I Quit an Investments Job to Become Farmer, What I’ve Learnt 8 Years Later

“I want to work with farmers at the farm level”, is what I told the CEO when he asked why I’d handed in my resignation. 

I was a Public Relations officer. Organising investment press briefings at the Serena. Kempinski. Sarova. I was also working with creative agencies to craft marketing messages - from social media posts to advertising campaigns. Pitting suppliers of branded products against each other and getting free samples for my trouble. 

Dream Jobs Aren’t So Dreamy After All

It was a dream job in many ways. There was a delicious Indian-themed lunch every Friday. Team dinners. Team building. I had custody of the company camera, a Nikon D500. I had a good boss. And I might have been a good boss to my three interns.  It was a cushy life for a 23 year old.

I’d been with the company for about 7 months. It had taken 3 months for the fatigue and disillusionment to set in. I was a reliable worker but something was missing. I disliked the routine. I disliked the back and forth before a design was approved. I disliked having to make presentations during Tuesday briefings. And most of all, I disliked that it was not an agricultural job. 

I wanted to be in the farm. Surrounded by green things. My hands deep in the soil. Smelling like manure. Talking to people who too heard the song of the soil. I desired that so much that I quit the job, just one week after transitioning from being confirmed on a permanent and pensionable contract - and receiving some company shares.

We used to say, and there was evidence, that people who exited the investment firm went on to do great things. 

As I waited for these great things to happen, I used my savings to buy a laptop. I was now jobless and I wanted to make some money writing while my farming job got its final touches. 

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Surviving Joblessness

No longer under the constraint of the commute to work, I moved to Zambezi and began typing out words people paid for. I typed across days. Days turned into weeks. Into months. At one time, I lifted my head off the keyboard and it was January 2018, 18 months since quitting my job. Nothing to show for it except 2 sets of New Year’s resolutions detailing my deep “deep” attraction to the soil.

A small fear started creeping that this is all I was ever going to be. A writer hunched over her keyboard typing until death tore us apart. The fear bloomed into panic. I started getting panic attacks. “I am not even insured!” I thought. And the panic attacks would get worse. 

When an opportunity to go to Israel for an 11-month agricultural internship opened up, I grabbed it like the lifeline it was. During the medical exam, the doctor had to tell me to relax. I was in full panic mode because I was afraid the doctor would find something that would keep me in Kenya. 

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Life in Israel

Today, I am a big advocate of stay in Kenya, build Kenya. But, my 2018-self would not have listened to me. When the final list was out, and my name was in it, I knew my life had just begun. And it did.

South Israel was hot and dusty. It had the smoothest roads. The farms were a technological marvel. The work was simple farm work. We planted, weeded, harvested, staked capsicum and partied like there is no tomorrow.

Even without the parties, I was in heaven. I had my day at the farm. I worked and learned and I saw there was no magic to Israeli farming.

Prior to Israel, and even now, we speak of the Israel desert farming as if it is a miraculous occurrence. It is not. In those 11 months I saw that it was simply hard work and research across three generations. Most importantly, I saw that it could be done in Kenya.

From Greenhouse to Greenhorn Again

So, I came back. My resolve to be a farmer much stronger.

This time, it took less time to get into farming. Almost immediately, I started doing traditional vegetables in my hometown of Juja. Then I joined a 5-year farming project sponsored by a leading commercial bank in Kenya. 

The traditional vegetables went with the river. But the project took me to Ngong in April 2020. I got into the business of commercially producing tomatoes. We were not doing it like everyone else. 

We were producing tomatoes in a greenhouse and without soil. There followed a four year season of discovery and wonder. All good things have an end. As the project ends this August, I find myself on the starting board again.

But not where I started that time I leapt off an 8-5 into self employment. Or where I started immediately coming from Israel. Now, I start in a better place. This start is like graduating from farming school. Because my identity is firm, I am a farmer.

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What lessons have I learnt? Just 1.

The universe rewards a stubborn soul. But that is not all. There is a price to pay. I am clocking 10 years post-university. 8 years since I was first employed. Yet, it feels like I am just starting out in my career. 

My friends have had their second and third promotions by now. Most are mid-level managers. Yet, I feel like I am still an intern. That is the price I have had to pay for this freedom. 

And for pursuing single-mindedly the career that has made my heart sing. I found my job at the farm level. I am a farmer. I have found my purpose. Has it been worth it even when it feels like I am in a perpetual status of step 1? Hell yeah. Because I do not start in the same place.