The interview with Chloe and Michael Humphreys focuses on the work of The Landscape Studio. They began working in Nairobi in 2014 and in the years, their practice produced numerous private and public projects across Africa, that in essence and with minimal material means, embody the beauty of the locality. Embracing constraints is their design strategy in the brut landscape, capturing the richness of details and material tactility. Above all, with a sensitive approach, they engage the community and uplift the potential. Their projects are a case study of how to patiently proceed in the environment and allow for things to unfold. They developed their signature co-design, incorporating local knowledge, crafts and spirituality, deeply instilled with care.

Help us understand landscape architecture in East and West Africa.

What is the profession like in the region? Organizations like IFLA Africa and the AJLA journal provide some insight, and a few schools, such as those in Nigeria, offer landscape architecture programs. But how many landscape architects are there, and how do they secure projects? Perhaps you can also shed light on common misconceptions people from developed countries have about living and working there.

As you mention, universities such as Jomo Kenyatta University in Kenya and the University of Lagos in Nigeria have been training landscape architects for years. Yet, the profession has struggled to gain traction at the scale seen elsewhere in the world. This is largely due to a lack of public projects and a widespread misconception about the cost and value of external works. As a result, landscape architecture firms remain scarce outside South Africa, where the industry is more established. Elsewhere, most practices operate within the cautious constraints of a still-developing market, rather than actively shaping its evolution.

For our studio, it has been a long and patient process of advocacy—educating architects, developers, and other consultants on the profound impact and benefits of landscape architecture. By securing a place at the very inception of a project, we are able to create truly sustainable designs—ones that respond to the land and the lives connected to it in a way that is both equitable and viable. With limited resources at hand, this integrated approach has been a necessity since our early days of practice in Kenya more than a decade ago.

We have been fortunate to collaborate with remarkable individuals—clients and teams who, like us, see opportunity where others see constraint. Working in Africa demands adaptability, deep listening, and an embrace of each place’s uniqueness. There is no rigid manual to follow, no standardised set of solutions. Instead, we find strength in designing with sensitivity—tapping into local pride, cultural narratives, and the intrinsic identity of a site to create landscapes that truly belong.

One of the greatest misconceptions about Africa is that it is defined by scarcity—of infrastructure, of expertise, of possibility. In reality, it is defined by ingenuity, resilience, and an extraordinary sense of community. Challenges exist, of course, but so does an undeniable energy for transformation. As interest in the Global South continues to grow, we believe landscape architecture has an opportunity not only to respond to this change but to lead it—crafting original, place-sensitive solutions that shape landscapes as dynamic and diverse as the continent itself.

What aesthetics is predominant in Africa? It seems that “shiny-new” and more commercial content is greatly appreciated as a sign of progress. How does your design sit with that?

The aesthetic you describe is not unique to Africa—it is a global phenomenon. Much has been written about the aspiration for luxury across economic classes, and like everywhere else, Africa seeks modernisation, striving to match or surpass its peers.

This natural desire presents both a challenge and an opportunity for designers and planners. It calls for responses that are not imposed but emerge from within—rooted in what is already there. By embracing this approach, we not only highlight the unique qualities of each place but also create long-term, functional solutions that are inherently contemporary yet deeply authentic.

There is a tendency to reduce “African aesthetics” to a singular idea—often distilled into the mesmerising patterns, vivid colours, and ingenious expressions that captivate the world. But Africa is vast, layered, and endlessly nuanced. The cultures that inhabit this land have shaped distinct identities in response to their landscapes, while remaining intrinsically connected through social and cultural ties.

In our design process, we seek out these threads—the essential gestures that provide meaning to everything else. The lines that emerge define spaces for nature, people, and infrastructure, weaving together through craftsmanship and materiality. And within this layered, contextual richness lies true luxury—not in the pursuit of the “shiny-new,” but in the profound sense of place that makes a landscape feel as if it has always belonged.

Chloe, you gave a lecture at the Landezine Live event in Hamburg, emphasising that working there is really hard, the budgets are low, and the infrastructure is sometimes non-existent. For example, you nursed the tree seedlings from seeds yourself to plant them in a school project.
Your designs, however, are breathtaking. Simplicity is necessary because of the lack of resources rather than stripping away the unnecessary, as is appreciated in Europe, for example.

…simplicity is necessary because we need space to breathe! Nature needs room to unfold, just as we do, and even the buildings themselves. Calm is what allows us to connect with our surroundings, to be drawn into them. Especially now, as the idea of the garden has shifted; it is no longer about shielding us from the outside world but about reconnecting us with it. Our work sits at this delicate interface, shaping spaces that are both grounding and alive.

This approach is deeply intentional. It is not about making do with less, but about making the most of what is there—embracing the materials, skills, and possibilities that exist within a place. At Mustardseed School, for example, all the pathways were crafted from stone and earth found on-site. These choices are not just practical; they root the project in its landscape, creating spaces that feel natural, timeless, and deeply connected to their environment.

When it comes to planting, growing from seed is not a limitation—it is an act of patience and precision. We see it as a strength, ensuring that plants are perfectly suited to their environment, down to the nearest metre. This is a philosophy we are eager to extend to our European and British projects as well.

The same principle applies to the people who bring these spaces to life. By working with local craftspeople and training teams on-site, we cultivate not only landscapes but also skills, ownership, and long-term commitment. When people feel invested in a place—when they have shaped it with their own hands—they take pride in it, they care for it, and they ensure its future.

A project may reach Practical Completion, but that is only the beginning of its life. Landscapes flourish in the hands of those who nurture them, and in turn, they shape the lives of the people who dwell within them. This is why we design not just for the project, but with the perspective of spaces that are truly lived in, cared for, and enduringly sustained.

You have started working in Europe. Please say a few words about the move and the shift that was produced in the way you work.

Our practice has always been deeply rooted in place, and returning to Europe has, quite literally, shifted the ground beneath us in unexpected ways. This move has opened new perspectives—not just on what we do, but on how we do it—reinforcing our belief that landscape architecture is always, at its core, about thinking locally.

Of course, adapting to Europe’s highly regulated markets came with a learning curve—one paved with meticulous processes and layers of bureaucracy. But beyond that, the essence of our work remains the same: forging close relationships with local teams to uncover the simplest, most authentic ways of shaping our relationship with the landscape. Take stone, for example. In France, we had to recalibrate our expectations when we discovered that natural stone here emerges from quarries not as rugged, irregular forms, but as neatly cut, mechanized bricks. The hand-carved textures we once relied on are not always feasible, but instead of resisting this shift, we’ve embraced it—finding beauty in the interplay between machine precision and nature’s unpredictability.

Perhaps the most striking discovery has been Europe’s deep, layered history—not just in its landscapes but in the skills that shaped them. The very techniques that built civilizations have become rare, almost endangered, much like fragile ecosystems. We find ourselves drawn to these crafts with the same curiosity and care that we bring to degraded landscapes: eager to understand, to restore, to keep them alive for as long as possible.

Amidst this, our approach to planting remains a constant. The localized palette continues to anchor our projects, weaving hardscape and softscape into a seamless dialogue. Yet here, in Europe, that dialogue comes with centuries of recorded history, making every planting decision an exploration of identity. Researching these layers has become one of our greatest joys—pulling on threads of the past and following them down rabbit holes that lead to unexpected, inspiring discoveries.

Please outline your dearest project.

It’s always tough to choose a favourite! We invest deeply in every project, not just in the landscapes but in the people and relationships that shape them. Perhaps that’s why we are especially drawn to community-focused projects—the kind that create meaningful impact and lasting connections.

One such project is the Ngare Ndare Community Garden. More than just a place to grow food, it has become a safe space for the local community to come together, voice their concerns, and address delicate issues like illiteracy and abuse. All of this happens while they engage in the act of growing—learning from one another and from the land itself, following sustainable and ancient farming traditions.

Similarly, the Bidi Bidi Performing Arts Centre holds a special place in our hearts. Here, amidst incredibly dry and harsh conditions, we integrated ad hoc ancient farming strategies that teach refugees how to cultivate their own food—transforming not just the soil but also lives. The centre is more than a place of artistic expression; it is a testament to resilience, resourcefulness, and the power of landscape to foster both culture and survival.

We are also deeply invested in conservation and preservation work, where landscape architecture serves as a bridge between history and the present. Salaam Paths is a perfect example—a project that safeguards natural and cultural heritage while creating spaces where people can connect, reflect, and engage with the landscape in safe and moving ways.

Every project brings its own lessons, challenges, and opportunities, and that’s what makes this work so fulfilling. Each place teaches us something new, and each design reinforces our belief in landscape as a powerful tool for change, connection, and storytelling.

I guess questions are influenced by a sort of nostalgia for your work in Africa, as you did incredible work there, also in promoting the profession. Can you point out good practices that you feel inspired by?

As a practice, we believe the most meaningful landscapes emerge from a deep understanding of place—its history, its rhythms, and the symbolic layers embedded by those who have lived, worked, and dreamed within it. Designing with this awareness allows us to create spaces that are not just functional and sustainable, but deeply resonant with the people who inhabit them.

We often look toward studios in South America and India for inspiration, where landscape architecture is shaped by necessity, resilience, and an intimate connection to cultural identity. But our greatest influences come not just from our field, but from artists, historians, and local knowledge keepers who help us uncover the hidden narratives of a place.

By honouring these stories, our designs become original responses rather than imposed solutions—rooted in the land’s character and the symbolic meanings that have shaped it over time. This approach naturally leads to responsible and sustainable landscapes, but more importantly, it creates places that feel familiar, even when they are new. Places where people see themselves reflected, where memory and nature intertwine, and where the design feels like it has always belonged.

From reviving ancient farming techniques in refugee settlements to designing paths that honour centuries-old ways of moving through the land, our work sits at this intersection of past and future, tangible and intangible. We see landscape as more than a backdrop—it is a vessel of identity, a medium for storytelling, and a bridge between the people and the land.