[vc_row][vc_column width=”2/3″][vc_column_text]Serendipity is defined as the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way. Hang on to that thought, as I will get back to this definition further ahead in this column. Last week two seemingly unrelated items appeared on the Daily Nation’s Wednesday December 9th 2015 edition. A seemingly nondescript story titled “Villagers ordered out of Kilifi’s 3,000 acres” hugged the top left side of page 3 innocuously. Last Saturday December 5th 2015, villagers invaded and started subdividing private property belonging to a private company, Kilifi Plantations Ltd. Of course, in typical Kenyan fashion, we never quite get to be told what caused the villagers to arise from unknown heavens and majestically swoop down to lay a stake on an ill gotten prize. Further down the same newspaper’s pages, a quarter page advertisement caught my eye. The Ministry of Land, Housing and Urban Development placed a Public Notice signed by Mariamu El Maawy, the Principal Secretary. In the notice she informs Kenyans that the ministerial technical team that was appointed by the Cabinet Secretary (she doesn’t say which one, but one is left to assume that it is the Cabinet Secretary who she reports into, who would be the one in charge of Land) to plan, survey and issue title deeds to the occupiers of the land commonly known as Waitiki Farm in Likoni has commenced its work.

Ms. El Maawy urges all persons who may have purchased parcels therein to urgently present their claims before the said technical team. The claim should be accompanied by supporting documents such as a national identity card, a sale agreement, witnesses and any other document of proof of ownership. Now unless you’ve been hibernating under a rock, you must know the abhorrent saga of Evanson Kamau Waitiki, the Kenyan who bought 960 acres of land in Likoni in 1975, when Kenya was still one country. Twenty-two years later, politicians reminded us that Kenya was actually a fragmented hodgepodge of tribal enclaves and instigated “youth” to evict Mr. Waitiki from the land that he had industriously converted into a viable economic enterprise that was employing tens of locals through various farming activities. Somewhere along the line, the real “owners” of the land, whose ownership stemmed from their tribal bloodline rather than any cash consideration, moved into the 960 acres and a new village was created. A not-so-subtle message was sent to anyone who couldn’t trace their biological roots to the sandy soils and tropical climes of Mombasa’s coastline: “You are temporary residents here living and working at the behest of our generous spirit. Your land ownership claims, regardless of whatever pieces of paper you might have, are as transient as the waves that beat upon the sun kissed beaches of our forefathers.” That message was given one hundred percent endorsement by the highest office in the land in mid November this year, when it was reported that the President had personally brokered an agreement, and I quote: “The government has signed a framework agreement with Mr. Waitiki which establishes a road map of adjudication and titling of all the land to the current occupants.” Waitiki gets his money as compensation for the loss of the land, and the locals get the land. Kwisha maneno everybody can go home now.

Look, I get it. I get that the President had to bring this sordid saga to a mutually beneficial end, the kind of ending where everyone wins, right? Well the only winners were the ones on the mahogany wood State House table: Evanson Waitiki on the one hand and the myriads of new landed gentry in Likoni on the other. Which is why I chuckled when I read Ms. El Maawy’s point about providing proof of ownership. How does one provide legal proof of ownership over something that was acquired illegally? How does one legitimize illegitimacy ab initio? Anyone can draft a sale agreement and then scrape it on a cement floor to give it an aged look. But basic rules of sale dictate that there are two sides to any agreement and consideration has to pass from the buyer to the seller in order for the contract to be extinguished. Where such consideration can be as miniscule as a gnat’s toe, but is consideration nonetheless. There was no consideration given by anyone for the undisputed and unequivocal ownership rights of Evanson Waitiki.

Now to the point of serendipity, which – once again – is defined as the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way. Serendipity has landed upon the villagers of a section of the county of Kilifi, slapped them sideways and awoken them from slumber. Serendipity has galvanized these villagers into a metamorphic catatonia from hitherto economic serfs into potential landed gentry within the land owned by Kilifi Plantations Ltd. Serendipity has a long name: “Government pays Evanson Waitiki and legitimizes Likoni squatters.” Serendipity has an address: Ardhi House. Serendipity has an expiry date: On or before 2017 elections.

What we have seen in Kilifi is a taste of things to come, because good things come to those who wait. Invade land, wait eighteen years and get clean, crisp titles issued by your government. In other efficient markets, any company that had titles to thousands of acres of productive land used for generating their core product would see their share price fall after such an event since a clear operational and legal risk has been defined by none other than the central government under which that company operates. The warning signs have already started from the county governments of Murang’a with Del Monte land and the county governments of Nandi and Kericho with the vast tea estates held by Finlay and Williamson. The government may have won the political premier league at the coast with the Waitiki land settlement, but it has just midwifed into birth a bigger problem for large-scale private and corporate landowners in Kenya.

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