I (didn't) have a farm in Africa: Wisps, Part 2

Bernd
Nov 15, 2023
12 min read

Updated: Jul 22, 2024

When you have a great and difficult task,

something perhaps almost impossible,

if you only work a little at a time,

every day a little,

suddenly the work will finish itself.

Karen Blixen

Mitwirkende

Bernd: Social worker, entrepreneur, blogger, traveler, investor

Pearl: Social worker, entrepreneur, friend, tourist

Marko: Tourist

Hickson: Manager of Villa Masai, pastor, farmer

Laura: Manager of Villa Masai, pastor, farmer

Gerlinde: Neighbor, dropout

Tilly: Neighbor, dropout

Rudolf: Property manager, investor, entrepreneur

Not completely close

"It won't be cheap, Bernd!" Rudolf looked at me over the top of his reading glasses. His long, dark blonde hair fell sweatily. Clothes stuck to your body because it was so humid. The air in the house smelled musty. Even the freshly washed clothes on the line didn't really want to dry and remained damp. The walls of the house had to be re-plastered, the ceiling was gone, new windows, the bathroom downstairs could still be cleaned, painted outside and inside, most of the furniture fell victim to the flames. Rudolf said he was fed up with Makuti roofs and was building a flat roof for himself. "No insurance company will give you a policy for Makuti anymore!" That came to mind, you know, the insects. "Ok, then just a flat roof. But upstairs we'll make a living room instead of the gallery, as well as a third bedroom with an adjoining bathroom!" I answer boldly. A few months later the renovation was completed. Cut.

"Yes, that's a dream!!!"

The problem: You have to be able to do flat roofs.

Villa Masai with flat roof, painted white. — Still looks pretty good. During Sunshine.

The rental season was over, I could forget that. Now the rainy season came. Happiness and unhappiness at the same time. On a rainy night, a splashing noise woke me up in my new bedroom on the first floor. At first I couldn't make out the direction. The light was out of order due to a power outage. In the light of the flashlight, the splashing turned out to be a small waterfall

splashed merrily from the ceiling. There were several of them in the newly created living room. Ripples ran down the walls everywhere. “Yes, is this already the climate change!?” First fire, then floods. Now all that's missing is Balinese flute music. Maybe I should convert the house into a wellness oasis, water flowed everywhere, energy flowed everywhere. Especially in me. But not a positive one. "I WILL CONSIDER THIS INDIAN VERSION OF SPAX SCREW, THIS EXPLOITATIVE CONTRACTOR, STRANGLE!!! AND NO! I DON'T WANT TO PARTICIPATE IN DISPUTE ARBITRATION NOW!!!!" I remembered all the curses on earth. If I were a voodoo master, I would have enchanted him into a snapping turtle right then and there. Can you imagine my state of mind? I couldn't possibly stay here. In no time it smelled of mold and mildew. A hotel was needed. Off to nearby Baobab.

The next morning, Rudolf and his Indian contractor stood in my musty living room. It had briefly stopped raining. I don't remember much of the conversation, only that I was constantly busy swallowing down most of my destructive thoughts until they burst out uncontrollably through every orifice I knew. In Asia I lose face due to such emotional lapses. But I wasn't here in Asia!!! I was in Africa, where people sometimes eat someone, abandon them in the savannah or use them as filler in road construction. According to Rudolf, the Indian building contractor was a wealthy and influential man. Many Indians, he explained to me, have achieved legendary prosperity here through hard work, corruption or unscrupulousness. But apparently not him. And no, I didn't want to be kind on that day, at that hour, especially in this place of organized devastation! I don't want to be a social worker now! I don't want any lazy compromises either! We came to an amicable agreement at the end of my monologue about quality standards in construction. Rudolf organized experts from Mombasa who had

He also got involved in his house, on his flat roof (Oh!). I also decided, advised by my German fear, to add another subtle cover on the roof in case the professionally sealed flat roof, contrary to expectations, cracked.

A good decision

During this trying time, Hickson appeared in front of me quite unexpectedly and asked, without mincing words, if he could work for me as a gardener. As far as I knew, he had a job offer from Rudolf's wife, but he told me he didn't want to work for her because she treated her staff badly. In fact, I had been toying with the idea of having my own staff look after the house and the guests. Rudolf strongly advised me against it and appealed to my German fear. But these opaque calculations bothered me. It's quite possible that I did him an injustice. My gut feeling told me, try it out, hire it. That was the beginning of mostly good experiences, even though my garden is far too small for a whole area. Like all important decisions, I discussed my plan with Pearl beforehand, who encouraged me in my plan. I bought Hickson a completely overpriced used bike from Tilly, a neighbor who has her house right at the front, by the gate.

We expanded Hickson's skills and areas of activity. In addition to the garden, he was now also responsible for the maintenance of Villa Masai. We also hired Laura to look after the guests and clean the house.

Don't kiss African soil

Marko and I borrow two scooters. The owner of the company is Italian, was previously employed by Siemens and left 20 years ago. I choose the white scooter, which is no longer brand new, Marko chooses the brand new black one. He has been riding motorcycles for several years and has more experience. I lack any experience with two-wheelers, apart from bicycles. You can get around Diani quite well without a rental car; There are a huge number of inexpensive matatus, as the Kenyans call minibuses, on the road that only charge a few shillings, including sound from oversized speakers inside the vehicle. As an alternative, tuk-tuks are a little more comfortable but also significantly more expensive.

For practice purposes we drive up and down Diani Beach. Marko is underwhelmed by my anxiety, but he doesn't let it show. You can't give him enough credit for that. To justify myself, the roads in Kenya have a few pitfalls. By that I don't just mean left-hand traffic. Above all, there are road bombs in all designs and sizes, often in asphalt gray camouflage. They cross the street and force you to drive slowly. Only a few have yellow and black markings.

There was a Guardian Angel

The feeling of riding a scooter is overwhelming! You feel free. They accelerate quickly, are maneuverable, small and compact. The ideal means of transport here. And it's fun too. Very few people ride with a helmet, what about in this heat? Marko is unlucky because his petrol is adulterated. First there is a bang from the exhaust, then the engine sputters and stops. The Italian gives us the tip to fill up with unadulterated, high-quality gasoline at the Shell gas station. After countless stops we reach it unscathed. Shortly beforehand - we were standing there again - there was an accident involving a hopelessly overloaded motorcycle that had to avoid another vehicle. But the driver was unable to stabilize the machine. Luckily everything turned out well.

A man sits on the scooter and looks into the camera — Foto: M. H., 2023

After our fuel stop it is now relatively late. We decide to go to Leonardo for Italian food. Since I know the way, I drive ahead and attach myself to a tuk-tuk. The drivers know all the open and covert bombs. So it's child's play. Unfortunately, he keeps stopping so that guests can get in and out. I dare to overtake and take a quick look in the rearview mirror. All free. Look ahead and just see the brake lights of the tuk-tuk. In order to avoid rear-ending, I have to take evasive action, so I switch to the fast lane and accelerate. The scooter begins to rock. If I can't stabilize the unstable thing now, it will slip away from me.

That was it with the traffic. I try to brake, but accidentally - as if controlled by magic - I accelerate. And there it is: a roadside bomb right in front of me! Let go of the fright! As I accelerate, I fly over the obstacle with subdued euphoria and, thank my guardian angel, I am able to stabilize the machine. Hell!

Change of perspective

Marko later tells me about the drama from his perspective. And it goes like this: He was wondering why I was suddenly in such a hurry. Everything was now in the clear, his machine was running like clockwork, his anger was gone, we were on the way to dinner. He follows me. Rush hour traffic between Ukunda and Diani Beach Road is considerable. No need to lawn. He is all the more surprised that I start to overtake, as if out of nowhere, and he has to watch in disbelief as my scooter sways dangerously, so that his breath catches in his throat because he also sees oncoming traffic coming. But instead of slowing down, I accelerate, to his amazement. So what is that? A suicide attempt? My long legs are pulled forward, my upper body falls back, the machine jumps over the road threshold. As he tells me later at dinner, I made a bizarre picture that the pedestrians didn't miss at that moment and looked on in disbelief. Some stood there in surprise, others just shook their heads. “They’re crazy, the Mzungus!”, as the white people are called here, some people will have thought. That must have looked extremely strange. Later, at dinner, we laugh until the tears roll down our cheeks.

Ukunda

Ukunda is located about 30 km south of Mombasa on the A14 transit road to Tanzania, in the Kwale Country District. The place has around 78,000 inhabitants. People from 16 different tribes live here. They come from all over Kenya to participate in tourism. The majority of people living in Ukunda are those who work in the hotels and villas on Diani and Galu Beach. In addition to tourism, people live from agriculture, trade, crafts and services of all kinds. In 2020, the German shoe factory Josef Seibel opened a factory. Ukunda also has a small airfield. From there, smaller planes take off for their flying safaris to Amboseli and the Masai Mara.

Very few tourists visit this place, although it is only a few kilometers from the beach

is removed. For most people, the chaos of huts, shacks, simple houses and so many people seems threatening. A bizarre setting compared to the luxurious tourist accommodations. The streets in the city center of Ukunda are unpaved paths made of sand, red earth, coral stones or gravel, on which large puddles appear after heavy rains. The cafés offer their drinks in simple stone houses or wooden shacks. And in the pedestrian zone - if you want to call it that - one shed borders the other on the left and right of the beaten path. This narrow path seems to lead nowhere. They remind me of the beginnings of the souqs.

Voices, horns, engine noises come from everywhere, traders advertise their wares or matatu drivers call for passengers. The humid air smells of dust, exhaust fumes, sweat, diesel, gasoline and grilled food. Anyone who can sells something expendable, no matter how little it may be. Used clothes, old shoes, tiny meat skewers for snacks, plastic utensils, the main thing is that it contributes something to the family income. Unemployment is around 50 (!)%.

A busy shopping street with goods on the sandy ground. — Whatever sells will be sold

In the midst of this seemingly desolate environment, small school buildings stand out. Churches and mosques are like oases of bliss in this desert of need. They promise people support and orientation, but they are increasingly unable to do so due to their own moral failings.

Hickson told me at the breakfast table that Tilly, who I bought his bike from, has now moved into a cheap apartment here in Ukunda. She drowns her social decline with excessive alcohol consumption. She and her husband came here in the 1990s after selling their company in Germany. He died just a few years later: too many women, too much alcohol. Her memories are fading more and more. Depression is now her constant companion. Years after the great inferno, their stately property with the main and side houses burned down completely. Whenever I visited here, I met you and Gerlinde. I have often asked myself when the tipping point in a person's life occurs, the point that no longer allows for correction of one's own life plan, the "point of no return," if you will. I don't know it.

Life

Marko and I walk through increasingly narrow streets. It does not smell good. Finally we come across a kind of wide sandy road that ends at a guarded barrier. Behind them are small, one-story stone houses in which slightly better-off Kenyans can rent one or two rooms. I once visited Laura at home. She lives in such a complex. The friendly security guard greets us with a big grin and asks if he can help us. Apparently two Mzungus got lost here. We return his laugh and walk back along the path, past smaller shops from which friendly women keep shouting "Mzungu, Mzungu!" call. School is just ending; Children keep staring at us, a mother whispers "Mzungu" in her son's ear! Marko heard it and gives her a friendly laugh. Here, skin color is still a predicate that represents wealth and a carefree life.

We enjoy a cold beer in a bar with an inviting courtyard. In any case, it's worth leaving the hotel complex once. You will come to new insights. So let's not turn up our noses, let's let ourselves be infected by the courageous friendliness of these people who have every reason to complain about their lives. So let’s put our egoism into perspective. I know that many people won't like it if I say it like this: Germany is not starving, even if the welfare lobby with Mr. Schneider at the head of the Paritätischer Wohlfahrtsverband constantly wants us to believe that.

A black girl with yellow t-shirt in the front looks to the shops.

...and protect us from the NGOs

During my FSJ, I used my meager income to finance a sponsorship for a Kenyan girl. Every person should share a part of what they have with other people who have even less. For me, this was the key to a better world. History shows us the limits and results of political slogans, promises or even revolutions. Fidel Castro and Che Guevara failed, as did many before and after them. As a teenager, I was firmly convinced that everyone can make positive changes in their own living environment. I have remained true to this view to this day. Only my attitudes towards NGOs and churches changed fundamentally.

The social industry has achieved next to nothing here in Africa over the past 50 years.

In and around Ukunda there are a large number of non-profit associations, both private and non-private. I have visited a number of them over the past 15 years, some of which no longer exist. They failed due to human wear and tear, their internal structures, corruption, Western arrogance, vanity, greed or several of these factors. I don't doubt the good, honorable intentions of these people. They give their heart and soul. No, from my point of view it is the image of Africa that has already been described that guides us. Compassion has never helped anyone. Compassion does.

A traditional African boy carries a toddler on his back. — Foto: Fotalio

Hickson and Laura put it this way: "People are doing poorly. Earnings are low and the cost of living cannot withstand the devaluation of money. While the so-called West is still talking, the Chinese are building bridges, roads and train stations. People are still doing well always bad. But now they feel a significant improvement in their everyday life, for example on the way to work!"

Zambian economist Dambisa Moyo says China is Africa's largest investor in trade, communications and raw materials. In 2016 alone, $36 billion was spent on roads, ports and airports. This means that China invested more than the USA and Europe combined.

What do the Africans want?

You can buy back the old clothes that you donate to Africa at regional markets. At the same time, we are destroying domestic textile production. The same is true with poultry farming. The EU sells poultry parts that we don't want to eat to Africa at prices that no poultry farmer here can compete with. But maybe that has changed now. As long as Europe seals off its markets, as long as no production facilities are built here, as long as there are no optimal conditions for young Africans to invest in their own start-up companies, the migration bomb will continue to tick. Hans-Rimbert Hemmer is one of the forefathers of German development science. He speaks of a micro-macro paradox: "Despite many good and successful small-scale projects, it has not been possible to lift the affected countries out of poverty as a whole." The American economist William Easterly puts it even more drastically: "If you compare the data from the 1960s and 1970s with today's data, you come to the astonishing conclusion that aid per capita in relation to income has increased approximately twelvefold, while economic growth went rather downwards."

Two hands painted with the world map. — Bild: Fotolia

The Kenyan economist James Shikwati recommends: "If you really want to help Africa, you shouldn't do it with money." As early as 2011, the economist Dambisa Moyo, quoted above, called for an end to Western development aid in an interview with the Frankfurter Allgemeine: In the past 50 years (2011), $50 trillion flowed from rich countries to poor countries. This has not brought economic growth anywhere in the world.

The journalist and computer scientist Veye Tatah, who comes from Cameroon, argues in a very similar way: "Western aid organizations benefit from the negative image of Africa because they can collect many more donations. But Africa's economy suffers because capital and investments do not come to Africa. ...I don't know of any country in the world that has actually developed through development aid."