Someone asked me the other day, “What do you miss about your city (Amsterdam)?” I had to think deeply for a while until it popped: Sjaakie Swart. People who know about him would not immediately connect why, but of course, I will explain.

For those who don’t know, Sjaakie Swart was a legendary Ajax football player from the 1960s and 1970s. But what made him special wasn’t just his skills on the pitch—it was his unmistakable Amsterdam accent, that raw, authentic sound of old Amsterdam—a pure, unfiltered, working-class city voice that’s becoming rarer by the day.

The other night, I was watching a Dutch programme. He was a guest, and when he opened his mouth, a wave of recognition and memories washed over me. That is how my town sounded in the seventies, at the Albert Cuyp market or the man with the orgel. Of course, there were many jaw-clenching ABN (ALGEMEEN BESCHAAFD NEDERLANDS)–speaking people around me, but that was the standard sound in the streets.
Before it got taken over by developers, ex-pats, immigrants, and drunken/high ugly-ass tourists.

I remember that same sensation washing over me in the summers, living on the Bible Belt when the camping was filled with city escapers. But already back then, although happy to hear the accent in the community swimming pool, I realised it was a bit too crowded and couldn’t ride my horse into town.

When the tourism industry discovers a new territory to exploit (yes, I said that, and no, my favourite jacket ain’t no straightjacket), the keywords are “discovered” (like no one knew it has been there for ages), and overall the term and verb “exploit.”
Whatever is promised, the essence and best comparison will always be the exchange of beads for gold (ask the Indians), I know I am not politically correct but do have my brain and heart in the right functioning place.

Look at Kenya and Tanzania now—the new playgrounds for Western “visionaries” with their eco-lodges and sustainable tourism buzzwords. They swoop in with PowerPoints about conservation while grabbing prime land. The Maasai, who’ve understood those savannahs for centuries, suddenly become props for sunset safari photos or quaint cultural experiences to tick off tourist checklists.
The same colonisers who once took with guns now take with development permits and sustainability certificates.

Have you seen the coastlines of Zanzibar or Mombasa lately? Local fishermen pushed aside for infinity pools where Europeans sip cocktails named after tribal words they can’t pronounce. They call it “economic opportunity” – the same way they justified the old colonial trading posts.

Cultural cohesion in a land is already complex and diverse; hence, there is more reason to abide by and protect the existing handed-over traditions. Traditions came to life for an evident reason; after all, we live on a breathing organism.

Mind you, I’m not referring to religions! I’m always referring to everything related to the cycles of Mother Earth—no long-bearded men dictating rules for me. I’m talking about the intimate knowledge passed through generations about when to plant, how to read weather patterns, which plants heal, and how to maintain balance with the land.

These traditions reflect generations of accumulated wisdom about living in harmony with local ecosystems – from timed farming practices to seasonal changes, celebrations marking natural cycles, and sustainable resource management systems.

Like Indigenous communities worldwide, the people of Mount Meru developed their customs, heritage, culture, and folklore as direct responses to their environment.

I’m talking about the intimate knowledge passed through generations about when to plant, how to read weather patterns, which plants heal, and how to maintain balance with the land.

These Earth-connected traditions are precisely what developers with spreadsheets and five-year plans dismiss as “primitive” or “quaint” because they’ve never witnessed a full seasonal cycle on the mountain they’re eager to transform.

So why those wide open doors to Western developers? Because they know better. Have you taken a look at their country?

My suggestions and advice are from a Dutch daughter of old colonial and Elsaz aristocracy who has experienced with eyes, ears, and years how we have been taken and taken over, and I swear to you: you are always on the wrong site!

Based upon my flab to abb ratio combined with a 137 IQ, I kid you not; DO NOT sell your beloved country out to a real-estate-minded president.

May Harmony find you,

Irena Phaedra

P.S Next time a developer shows you a glossy brochure of their “eco-friendly” vision for your land, ask them if they can name five local medicinal plants, tell you when the short rains begin, or explain why the elders gather at that specific tree on the mountainside before making decisions. Their blank stare is all you need to know. Knowledge isn’t found in sustainable development certificates hanging on office walls – it’s in the calloused hands of those who’ve lived and breathed with the land for generations.

Don’t trade that wisdom for promises printed on recycled paper.