I (didn't) have a farm in Africa: Departure, Part 1
- Bernd
- Nov 15, 2023
- 10 min read
Updated: Jul 22, 2024
Mitwirkende
Bernd: Sozialarbeiter, Unternehmer, Blogger, Traveller, Investor
Pearl: Sozialarbeiterin, Unternehmerin, Freundin
Marko: Tourist
Hickson: Manager der Villa Massai, Seelsorger, Farmer
Laura: Managerin der Villa Massai, Seelsorgerin, Farmerin
Gerlinde: Nachbarin, Aussteigerin
Rudolf: Hausverwalter, Investor, Unternehmer, Aussteiger
August 2023. I'm sitting with Marko, a friend, in the lounge at Frankfurt Airport. We wait for our flight with a drink. Due to Corona, I haven't been to Kenya for four years, the country that inspires me, whose people, landscapes and animals touch my heart. Neither poverty, crime nor illness deters me. I always come back.
I have been traveling the country for 15 years now. Anyway. “I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Ngong Mountains.” My first trip to Kenya was not quite as spectacular as Karen Blixen in her novel “The African Farm,” which she wrote in 1937, and was anything but romantic. What I didn't know at the time: I would be buying a house shortly after my first stay. But first things first.
The flight at that time was fully booked; I noticed the many poorly dressed men and women in sweatpants that were way too baggy and brightly colored Hawaiian shirts. It was a relaxed time. There were no climate activists who stuck themselves somewhere; Airline tickets were cheap, and so was traveling; the economy was booming; society consisted predominantly of men and women. They lived in heterosexual, gay or bisexual environments with clearly defined articles and pronouns. In short, life was simple and could be planned based on the problems of the present. Ready for takeoff.
North beach or south beach?
After a good eight hour flight we reach Moi International Airport in Mombasa, the second largest city in the country. What many people don't know: Mombasa is on an island. The beaches in the north can be reached via a bridge. The beaches are narrow and often crowded compared to Diani Beach in the south. The sand is less light. But life is raging here. Everywhere you look, there are hawkers, beach shops with plastic and wooden souvenirs, bars, restaurants, supermarkets, beach boys and bush babies offering their services.
The more beautiful southern beaches can only be reached with the help of the infamous Likoni ferry. It has been in operation since 1937 and was replaced in 2010 by more modern ferries from Germany. This is where the White Maasai met her love and where the dropout and author Hans von Loesch (African Chess) almost lost his life. Here on the ferry, at rush hour, heat, exhaust fumes and traffic jams pulverize the anticipation of the holiday into ash, into dust. The waiting time to cross can mean a good three hours of standstill, not to mention the incredible noise. Every major German city is a climatic health resort.
Nightmare Likoni ferry
Tragic accidents have occurred again and again in the past, for example when one of the ferries drifted out to sea due to engine failure. In 1994, the MV Mtongwe ferry capsized with over 400 passengers. 272 were killed. In another case in 2013, a fully loaded truck hit a crowd because the brakes failed. Eleven passengers died and at least 20 others were injured. A mother and her 4-year-old child died after their car slid off the ferry's faulty back ramp into the sea. It was only days later that the bodies were recovered from a depth of 57 meters by South African divers. But I won't tell Marko that.
I also had a very special experience in the 2010s. Coming from Mombasa with a friend on the way back to Diani, the ferry had to reverse and turn around when it landed. The front loading ramp failed. And all in complete darkness. My friend's advice: “If anything goes wrong, make sure you jump into the water as quickly as possible and there are no Kenyans near you. Most of them can’t swim!” Marko doesn’t necessarily need to know that either.
We reach Mombasa safely at night. My colleague Hickson is already waiting impatiently. We haven't seen each other for four years. The joy of seeing each other again is great. There is hardly anything going on on the ferry due to the night time. We cross over unscathed and a good 30 minutes later - dead tired but relieved - we reach my house, the Villa Masai, on Diani or Galu Beach.
Addendum: The Chinese are now building a bypass road from the airport to the south coast. This project connects tourism to Mombasa, eliminating the need to use the ferry, at least for tourists. Until then, we still have to be patient.
And again and again: the Villa Masai
We, Hickson, Laura, Marko and I are sitting at the breakfast table. Beforehand, Hickson and I took stock. The house is in a pitiful condition. Apart from the exterior painting, which we had this year, we have noticed some defects and equipment deficiencies. I usually come here annually. However, due to the recent pandemic, this was impossible and all maintenance payments stopped. This is now taking revenge.
We go through the work list:
Replacing countertops in the kitchen;
There is no rain gutter on the roof and the roof also needs to be repaired;
the fence on the terrace needs to be repaired and painted:
also on the balcony, it wobbles like a cow's tail;
water pump repair;
both pool skimmers are broken;
the tiles at the pool are broken;
Plants in the garden need to be replaced or supplemented;
the water tower needs a coat of paint, its Makuti roof is broken;
Repairing the outer wall, removing rubbish, planting flowers;
Installation of a garden shower;
cosmetic work in the master bedroom;
Renovation of the shower on the ground floor, including replacement of the fittings and lamps;
Clear out the staff room, replace tables and chairs, repair the shower/toilet;
readjust all wardrobe doors;
renew rental license;
Renew mattresses and sun lounger covers:
Replace mattresses and covers on lower patio furniture;
seat cushions for the chairs;
Remove stains from patio pillars;
Replacing, supplementing dishes in the kitchen, buying pots and pans;
replace a defective washing machine, buy various kitchen appliances;
Get surge protectors for the washing machine and air conditioners;
Hickson’s mobile and his laptop are broken and have to be purchased new;
Clarify banking and money matters here on site;
Appointment with the broker...
We need weeks to organize all of this. And the costs?! I've never been able to simply go on holiday here. Marko is amazed. He has to fundamentally rethink his image of the owner of a proud villa on an exotic beach. At times he is annoyed by the many meetings, there is not a day when I am not busy with Hickson and Laura at least until the early afternoon.
Nevertheless, this house didn't even make a profit; one reason why I want to sell it. In the long run, renting and maintaining it here is a loss-making business.
We take a refreshment in the pool. What's missing now are the drinks. Hickson, Laura and I are having fun. We reverse the roles. Hickson warns that I have to clean the pool and fix the cocktails first. I apologize. He answers with a sweeping hand gesture in German: "No problem!" In view of the list to be processed and the associated costs, I mutate into a slave to this property. Now is this cultural appropriation? I don't know it.
While I'm still thinking about it, Marko is already in the pool enjoying his vacation.
Do not dream your life, live your dream...
...is one of the stupidest sayings from greedy real estate agents and financial sharks. Worldwide! They lead people to take rash actions. Tourism in Kenya boomed in the 1980s. There was even once a casino in Diani. But the jet set is volatile. What is still HIP today will lose its appeal tomorrow. Hotels are fighting for survival, houses are suddenly affordable, prices are falling to a level that is affordable even for the middle class. This middle class dreams of a carefree life under palm trees. Initially, dropouts here in Kenya were able to live well on the interest income from their fixed-term deposit accounts. There were plenty of workers and were therefore cheap, food was cheap, so was alcohol, and all imaginable services lured men and women alike here, to paradise. The financially distressed hotels invented a new business model with their all-inclusive offers tailored to package tourists, which is more pronounced due to the aforementioned bridge in the north of Mombasa. But Diani Beach has the more beautiful beaches.
In the 2000s I went on a safari that really touched me. Nothing special: Tsavo East and Tsavo West. Until now, like most of you, I only knew the animals of Africa from the zoo. Hospitalized elephants bob their heads in boredom; Wildebeests and giraffes stand around stupidly, monkeys pose nicely until it becomes too much for them and they throw excrement; Big cats run around in enclosures that are too small. I only knew about Africa's wildlife from television, through Bernhard Grizmek and Heinz Sielmann. Andreas Kieling, with his spectacular documentaries from the animal film genre, is delighting a new audience again. But experiencing the wildlife live is something different and unforgettable. I sat on the veranda of my lodge and watched the animals go by, stunned with happiness. Accompanied by these strange sounds, these previously soulless zoo inhabitants come to life in front of this film set. This is where they belong, full of dignity, strength, aloofness, freedom, full of life, which they can lose with the blink of an eye due to inattention - from one moment to the next.
I have a house in Africa
Impressed by such experiences and wanting to experience more of them, I chose Diani Beach in the south as a base, a place to unwind from my travels in Kenya. The house was - like the surrounding neighboring houses - beautifully African, on a park-like property, large communal pool with predominantly German neighbors. Like a virgin giving birth, I purchased this small villa, unaware that the emigrant's dream often turns into a nightmare. But, unlike my neighbors, I never had the goal of settling there so that I could sit on the terrace, day in and day out, and watch the staff at work. This is bound to go wrong: at some point even the most beautiful beach becomes desolate. Alcohol, quick sex, false promises of love, boredom, cultural impoverishment, currency devaluation, illness, crime, social decline. So, looking back, I would use the real estate agents' promise: "Don't dream your life, live your dream!" describe.
In addition to the people who failed, there were also those soldiers of fortune who tried to build a business. Some successful, others less so. A property needs a property manager who takes care of it, arranges cleaning, repairs and gardening work. Guests looked after. Rudolf, an enterprising German, offered to help me. Looking back, his accounting was anything but transparent. The additional costs are a factor that should not be underestimated. They offer scope for creative billing and often exceed the potential income from renting to tourists.
My property was connected to Rudolf's water tower, as well as his generator, which provides power during the power outages that are common in Kenya. The maintenance of the community pool, its cleaning and the required chemicals also accounted for a not insignificant part of the costs. My manager was undoubtedly one of those who made it in Kenya. He was married to a Kenyan woman, which obviously helped his integration into the country.
Insects, insects, insects
Another problem was the many insects that trickled down from the beautiful African Makuti roof into the bedrooms every evening. What to do? Simply moving away was a solution. But who wants to convert insects every night before bed? Stretch a net? But what do you do with all the critters that would romp around on it? The mosquito net stretched over the entire bed protected me from being too close to these crawling creatures at night. Incomprehensible.
2009: "It's burning, it's burning!"
It was a phone call or a short email. I do not know it anymore. My property manager Rudolf spoke of a major fire. Most of the houses burned down along with their Makuti roofs. According to speculation, a few houses away there was a jealousy drama between a German and a Kenyan woman. He wanted to break up with her (a classic), whereupon she - a woman who obviously doesn't let anything burn down - set the house on fire. My neighbor Gerlinde, who bought her villa at the same time as me, spoke of a gigantic roller of fire that was rolling towards her. Then unexpectedly, unfortunately for me, the wind shifted towards Villa Masai. The fire department didn't even come. According to unconfirmed statements, none of the vehicles were operational. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the looters arrived shortly after the fire. They took everything that wasn't nailed down. They were granted it.
Together with my friend Pearl we flew to the place of damnation. Thinking in a positive Buddhist way: the insect problem was history overnight and had virtually gone up in smoke.
Gerlinde's house was miraculously spared. To the chagrin of her husband, who has actually been here with her for a long time
should live. His enthusiasm to emigrate to Kenya was very, very limited. In the end he didn't come.
The incident with the major fire was the end of this park-like facility. Rudolf's Rottweilers didn't like Gerlinde's Doberman Pinscher. I'm guessing: Post-traumatic stress syndrome in the dogs caused by the major fire. The result of this: Rudolf built a wall around his property, and Gerlinde, not squeamish, responded with a chain-link fence.
Gerlinde's joy in emigrating increasingly faded. She, my friend Pearl and I sat on her terrace, slightly disturbed, and watched her staff work. The housekeeper had to clean the windows for the third time this week. Gerlinde seemed to guess what my friend and I were thinking and explained to us part-time expats that people here have to be encouraged to work, otherwise they would think stupid ideas. "They won't take you seriously otherwise!" she added briskly.
Their gardener, a committed, fit Kenyan of around 22 years old, was visibly tense cutting down charred bushes. Every day he walked eight kilometers to work and back again. She would have to let him go, Gerlinde sighed with mock dismay. The property is simply too small. But Rudolf's wife is interested in him because he works so reliably. The gardener continued to do his work undeterred. I ask Gerlinde his name. "Hickson, his name is Hickson!"
In Part 2, I (didn't) have a farm in Africa: Wisps
Not completely close
A good decision
You don't kiss African soil
Guardian Angel
Change of perspective
Ukunda
Life
...and protect us from the NGOs
What do Africans want?
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