I Thought Sheep Farming Would Make Me Rich; Then Ksh400K Went Down the Drain

I have always been fascinated by the idea of making money while I sleep. I have a busy full-time job, and like many Kenyans who want to get ahead financially, I am always looking for a side hustle that can earn me extra income without demanding all my time.

A few years ago, I bought goat meat for Ksh900. I remember thinking how expensive it had become. There was a time when I could buy the same meat for about Ksh320. With the cost of everything going up, I wondered whether there was money to be made in rearing goats and sheep for meat.

I went down a rabbit hole researching livestock farming. From what I read, the business seemed straightforward. Buy young animals, feed them, let them grow, and sell them when they are ready. The animals would reproduce, giving me more stock to sell or keep for the next cycle.

I liked the idea so much that I spent the next two years thinking about it without doing anything. It was one of those business ideas that sits at the back of your mind until something gives you the push to act.

That push came during a conversation with a friend who had inherited a piece of land in Mweiga, Nyeri. The land was lying idle, and we started wondering whether we could turn it into a source of income.

We began playing around with the numbers.

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Our plan was to buy 20 young sheep in January at approximately Ksh5,000 each. We would need about Ksh100,000 for the animals, then some money to put up a simple shed, arrange a water supply and hire someone to look after them.

The plan was to sell the mature animals during the Christmas period, when demand for meat typically rises. We estimated that we could sell 20 sheep at Ksh15,000 each, bringing in Ksh300,000 before expenses. We also expected the sheep to reproduce, allowing us to grow the flock.

When we ran the numbers for 50 sheep, then 100, the possibilities looked even more exciting. We were not dreaming of becoming livestock farmers overnight. We would start small, learn the business and scale up as we became more experienced.

At least, that was the plan.

We eventually decided to invest in Dorper sheep instead of the local Kikuyu breed. Our research suggested that Dorpers gained weight faster, which could help us reach our target selling weight sooner. The price per animal rose to about Ksh10,000, but we felt the quicker growth would justify the extra cost.

We were ready to give this business a proper shot.

The first major decision was finding someone to manage the flock. I had a distant relative who had helped me with another project, and I thought he would be a good fit. We approached him with the idea, offering him a salary and a chance to benefit from the business as it grew.

We wanted him to feel invested in what we were building together. He would look after the sheep, keep us informed about their health and progress, and we would share some of the proceeds with him after each sales cycle.

In our minds, we had solved the biggest problem. We had the land, the money, the animals and someone we trusted to look after them.

What could go wrong?

The first signs of trouble were easy to dismiss. Communication was poor. My partner and I were busy with our jobs, and we were not always at the farm. We would ask about the animals' weights and general condition, and the reports suggested that everything was progressing well.

Then the deaths started.

Whenever a sheep gave birth, the mother would sometimes fall sick and die shortly afterwards. By the time we learnt that an animal was unwell, it was often too weak to stand. We would call a vet, but in nearly all these cases, it was already too late.

The lambs would then die soon after, having lost the mother they depended on for milk and nourishment.

We were losing not just the mother but also the next generation of our flock.

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I became increasingly frustrated with our shepherd. Sometimes he would ask us to send money for injections for an animal he had not previously reported as sick. We were left wondering how long the animal had been unwell and why we were only hearing about it when the situation had become urgent.

We insisted that he communicate better, but things did not improve much. Eventually, we threatened to deduct money from his salary if another animal died because of negligence.

Looking back, I am not sure that was the right approach. We had concerns about his performance, but instead of putting a proper management system in place and making a clear decision about whether he should remain in the job, we kept hoping things would improve.

Then came the night that changed everything.

Our shepherd asked for a salary advance covering several months. He said his wife was critically ill and had been taken to the operating theatre. We believed him and sent him the money.

That very night, our sheep were stolen.

What made the incident even more suspicious was that there was no obvious sign of forced entry. The sheep pen was right outside the shepherd's bedroom, so the police began asking questions.

They learnt that he had not spent the night at the farm as he had claimed. Some witnesses said they had seen him alighting from a bus that morning. We began to fear that the person we had entrusted with our investment might know more about the theft than he was letting on.

At around 7 p.m., he quit his job.

You can imagine the panic. We had initially been told that 13 sheep were missing, leaving the rest stranded on a farm about 180 kilometres away from Nairobi. Fortunately, it was a Friday, so we found someone who could temporarily look after the remaining animals and drove to Nyeri the following day.

When we arrived, we discovered that 15 sheep had actually been stolen, not 13.

But the number was only part of the problem.

The thieves appeared to have used our weight records to identify which animals to take. They had taken the 15 heaviest sheep, leaving us with the smaller ones.

We had spent extra money buying Dorpers because we believed faster growth would help us make money sooner. Now, the animals we had invested the most hope in were gone.

I had gone into the business looking for a relatively hands-off source of income. But now it looked like our hard-earned money had gone down the drain. 

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The experience forced me to confront something I had overlooked when we were drawing up our spreadsheets: buying the animals was the easy part. Building a business that could protect them was a completely different challenge.

We had invested a combined minimum of Ksh400,000 into the venture. Yet, we had not put in place some of the basic systems that could have helped us protect that investment.

We had no CCTV cameras to help monitor the farm. We had not established a reliable, independent veterinary arrangement that would allow us to respond quickly when an animal became sick. We relied heavily on one person to tell us what was happening, and we had limited ways of verifying what he told us.

I cannot say with certainty that CCTV cameras or a different shepherd would have prevented the theft and losses. But proper records, independent checks and a clearer process for reporting sick animals would have given us better visibility into what was happening.

We could have caught problems earlier, made more informed decisions and reduced our dependence on one person's word.

As we worked out what to do next, four more animals were dead, reducing the flock to six.  Eventually, I decided to leave the venture with just three animals worth about Ksh30,000.

It was a painful outcome for an investment that had cost each of us Ksh200,000.

But I do not look back at the experience as a complete waste. I still believe there is potential in sheep farming. What I no longer believe is that the business is as simple or as passive as it looked when we first ran the numbers.

Also Read: I Invested My Savings in Cows, I Lost Everything in 1 Year

There is a difference between a business that makes money and a business that can consistently put money in your pocket. The second requires more than a promising market and a good profit margin on paper.

If I were to try sheep farming again, I would first establish the minimum operating structures the business needs. I would budget for proper livestock housing, security, regular inspections, veterinary care and reliable records of each animal's weight, health and breeding history. I would also set up a clear reporting process so that sickness, deaths and unusual expenses are communicated immediately.

Most importantly, I would not assume that someone is managing the business well simply because they tell me everything is fine. I would make independent checks part of the routine, rather than waiting for a crisis to discover what has been happening.

These measures would cost money. That is precisely why they should be considered before investing, rather than treated as optional expenses to be introduced after the business has grown.

I have simply learnt that passive income is rarely passive at the beginning. Someone has to build the systems, manage the risks and make sure the business is working as intended. If you are not doing that yourself, you need reliable people and a way to hold them accountable.

The next time I get excited about a business idea, I will still run the numbers. But I will also ask a different question: how much will it cost me to protect the money I put into it?

Because a business can look profitable on paper and still lose you money in the real world.