SWILA NOTEBOOK: San Francisco’s economy, high cost of living and the influx of foreigners

The city of San Francisco in the State of California is one of the most popular destinations in the United States of America if not in the world. Its popularity is driven by its iconic landmarks such as the Golden Gate Bridge, diverse and vibrant culture, excellent culinary scene, mild weather, and reputation as a hub for innovation and technology companies.

The city is off the coast of the Pacific Ocean and the turquoise waters and the beautiful beaches and water sports is an ideal destination for holiday makers.

But what makes the city so expensive?

Naturally, with such beauty and a diverse population, San is anything but cheap, understandably. Tech giants have offices here. LinkedIn, Dropbox, Apple, Cisco, Airbnb, and many others have presence and have employed expatriates and Americans alike.  Add to the fact that it is a commercial, financial, and cultural center then you get the matrix. With a population of slightly above 1million teeming souls, 808,988 residents as of 2023, San Francisco is the fourth-most populous city in the state of California and the 17th-most populous in the U.S. It covers a land area of 46.9 square miles at the the upper end of the San Francisco Peninsula, making it the second-most densely populated major U.S. city.

The city is not just home to Americans. Nada! Foreigners are here in their numbers. Tall. Short. Dark.  Brown. Black. Caucasians…you name it. The city is a melting pot of cultures and when one lives here the global feel is real.

According to Census.gov; more than 30 percent of the population of San Francisco were born out of the United States and this population has come in handy, doing all manner of jobs: bankers, cleaners, drivers, fast-food joints et al.

The fact that it is a tech hub and the aforementioned factors makes San extremely expensive and the lean salaries most professionals earn in Nairobi would be pocket change here.

Figure out this: When I arrived here a couple of days ago, I was picked up by a driver, João Gabriel, who was advanced by the hotel. He’s a lean, young man, probably in his mid-twenties. He told me he comes from Sao Paulo Brazil and docked on the shores of San some 18 months ago, in search of greener pastures. I quickly picked out that he was shy but the journalism bug in me couldn’t let go; so I shot my questions, one after another, in conversation style.

Though the rest of his family is in his native country, he has settled here, landing a job as a driver. But with the exponential high cost of living in the city, and high property prices, he opted to live in the outskirts of the city, but still he pays an arm and a leg for his 1 bedroom apartment. A cool USD 2,500 monthly [Ksh 322,000] going by the current exchange rates. His hood [as you can guess] is not the most grandiose. You can figure out what the rest could be paying and what it’d mean to rent a three bedroom apartment.

With President Donald Trump’s threat to deport illegal immigrants I came here well prepared for any tough question, including at the port of entry. Of course my travel was above board, with one of the strongest non- immigrant visas but still there were lingering questions. What are they likely to ask at the point of entry? I mapped out all that, had all the documents and contacts and addresses of what may  or could be required.

However, to my surprise, everything was smoother and quicker than I expected. The clearance queue at the immigration desk was long – travellers disembarking from the Emirates airline, Air France and et.al. The immigration officer, a short, burly man with kinky hair, probably from the Philippines or Thailand, gave me a piercing look, as if to size me up – this is what I was ready for. I knew it. I expected it. I looked at him straight in the eye as he requested me to get rid of my glasses. He scanned my passport and there he was, firing his questions in quick succession, in an almost similar manner a trigger-happy cop fires at an unarmed Gen Z picketer: 1. What brings you here? 2. Is this your first time here? 3. How much are the NBA tickets going for? 4. Do you have some dollars on you? 5. For how long are you going to be here? In short he was checking out for any clues – does this trip add up?

My confidence, as always, was sky-high, and I answered to his satisfaction and challenged him to make a trip to the Green City in the Sun; I’d be a good host. To which he smiled.

Like many of his colleagues at the San airport, he is an immigrant or a generation of an immigrant, going by his looks.

At the hotel, the staff are warm and orderly but you pay an arm and a leg. Booking a hotel for accommodation just means that – bed alone [in short pahali pa kulala pekee]. Breakfast comes at an extra cost and so is the Wi-Fi in the hotel room.

The Marriott Union Square Hotel is a skyscraper, piercing San’s airspace as if it’s a space race. It is not alone, many other buildings do, and perhaps a pointer to the US sheer might [something President Barack Obama, was magnanimous to capture in his autobiography, ‘Dreams from My father:  A Story of Race and Inheritance].

One of the staffers here, I’m yet to learn her name, but like most of her colleagues, she passes for an immigrant. She’s middle-aged with a warm, easy smile. The other day she told me how Kenya has the best tea in the whole world and baskets too [she was referring to the Maasai artefacts] and this was my moment to shine, a moment of pride, that someone, thousands and thousands of miles away recognises the sheer ability of my magical Kenya, and the finesse of her exports. How if, what would…if the political class just got its act together, I wonder.

 Tomorrow, in the final episode of my excursions, I’ll tell you about Sans’ infrastructure and the road culture.

The author, a news editor and Head of Royal Media Services Sports Centre, is among the selected sports journalists from around the world covering this year’s edition of the NBA All-Star event.