Kenya is ranked 98th of the world's countries for ease of doing business. Ahead of Uzbekistan, DRC, Kosovo, West Bank. Behind Denmark, Singapore, USA. Nothing unexpected there.
But the devil is in the detail.
We don't have a phone landline. Rather we do have a phone sitting in our hall, and it is connected, because sporadically the phone company calls to chase us for the final month's bill of the previous tenants. I had various desultory attempts over a six month period to try to sort this out, so we too could phone out, but my follow through kept getting used up by more pressing emergencies, and then we just got used to using our mobiles for everything.
But the house has a lead lining to the roof. Great for stopping the rain getting in. Hopeless for allowing mobile signals to penetrate. So when my phone rings I grab it, and pelt outside, up the stairs in the back yard, or down by the chicken coop in the front garden. Not ideal for long conversations when its raining. Not ideal for notetaking. Not enhanced by my panting noises as I reach the good reception at the top of the steps, but realise I haven't been to the gym as often as I might have recently.
There's one corner of the garden - again down by the chickens - which has good potential coverage for skype. But it runs next to the road, so is not ideal as you spell out your security details for the internet banking account. 'I can't quite hear you', says the call centre operator 5000 miles away, at 50 decibels and clear as a bell in a junior school playground. 'I'm trying to whisper' hisses the potential telephone banker into the computer, as the conversations in the road get ominously quiet, while everyone outside trys to work out what's going on NOW in there. Friends and family say, plaintively and understandably, 'You don't skype very much.' And its true we don't. The audience beyond the fence cramps our style abit. Rather like being overheard, crystal clear, by a boss as you sit on a toilet with inadequate soundproofing. I don't want our neighbours and passing strangers to follow the blow by blow details of our daily lives, like today's live edition of the Archers, I'd rather email thank you very much.
Our internet access has got much better since we switched companies. There was, its true, the five month period, when it didn't work more often than it did. But we got to know the personal phone numbers and shift patterns of the service provider's more competent engineers, and eventually, thanks to a new radio aerial, it got sorted. But even now we have at least a day a week when there's either a powercut in our area (so no working radio aerial), or there's a power cut in the transmitter's area (so no emails being passed on).
Those of you with your fingers still plugged in your ears lest I be about to drone on, again, about work permits or getting bank accounts set up, may relax now. That's all water under the bridge, (though take a look at the blog tags if you DID miss my blow by blow accounts.) Having set up the business bank account, I had a highly excited expedition last week to pay in the first proper cheques. Queued for 40 minutes to check the bank account had been set up ok. Looked at the very, very long queue to pay money in, and handed the cheque over at the customer serices window instead. To receive a phonecall next day: 'Your cheque, there's been an alteration made.' We've all done it, written in the wrong year, 2010 not 2011. Realised immediately. Crossed it out, initialled it, amended it. Minor tiny mistake. But not in Kenya. I understand if I had taken someone else's cheque, added the word 'million' and submitted it for payment, - I get that's not ok. But a change to the year, amended and countersigned by the payee, immediately. Not really a reason to reject a cheque, to have a brand new customer get back in the car and queue again (30 minutes more) to pick up the cheque. Grrr.
None of this is to look at the major difficulties faced by Kenyan entrepreneurs. Corruption. Difficulty of getting loans. Inflation. Coercing payment from suppliers. But next time you phone a colleague in Kenya, be patient as they take a while to pick up. Try not to comment as they gasp down the phoneline. Aim to be succinct if you hear torrential monsoon noises, - or persistent plump drips - in the background. And if they appear a tad unfocussed, even distrait at times, consider the possibility that the chickens, again, may be mistaking their newly painted red toenails for tasty grubs, and pecking their toes as you chat.
But the devil is in the detail.
We don't have a phone landline. Rather we do have a phone sitting in our hall, and it is connected, because sporadically the phone company calls to chase us for the final month's bill of the previous tenants. I had various desultory attempts over a six month period to try to sort this out, so we too could phone out, but my follow through kept getting used up by more pressing emergencies, and then we just got used to using our mobiles for everything.
But the house has a lead lining to the roof. Great for stopping the rain getting in. Hopeless for allowing mobile signals to penetrate. So when my phone rings I grab it, and pelt outside, up the stairs in the back yard, or down by the chicken coop in the front garden. Not ideal for long conversations when its raining. Not ideal for notetaking. Not enhanced by my panting noises as I reach the good reception at the top of the steps, but realise I haven't been to the gym as often as I might have recently.
There's one corner of the garden - again down by the chickens - which has good potential coverage for skype. But it runs next to the road, so is not ideal as you spell out your security details for the internet banking account. 'I can't quite hear you', says the call centre operator 5000 miles away, at 50 decibels and clear as a bell in a junior school playground. 'I'm trying to whisper' hisses the potential telephone banker into the computer, as the conversations in the road get ominously quiet, while everyone outside trys to work out what's going on NOW in there. Friends and family say, plaintively and understandably, 'You don't skype very much.' And its true we don't. The audience beyond the fence cramps our style abit. Rather like being overheard, crystal clear, by a boss as you sit on a toilet with inadequate soundproofing. I don't want our neighbours and passing strangers to follow the blow by blow details of our daily lives, like today's live edition of the Archers, I'd rather email thank you very much.
Our internet access has got much better since we switched companies. There was, its true, the five month period, when it didn't work more often than it did. But we got to know the personal phone numbers and shift patterns of the service provider's more competent engineers, and eventually, thanks to a new radio aerial, it got sorted. But even now we have at least a day a week when there's either a powercut in our area (so no working radio aerial), or there's a power cut in the transmitter's area (so no emails being passed on).
Those of you with your fingers still plugged in your ears lest I be about to drone on, again, about work permits or getting bank accounts set up, may relax now. That's all water under the bridge, (though take a look at the blog tags if you DID miss my blow by blow accounts.) Having set up the business bank account, I had a highly excited expedition last week to pay in the first proper cheques. Queued for 40 minutes to check the bank account had been set up ok. Looked at the very, very long queue to pay money in, and handed the cheque over at the customer serices window instead. To receive a phonecall next day: 'Your cheque, there's been an alteration made.' We've all done it, written in the wrong year, 2010 not 2011. Realised immediately. Crossed it out, initialled it, amended it. Minor tiny mistake. But not in Kenya. I understand if I had taken someone else's cheque, added the word 'million' and submitted it for payment, - I get that's not ok. But a change to the year, amended and countersigned by the payee, immediately. Not really a reason to reject a cheque, to have a brand new customer get back in the car and queue again (30 minutes more) to pick up the cheque. Grrr.
None of this is to look at the major difficulties faced by Kenyan entrepreneurs. Corruption. Difficulty of getting loans. Inflation. Coercing payment from suppliers. But next time you phone a colleague in Kenya, be patient as they take a while to pick up. Try not to comment as they gasp down the phoneline. Aim to be succinct if you hear torrential monsoon noises, - or persistent plump drips - in the background. And if they appear a tad unfocussed, even distrait at times, consider the possibility that the chickens, again, may be mistaking their newly painted red toenails for tasty grubs, and pecking their toes as you chat.
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