My first Kshs. 1 million has just slipped through my fingers

By Peter Gaitho

I remember Mr. Maneno, my high school business studies teacher telling me that, the first Kshs. 1 million is the hardest to make, after which money will follow money and before you know it, the blessed will start calling you blessed.

Mr. Maneno wanted to actualize this dream, so he leased 40 acres of land in the fertile Happy Valley, Nyandarua. He planned to plant 250,000 cabbage seedlings in two seasons, so he got himself a Mwalimu SACCO loan on his way to riches. Twenty years later, Mr. Maneno is retiring this year before seeing the color of Kshs. 1 million.

I have been harboring this dream too, so I laid a foolproof business plan that would see me turn from an hourly wage earner to an employer. I have learned some basic investment strategies, read all the Rich Dad Poor Dad books by Robert Kiyosaki, and currently one by Warren Buffet.

Armed with all these, I set out on a journey to my riches several moons ago. All the books I read have one advice in common: in order to make it, you have to do that which you understand, which in my case I thought was farming. My father was a small scale farmer, and as the Waswahili say, mwana wa mhunzi asiposana huvukuta (the son of a welder turns out to be a welder).

Therefore when I visited Jamhuri last season, I met my cousin, Wallace Kahugu, also a big time wheat farmer in Timau area, on the western slopes of Mt. Kenya. This is the person who encouraged me to venture into wheat farming because, as he put it, “watu lazima wale mikate (people will always eat bread)” and the cost of wheat keeps rising, making wheat farmers smile all the way to the bank.

I got myself a well maintained, white Toyota Corona from a hire company along Muindi Mbingu Avenue, Nairobi. “You must create a positive image of yourself,” Wallace had advised.” I took his advice and remembered the slogan “fakes it until you make it.”

After visiting the land in question, we signed the lease at the popular Kungu Maitu Bar and Restaurant in the heart of Nanyuki town. In attendance were Wallace, Mr. Kimemia, his lawyer, and Ole Simani, the landowner.

“I am sure you will not regret the decision to be a wheat farmer,” said Mr. Kimemia, a Nanyuki-based lawyer, as he munched goat ribs, which he washed down with Pilsner Ice. “I have worked with your cousin for many years, and I am sure he will take care of your business while you are away.”

After the sumptuous lunch that no one in the group helped me pay for, we concluded our business and parted. I remained in Nanyuki town for another week and a half, during which, the land was duly tilled, sprayed , and planted.

“All we need now is Mwene Nyaga (the owner of ostriches) to send rain,” said the seed dispersing machinery operator as I paid him his dues.

“The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is faithful. I know He will send the required precipitation,” said Wallace, trying to be religious.

“I will be sending money for pesticide and stuff via Western Union,” I said. “In the meantime, here is Kshs. 20,000 for any emergency.” It is funny how a Kikuyu’s mien changes at the sight of an envelope stacked with cash. Wallace’s face would have lit the room if there was a blackout.

A few days later, I was en route to these United States. I quickly settled back to the hustle and bustle that is life here. “You are looking at a soon-to-be millionaire,” I told anyone who cared to listen. “Nitawaacha mkipiga masaa (I will soon leave you guys clocking in donkey hours here).”

I kept close contact with Wallace, and my wheat crop was promising to be a bumper. That was until one day Wallace sent a text message me to call him ASAP.

 “There has been bitter cold these last two days, and the frost has done some damage to wheat all over the Timau area,” Wallace delivered the sad news. I remember I was ready for that, and had sent a tidy sum of money for spraying to protect the crop against frost.  “But the spraying we did seems to have saved some of the crop. Not everything is lost,” Wallace tried to reassure me.

After this, I received more bad news on a weekly basis:  A flock of quelea quelea birds passed by and helped themselves to the wheat. The combine harvester was late in harvesting, making the land soggy, and some of the wheat is rotting in the stalks. There was a glut in wheat production, and the price went down by Kshs. 1, 200 per bag. There seemed to be no let up to problems affecting wheat farmers that season.

“These things do happen, the best thing is to remain positive,”  Wallace said over and over again. He said it even after depositing a measly kshs. 165,000 into my Equity Bank account. I had spent more Kshs, 400,000 on the wheat, making it difficult to keep hope alive.

So now you know why I am walking with my face down and sleep is a luxury to me. I still owe my bank a tidy sum of money. I am still an hourly wage earner, and my million has slipped away, just like the cookie crumbles. You are damned if you do, and damned if you don’t!

Reach Peter Gaitho at pgaitho@eafricainfocus.com

Source: East Africa in Focus