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For years I tried to run from it. I mean, who willingly walks into the arms of agriculture when they’ve tasted the sweet, overpriced espresso of Nairobi boardrooms?
Not me. Not willingly. Not at first.
But then, my father was a forester. One sibling? An agricultural engineer. The other? An entomologist—yes, the kind who names insects like they’re pets and knows how termites argue during tea breaks. And me? I tried to be the digital rebel, the tech whiz, the urban warrior who never got cow dung on his shoes.
Yet, here I am, standing on the edge of a green revolution, laptop in one hand, wood ash in the other, launching ShambaTrack—a farm management platform born from spreadsheets, goat tracking, and a whole lot of stubborn optimism.
Back in 2019, when COVID came (we still don’t know if it arrived by matatu or SGR), the world shut down. Suddenly, I wasn’t a tech guy anymore—I was a chicken whisperer, tree grower, and goat midwife. I had no plan. Just vibes, soil, and lots of Google searches like “is this chicken sick or just dramatic?”
I realized rural life was run on pure memory, oral agreements, and something I’ve come to call the Ginene Effect: when someone remembers the number of cows you sold in 1998 but can’t find their socks. This inspired me to start collecting every small Excel sheet I could find in the village. Some were color-coded. Some looked like tax evasion training manuals. Most were written on hands, using a bik.
But beneath the chaos was beauty. A 14-year-old schoolgirl once showed me how her spiral mud fireplace design saved her family half their firewood. No one had noticed. She was too young to own an innovation, government of Kenya? I met an old man who fought termites the size of campaign promises using nothing but wood ash. It worked. It was brilliant. But these ideas were slipping through our fingers like sand during a drought.
You know the Kenyan dream: work hard, retire, and start a shamba. It sounds good, until you realize most of our retirees are former CEOs and high-level professionals trying to manage a cow named Milka using the same methods they once used for national tenders. Spoiler: it doesn’t work.
And why do they all plant cabbages and maize at the same time? Because everyone else is doing it. Which means by harvest season, you can’t give away a cabbage even if you stuff it with airtime.
What’s worse? Nobody really knows if they made or lost money. One retiree proudly told me he made “10 bags of maize.” I asked him what he spent to get those bags. He blinked. Long. Like an error 404 had happened in his brain.
The problem for Kenyan farming is not poverty, its reduced risk, retirees leaving off pensions and a 5M nest egg that slowly depleting as it supports 3 generations, will not take risk in new products, strange things - pome ango'wa - pomegranate - this is why we need tech and making it management, to attract younger people into it.
So, here’s what we’re doing:
Phase 1: Digital Order in Organic Chaos
We’re tagging everything. Goats, chickens, cabbages, even the cat if it hangs around the granary long enough. An urban cat that can't catch mice, still looks cute, a rural cat that can't catch mice is a problem. Workers get logged, tasks assigned, money tracked. No more asking “who took the wheelbarrow?” like it’s a missing artifact.
Phase 2: Tokenize the Farm
Imagine farming where your manure application can earn you tokens. Wild? Yes. But what if we could add new revenue streams beyond “sell it at the market and hope”? Think carbon credits. Think community investments. Think getting paid for being a responsible farmer. Tokenized farming operations, those 5 chickens you produce monthly could earn you 25 chickens monthly.
Phase 3: Farming as a Career, not a Punishment
We want young people to stop seeing farming like a career punishment. It’s management, baby! With platforms, dashboards, gig workers for weeding, and direct M-Pesa payments. Let’s make it cool. Let’s make it efficient. Let’s make it TikTok-able if we must. No more Gumboots, you dawn a pair of wellingtons.
So yes, I’ve finally given in. Maybe it’s God. Maybe it’s genetics. Maybe it’s the ghost of my great-grandfather whispering, “Boy, don’t shame this name.”
Whatever it is, ShambaTrack goes live on July 1st.
We’re not promising miracles, but if you’ve ever looked at your chicken and wondered if she’s pulling a scam, we’re here for you.
Welcome to the new age of farming. One token at a time and a whole lot of blockchains.
PS: In case you are still wondering Track your Shamba, it's in the name.
