Harry Harambee's Kenyan Sundowner

Chapter 3-2

Harry was just about to leave the reception area at the consulate when a tall African dressed nattily in a tailored silk suit and carrying a dark-suede briefcase strode in. His gleaming skin was the color of espresso, and the only hair on his head was on his frosty eyebrows, which nestled behind a pair of gold-plated wire-rims. He flashed a smile at Harry and asked, “Planning on traveling to Kenya?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, still heading for the door lest the guy be selling timeshares.

The fellow held up a hand to stop the older man and gestured for Harry to turn back. “If it’s not an inconvenience, why don’t you step into my office? I’m Consul General Antoine Wangari.”

Harry gave his name in a low voice and dutifully followed Wangari through the door and into a paneled office at the end of the hallway. As the consul set his briefcase aside on the desk and hung up his coat, he beckoned formally for Harry to sit. As he took his place behind the desk and straightened a tie in tribal colors, he asked, “So, are you thinking of starting a business in our country?”

The question unnerved Harry. He wondered whether something he’d said to Ruth might have been misinterpreted, but he couldn’t imagine what it was or how this Antoine would already know about it. “No, no,” he shrugged. “Just a vacation. A few weeks.”

Wangari smiled as he shot the cuffs of his immaculate white dress shirt. The cufflinks were gold and the size of half-dollars, and, although Harry didn’t know much about timepieces, from the bulk of the gold watch on the fellow’s wrist, he judged the sheer weight of the precious metal might be many times the value of the workmanship, however fine. “You’ll be going on safari, of course,” the consul prompted.

“Yes, my tour operator is handling it. I’ve never done anything like this.”

“The finest accommodations in the world, I can assure you. White tablecloths, wait staff in black tie, and a sumptuous buffet a mile long! That’s in the lodges, of course. But might you also be staying at any of the camps?”

It embarrassed Harry that he didn’t know much about his itinerary. He wasn’t sure how much safari he’d be able to endure, but Aldo had insisted he couldn’t miss the opportunity. He didn’t want to insult this diplomatic officer, so he said, “Yes, I believe so. Is there anything I should know? Special things to take?”

Again, the winning smile. “The camps are luxurious, as well. Also with white tablecloths! You’ll think you’re with Teddy Roosevelt and his entourage on a grand hunting trip! But of course all the shooting these days is with telephoto lenses. Kenya is at the forefront of wildlife conservation, you understand. But, advice? Let me think. Ah! I always advise our guests to take an American electrical plug-in strip. Everyone has so many devices these days. And we Kenyans rely on our cell phones, as well. You may be surprised how high-tech we are. But, you see, the power in the camps is solar. Very sustainable, you understand. No plastic water bottles allowed! The point I am making, you will want to charge your phone at night, of course. But there will be no power in your tent after lights out in the evening. There will be a community tent, which is also the location of the bar and the lounge, and there will be a tap on battery power where guests are invited to leave their phones until breakfast. However, in my experience, there are never enough outlets. So you plug in your strip, which will require one British-style adapter at the plug end for the tap. And then you and your traveling companions will have multiple American-style receptacles to accommodate your devices. Almost no first-time guests think of this.”

“Thank you” was all Harry could think to say. “Anything else?”

“If I may be so frank,” the Kenyan began, “a cushion for your bum.” And he chuckled. “You see, the safari ride will likely be in an all-terrain four-by-four. A rugged Land Rover or Toyota Land Cruiser. You’ll never get stuck in a ditch, but the ride is a bit stiff, and those bush tracks are bumpy. Some people jokingly call all that jostling a Kenyan massage. After a long day, you’ll be glad of the extra padding.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Harry confessed, and he marveled that his vacation plans merited such individual attention by the Kenyan government. The office must not be busy.

“Any other destinations?” Wangari asked.

“The beach. My planner tells me the South Coast on the Indian Ocean is marvelous.”

“Best beaches in all of Africa! Very popular with European tourists. We don’t get so many Americans. We do get people from upcountry on the weekends. Many luxurious venues, I assure you. You won’t be disappointed. And the prices are wonderfully affordable.” Then he added, in a lowered voice, “I particularly recommend Malindi. Beachfront resorts, nightclubs, and a casino. Tremendously popular with the Italians! You couldn’t eat better in Rome!”

Harry would learn the story of Italians on the coast, but for now the consul’s description wasn’t engaging. Aldo hadn’t mentioned this place, he was pretty sure. But he’d try to remember the name of the town so he could ask. He was sure they were booked into some specific places, but he also thought there was some room in the itinerary for flexibility.

Wangari leaned back and crossed his arms. “Are you sure you have no business agenda? Attracting enterprising people like yourself is part of my job.”

“And why would I want to do that?” Once again, Harry worried that somehow Wangari had inside information on him. As if Nicole had phoned ahead to warn them that Harry had no intentions of ever coming back. He felt he was sufficiently paranoid about the US surveillance state, but he couldn’t imagine the Kenyans would be so sophisticated as to know any more about him than he wrote on their forms.

“Or you might be ready to retire. Your pension will go a lot farther, you know. Kenya is a vibrant economy, growing faster than almost any developing country on the planet. Two trillion dollars in the next decade, they are saying. And we have land! Beautiful countryside. Ideal climate. There are the wildlife preserves, of course. Under government or tribal control, most of them. But there’s plenty of room for new development — new cities, even! You should see Nairobi! Skyscrapers like New York! Superhighways, high-speed rail!”

“So, you’re welcoming foreigners? And not just as tourists?”

“Certainly. Enterprising people like yourself. I don’t know what you do, but you appear to be a well-off, mature man. A man of some experience. I’m sure you bring expertise. And, yes, I’ll be honest. We need foreign capital. But here’s a place not only to multiply your investment but also to ensure a comfortable lifestyle for the rest of your days. Now, I don’t know your personal circumstances, but do you own your home in Southern California?”

“Yes,” Harry admitted, careful to stop short of giving more information.

Wangari leaned forward, rested his dazzling cuffs again on the desk, lowered his voice, and offered, “For whatever you’re paying in mortgage now, you can have a four-bedroom house in a gated compound with a pool and a full-time staff. You may choose to have a car, perhaps two. Or you may not want one. Just summon a private car and a driver whenever you want to go out. But in the seaside villages, people either walk or hail a tuk-tuk. At the beach, a dollar will take you anywhere in town.”

“And setting up a business? What’s involved?” Since the fellow seemed to be urging it on him, Harry thought he should at least find out.

“What manner of business, may I ask?”

“I don’t have any plans. You could say I’m semiretired. I used to be in publishing.” Harry still owned a small-press imprint that specialized in history books. His customers were mainly libraries, universities, and professional organizations. Taking any of that to Kenya was a new thought. But if it could be a tidy retirement plan, why not?

The consul offered a wan smile and said, “There is always a need for responsible journalism. Americans have no shortage of opinions. But you must appreciate that in the wide world one must be careful. You never know who is listening.”

“I’m not a reporter,” Harry insisted.

Wangari took a breath. “People may assume. To write anything, you must research, you must investigate. Just asking questions could bring suspicion.”

“I’m not the curious type,” Harry lied.

“I do think, in general, taking any kind of enterprise to Kenya is a potentially prosperous move. Despite what I’ve said, I would advise you to wait before filing an application. Get on the ground, look around, ask discreet questions. You will see soon enough how things are.”

Wangari waved a hand to indicate it was all innocuous. “As to the application, when you are ready, it is straightforward. A simple form and fees. The form is online and it can be processed through this office. With the application, you state you have over a minimum net worth available for investment. And, I emphasize, anyone who owns a home in this fine city will more than meet that requirement. And the fees? A couple of thousand dollars, all in, even with some professional advice if you need it.”

“Then what?”

“When you’re approved, which takes about a month and almost no one gets turned down, you can get a work permit for a year showing yourself as your own employer. Very tidy. Very simple.” Then Wangari asked, almost incidentally, “You’re going on a tourist visa, am I right?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Multiple-entry, as Ruth advised. Not sure I’ll need that, but I’m trying not to plan too far ahead these days.”

“Very wise, and why should you, a man of comfortable means whose time is obviously his own?” He added, “I should tell you, so we’re clear, on a tourist visa you are a visitor. You come, you spend money, you go back. If you wish to work — and, I must be very clear — if you want to even volunteer — you must have a valid work permit. I have to tell you that unless you are your own employer as I have described, it will be challenging these days to find an employer to sponsor you. Of course, if you’re already employed by some international corporation or NGO, that’s one way. I take it you are not?”

Harry shook his head.

“As I thought. But, Kenyan employers? They are required by the government to give preference to citizens unless the person is bringing expertise that can’t be found in-country.”

“Sounds like a strict system,” Harry said.

“It’s getting to be like this all over, not just in Kenya. Pushback against globalization, you might say. But that’s why I bring up the idea of taking your own business there. Not much red tape, and you’re the boss. Oh, and retiring? You can’t do that on a tourist visa, either. There are much the same requirements if you intend to retire — you apply, demonstrate net worth, and pay the fees. It takes some time. You can’t do it overnight.” The man paused significantly, once again flashed his broad smile, and added, “Still, all things are possible in today’s Kenya for a man of resources such as yourself.”

The consul shoved his business card across the desk. It was decorated in the Kenyan national colors with its coat of arms.

“If you have questions, don’t hesitate to call me on the cell number. If you decide you need a business advisor, I have colleagues in-country who will be pleased to offer guidance.”

“I’ll think about it,” Harry said, intending for it to sound dismissive but not appreciating how much he would come to fret about Wangari’s advice.