About three months ago, we began searching for craftsman who could make extra seats for our vehicle. It took us weeks. Hardly anyone did these kinds of modifications, but eventually we found someone in Nairobi who said they’d take him three days to make. He didn’t even need us to come in for measurements; he had our exact vehicle himself. Well, four days passed, and we called him. (Again, no one wants to use his own cell phone minutes in Kenya.) He said maybe tomorrow. We called the next day. Maybe tomorrow. This went on for a week. We were still encouraged though. The price was right and waiting a week was what we expected at the beginning anyway.
Finally, he said they were almost done. He was going to pick them up the next day, and we could have them installed the next afternoon. The next day we drove to Nairobi and hung out, passing the time until he called and we could meet him. The afternoon had almost passed and we called him. The seats were completed, but not up to the quality he wanted. We wouldn’t be getting the seats today.
For the next two weeks, we’d call him and either get his voice mail or be told, “Call me tomorrow.” Finally, after about a month of waiting for this guy, I had enough. Even though there was no Plan B, I told him that we were taking our business elsewhere, hoping that a veiled threat would prompt service. No such luck. He told me I should go elsewhere.
The search for a craftsman resumed. After another two weeks, I found someone else. The price was about the same, and again I was told confidently that they’d be done in a few days. This time, I took the vehicle into Nairobi for measurements and then awaited a quote. I called back every day for a week straight trying to simply get a quote, because no work would begin until we finalized the agreement. Finally, the person I dealt with left her phone with a co-worker, and he had the answers I needed. In fact, she had passed the deal on to him without telling me all along. He gave me the quote and told me to bring my vehicle in.
Hold on a second, I thought. I’m just agreeing to the quote now, how can the seats be ready to install? Well, they weren’t done but he was confident that they’d be done in a few days. With a bit of baggage (wisdom?) behind me, I said I’d bring it in when the seats were done but not a minute before. That was two weeks ago. The last word I heard was, “They’ll be done on Monday or Tuesday.”
No. I’m not holding my breath.
Our friends Matt and Robyn are here right now working as dorm parents, and Matt does a lot of odd jobs in the U.S. He said to me, “These people wouldn’t stay in business one week in the States,” and he’s totally right. The incompetence and inefficiency of business here in Kenya is only eclipsed in size by the apathy. And how can they be apathetic?
One, lack of competition. There is a low supply of skilled workers to do what we need done here. The worst workers in the U.S. don’t get business. The worst workers here may be the only workers. And when shoddy work is done, it’s cultural awkward to tell anyone they’ve done wrong. You hurt someone’s reputation by saying they’ve done wrong. Getting over that hurdle (“You’ve done crappy work but I can’t tell you you’ve done crappy work without hurting you and ruining our relationship”) is no easy task.
Two, different ideas about customer service. The customer is not always right here. The person providing service is higher on the food chain than the customer. One time I bought a soda in Nairobi from a soda machine. The balance of carbonation and syrup was off and it tasted horrible. I politely said to the person who had just taken my money, “This doesn’t taste right.” They looked at me like I had just asked them to cut off their fingers. I kindly insisted that they fix my drink while they scoffed at me and sneered. I broke the cultural law by insisting that I get a soda that I paid for.
The third conclusion I’ve come to about Kenyan business is their apathy is directly related to a lack of ambition. The American Dream is to work harder and get richer. This rule works for everyone, whether on minimum wage or a mega-billionaire. It seems like the Kenyan dream is to get enough. Most of the service providers/government employees/etc. that I’m dealing with have enough. (There is actually a billboard right now in Nairobi about poverty that says, “I’ve made it and you’ve made it, but millions of Kenyans haven’t made it.” The bar for “making it” seems much higher in the States.) Therefore, why should they work harder than they are? Why should they care about having a great business reputation if they are getting enough business right now? If their pocket is currently full, why worry about business tomorrow?
So I’ll take my three little observations and pick up my cell phone one more time. I’ll call these “service providers” and beg them to provide me with service someday. And maybe tomorrow they’ll give me a new excuse. Or maybe they’ll just tell me, “Call back tomorrow.”
Finally, he said they were almost done. He was going to pick them up the next day, and we could have them installed the next afternoon. The next day we drove to Nairobi and hung out, passing the time until he called and we could meet him. The afternoon had almost passed and we called him. The seats were completed, but not up to the quality he wanted. We wouldn’t be getting the seats today.
For the next two weeks, we’d call him and either get his voice mail or be told, “Call me tomorrow.” Finally, after about a month of waiting for this guy, I had enough. Even though there was no Plan B, I told him that we were taking our business elsewhere, hoping that a veiled threat would prompt service. No such luck. He told me I should go elsewhere.
The search for a craftsman resumed. After another two weeks, I found someone else. The price was about the same, and again I was told confidently that they’d be done in a few days. This time, I took the vehicle into Nairobi for measurements and then awaited a quote. I called back every day for a week straight trying to simply get a quote, because no work would begin until we finalized the agreement. Finally, the person I dealt with left her phone with a co-worker, and he had the answers I needed. In fact, she had passed the deal on to him without telling me all along. He gave me the quote and told me to bring my vehicle in.
Hold on a second, I thought. I’m just agreeing to the quote now, how can the seats be ready to install? Well, they weren’t done but he was confident that they’d be done in a few days. With a bit of baggage (wisdom?) behind me, I said I’d bring it in when the seats were done but not a minute before. That was two weeks ago. The last word I heard was, “They’ll be done on Monday or Tuesday.”
No. I’m not holding my breath.
Our friends Matt and Robyn are here right now working as dorm parents, and Matt does a lot of odd jobs in the U.S. He said to me, “These people wouldn’t stay in business one week in the States,” and he’s totally right. The incompetence and inefficiency of business here in Kenya is only eclipsed in size by the apathy. And how can they be apathetic?
One, lack of competition. There is a low supply of skilled workers to do what we need done here. The worst workers in the U.S. don’t get business. The worst workers here may be the only workers. And when shoddy work is done, it’s cultural awkward to tell anyone they’ve done wrong. You hurt someone’s reputation by saying they’ve done wrong. Getting over that hurdle (“You’ve done crappy work but I can’t tell you you’ve done crappy work without hurting you and ruining our relationship”) is no easy task.
Two, different ideas about customer service. The customer is not always right here. The person providing service is higher on the food chain than the customer. One time I bought a soda in Nairobi from a soda machine. The balance of carbonation and syrup was off and it tasted horrible. I politely said to the person who had just taken my money, “This doesn’t taste right.” They looked at me like I had just asked them to cut off their fingers. I kindly insisted that they fix my drink while they scoffed at me and sneered. I broke the cultural law by insisting that I get a soda that I paid for.
The third conclusion I’ve come to about Kenyan business is their apathy is directly related to a lack of ambition. The American Dream is to work harder and get richer. This rule works for everyone, whether on minimum wage or a mega-billionaire. It seems like the Kenyan dream is to get enough. Most of the service providers/government employees/etc. that I’m dealing with have enough. (There is actually a billboard right now in Nairobi about poverty that says, “I’ve made it and you’ve made it, but millions of Kenyans haven’t made it.” The bar for “making it” seems much higher in the States.) Therefore, why should they work harder than they are? Why should they care about having a great business reputation if they are getting enough business right now? If their pocket is currently full, why worry about business tomorrow?
So I’ll take my three little observations and pick up my cell phone one more time. I’ll call these “service providers” and beg them to provide me with service someday. And maybe tomorrow they’ll give me a new excuse. Or maybe they’ll just tell me, “Call back tomorrow.”
