does things when he’s not ready, and often when he’s scared. But he does them all the same. He didn’t look like a drinker. His hair was too healthy, his eyes too alert.
On the table, next to his small saucered cup, sat his wallet…I could almost smell the leather from my corner. I bet it had a Standard Chartered Visa Infinite Credit Card that he had already had the luxury of unlimited access to over 1,200 airport lounges worldwide and USD 2.5Million travel insurance. Chaps like this travel with peace of mind because his card covers baggage delay and payment towards the emergency replacement of clothing, medication and toiletries- his niche gourmand cologne. And ofcourse he must have booked a loose weekend in Seychelles in May on KQ holidays because the offer has a travel period of until 31 May. Of course he is a man unaccustomed to queuing, to being kept waiting so in case of flight delays and this card is what gives him the peace of mind of knowing that in any event, his meals will be reimbursed, so will his accommodation, and transport expenses.
The more I observed, the more I realized that affluence wasn’t just about the material stuff; it was about a mindset, a sense of ease and control. It was about knowing that your finances were secure, your travel plans were seamless, and your adventures were backed by a reliable partner. It was about experiencing the world on your own terms, with the confidence that came from knowing you had the tools and resources to navigate any unexpected turbulence.