191 words, but perhaps only seven will do. “Cover the world, before it covers you.” That is the ethos buried underneath the varnish of Tom Mason. “One of my biggest frustrations is that life is so short and the world is so big,” he says. The CEO of Pharo Foundation is a man who lives foot down on the open road, with a parched spirit that nothing seems to quench. Not trailing across Namibia’s Skeleton Coast on horseback. Not riding from South Africa to Kenya, the wind in his hair, the world on his face, high speed, to the jazz pulse, the fizz. Not even sailing across the Atlantic from Cape Town to Brazil. No, not even that.
The life he chose is expansive, if not expensive. The fault in his stars? His pessimistic worldview. “I can easily find fault in anything.” Mild bouts of imposter syndrome. Cured by the next adventure. He’s slowed, but he hasn’t stopped. How could he? Each time, his desire had been satisfied, yet it remained undiminished, unsatisfied. He is a ceaseless romantic, in love with adventure, always in the distance, him always chasing it.
What makes you, you? I grew up on the Kenyan coast, finished school in Zanzibar, studied in South Africa, and returned to Kenya to build businesses. My last venture produced insects for crop protection. We grew it from an R&D unit into a successful business, which we sold to private equity when I was 40.
I saw my 40s as a unique window to put my experience, energy and resources towards something meaningful. Around the same time, Guillaume Fonkenell was building Pharo Foundation. We realised we could combine his long-term ambition with my experience of building businesses in Africa.
I had become frustrated with investors’ short-term horizons. Building something meaningful takes time, and I wanted the freedom to take risks and solve problems over the long term. When Guillaume asked me to run the foundation, I committed to at least a decade.
We adopted a private-sector approach to philanthropy, taking a 10-to 20-year view rather than building programmes around funding cycles. Today, we run the foundation as a business for impact, with 780 staff, clear performance targets, rigorous financial systems, development programmes and commercial ventures.
What’s it like to sell a business you’ve built? It’s super difficult because it’s your child. You’ve nurtured it and put all your energy, passion, and commitment into it. The single biggest concern you ever have when selling a business is whether the new investor, owner, or management is going to care for the people and the organisation the same way you did. If the answer is yes, it’s very easy; if the answer is no, you have serious questions.
Pharo Foundation CEO Thomas Mason in his office on October 6, 2026.
Photo credit: Francis Nderitu | Nation Media Group
What’s behind your appetite for adventure? One of my biggest frustrations is that life is so short and the world is so big. Globally, there are so many cultures, languages, foods, and religions that any one of us will ever get to experience, and it’s frustrating that we won’t get to experience them all. I’ve travelled the length of the continent in different ways: from Tunisia down through Libya, Egypt, Sudan, South Sudan, Ethiopia, and Kenya by buses and trains, and from South Africa to Kenya once by motorbike and once in an old Mercedes 280D while kite surfing along the coast.
My favourite was by motorbike because there was no window between you and whoever you met on the road, and Africa has a fantastic motorbike culture. From South Africa, the roads are quiet, but as you go north through Zimbabwe, Zambia, Botswana, Malawi, and Tanzania, it gets more intense and chaotic. For me, it’s a thirst for knowledge, experience, and shared human connections.
Of all your adventures, which one frightened you the most? Sailing a 36-foot yacht from Cape Town to Brazil across the Atlantic Ocean when I was 18. I was with my brother-in-law, the captain in his 60s, and his son. We were caught in a storm about 500 miles off the Brazilian coastline. I was terrified [chuckles]. We took down all the sails, closed all the hatches, and deployed a sea anchor behind the boat to keep it stable so the waves wouldn’t hit us sideways. That was probably the most terrifying moment.
Are you naturally restless? No, in the sense that when I commit to something, I am very committed. Restless is the wrong word; it’s a high degree of inquisitiveness. What’s next? What’s over that horizon? What happens when I go over that hill?
What has this taught you about fear? From a business and life perspective, all of us experience imposter syndrome. Am I qualified enough for this job? Am I good enough to be a dad? It’s a terrible affliction for anyone to suffer from. Growing up, I always questioned if I was fast enough or good enough. That internal fear has been the fuel underpinning everything I’ve done, trying to prove to myself that I can do it. Every single time you stretch yourself, you realise your capability has grown. And the mistakes you make along the way teach you about your focus and attention.
Has your idea of a good life changed? Yes, it changes with the seasons of your life. In your youth, priorities are about partying and having fun. In your 20s, your career becomes a huge focus. In your 30s, you start thinking about family and being part of a unit. In my 40s now, it’s an exciting period where you live life through your children and give them opportunities you didn’t have. You start living more than one life.
What has become clearer with age for you? An aspiration for wisdom and experience. When I applied to INSEAD Business School, they asked why I wanted to attend. I gave them two reasons: one, I don’t want to be homeless living under a bridge, and two, I wanted to synthesise the experience and wisdom of people 10 to 20 years older than me to get a head start on my own life.
That connects back to why [Guillaume] Fonkenell and I love investing in education at the foundation. Education is a resilient asset class that compounds at an aggressive rate. If you teach someone to read and instil a thirst for knowledge, they can educate themselves, and once you have an education, no one can take it away from you.
Growing up, we didn’t have electricity at home, so we didn’t have a television. Instead, we read books to entertain ourselves, or my dad would use a small slide-torch to project Disney images on the wall and tell us different stories every night. That combination of creativity and reading shaped my childhood.
What would you change about how you were raised? Nothing. My parents were fantastic nurturers who gave us a huge amount of freedom and liberty to explore and make mistakes. Today, society is often far too protective and restrictive with children. But falling off your bike for the first time is how you build the bravery and confidence to go on bigger adventures later in life.
If your children were living life the exact way you have, what would you advise them to change? I have a son and daughter, and I would tell them to capitalise on every single opportunity you are given and maximise its value. When I was growing up, I didn’t think about how privileged I was to be where I was. So having the humility to realise how privileged we are is a lesson we shall never learn enough. Whether it’s knowing where your next meal is coming from, being able to read, having a working phone, or having access to books and healthcare, we rarely reflect deeply enough on that privilege. So, if I have that book on my shelf, why haven’t I read it?
Do you have a “what if” moment that you think about often? Everything is a “what if” moment for me. Life is a process of circumstance and luck. What if this hadn’t happened, or what if I hadn’t done that? If the foundation [Pharo] hadn’t built a robust platform that resonated with me, I would be doing something completely different. Daily decisions, like taking an extra hour to meet someone, can open up opportunities that otherwise wouldn’t have existed.
Have your children made you less adventurous? Definitely as a function of having to change nappies, especially in the beginning [chuckles]. But as my children have grown older, it has made me more adventurous because I get to experience adventures through them—watching them learn a new sport, craft, or read a new book. It definitely makes you less self-centred.
What do you know about fatherhood that I wouldn’t find in a parenting book? Most advice is in the books, but one thing missing from life’s guidebooks is dealing with mortality and death. It’s a blind spot in humanity that no one prepares you for. I lost my mum recently, and no one had passed that lesson to me. How would they even? It’s a unique experience.
How did that shape you? Mortality becomes more acute. Losing a parent is a defining moment when you suddenly realise you are the grown-up in the room, making the big decisions and supporting others [chuckles]. You think about those ‘what-if’ moments a lot.
When your children are in your shoes, what do you hope they understand? I hope they have the humility to understand their circumstances, the aspiration and bravery to capitalise on opportunities, the ability to make good decisions with limited information and experience, and the willingness to ask for help. People rarely ask for help because of imposter syndrome, but humanity is naturally inclined to assist if you reach out.
What habit has best served your life? Writing a to-do list and getting things done [chuckles]. If you know where you want to get to, and you can figure out all the steps to get there, that is your secret. The clearer my vision of where I want to get to, the easier it is to get there. Putting thoughts down on paper as actionable steps removes stress. Coupled with that is the power of manifestation and writing down long-term goals for where you want to be at specific ages. I’ve consistently gone back to lists written 10 or 15 years ago and realised those goals came to fruition. And as you go further in your career, whoever writes the minutes has the last say [chuckles].
What’s an insecurity you have as Tom? Imposter syndrome and understanding the dynamics of gender balance. Watching my wife be a fantastic mother and wife and career woman opened my eyes to the immense burden mothers carry before even stepping into the office. When you are in your 20s and 30s, you rarely realise the burden mothers carry. It makes you very empathetic when you become a husband and father, watching what your wife achieves on top of her career. But there’s also a sense of inadequacy in fully relating to that experience.
How has your definition of the word “husband” changed over the years? Leadership casts a long shadow. Every action, your energy levels, and behaviour are observed by your children and your team. Being a husband, father, and business leader means you are under consistent observation, setting an example of a loving, accountable relationship that your children can aspire to, because whatever the boss does is okay for me to do too.
What would your wife tell me about you that you wouldn’t? She would say I see the world through a pessimistic view and spot the flaws in everything. While it’s a criticism, it’s also a strength in business because I can walk onto a site or into an organisation and spot problems instantly.
What does your idea of a good weekend look like? Being at home with family and playing polo. I love my horses. Do you know riding a horse at speed with seven other players requires total focus, precision, and teamwork, leaving no room to worry about anything else? It’s a gender-balanced, family-oriented sport and an opportunity to defragment my brain and be fit and healthy. My wife plays as well. It’s an expensive guilty pleasure, but I love it [chuckles].
Have you lived the life you thought you would? Through manifestation, yes. Even when I am having a rough time, I feel super blessed and privileged for my family, friends, and strangers who made it possible. While there is always room for improvement, taking stock and celebrating what has been achieved is important. Probably that’s also one of my flaws; I don’t do that often enough.
