Gichohu

There are projects that finish according to the programme. Then there are projects where the programme, the budget and reality eventually sit down and agree to stop fighting. Ndagani Modern Market belongs firmly in the second category. We have finally handed over the market to the wonderful people of Tharaka-Nithi. A few finishing touches remain, including the creche and some civil works, but the important part is done. The traders and vendors are already in the market, their stalls occupied and their wares on display. That feels good. The last few days were anything but easy. We had a very clear deadline. Chuka University was about to open for a new session, and we needed the market substantially ready before the town got even busier. So we crashed the programme. In construction language, project crashing is the polite way of saying, "We have run out of time, so everybody needs to move faster." Money was tight. Time was tighter. And, as construction sites tend to do, proble...

There is a particular kind of man who wakes up in the morning with a perfectly sensible plan. Today, I will concentrate on one thing. I will finish the report. Review the construction budget. Call the contractor. Check the farm. Perhaps spend an hour thinking about strategy, leadership and the future. A reasonable day. Then the phone rings. By 10:00 a.m., I am discussing a bridge. By 11:00, I am calculating the cost per square metre of a market. By noon, I am wondering whether granite should be replaced with silica-free stone. At 1:00 p.m., somebody needs a concrete mixer. At 2:00, I am thinking about cows. At 3:00, someone mentions IFMIS. By 4:00, I am contemplating human behaviour, faith, relationships and the peculiar things people do to one another. By evening, I have somehow arrived at St Francis of Assisi, the Serenity Prayer, DNA testing in Kenya and the psychological consequences of telling people to "just be yourself." This is not multitasking. This is the controlled...

Over the weekend, I spent most of my time at the farm. I had plenty to do, but as often happens when I am there, I also ended up spending a lot of time simply watching the animals. There is something about farm life that makes you slow down. You begin to notice things you would probably miss if you were rushing from one meeting to another. This weekend, the bulls caught my attention. I have several Sahiwal bulls. Most of them came to the farm as little calves, some less than six months old. A few were born there. They have grown up together, eating the same food, drinking from the same troughs and grazing in the same fields. There is no shortage of space. There is enough grass. Nobody is going hungry. So I was rather surprised to see them fighting. And I don't mean the occasional disagreement. These boys were having serious arguments. They were pushing, locking horns and trying to establish who was the boss. At one point, one of them was badly injured. I stood there wondering what ...

There is a strange irony in trying to finish a construction project on time. The closer you get to handover, the more everything seems to happen at once. That is where we are with the Ndagani Modern Market. We are in what project managers call project crashing: adding resources, working longer hours and pushing activities harder because the original programme is no longer good enough. The handover date is getting close, and suddenly every unfinished item looks like it has a personal relationship with the deadline. Then I caught a common cold. Nothing dramatic. No hospital admission. No medical emergency. Just the ordinary misery of a blocked nose, a sore throat, a little coughing and that general feeling that your body has decided to reduce your productivity by 60 percent. But it reminded me of something I should probably have known already. A project can crash for the same reason a human being can. You can keep pushing. You can add more people. You can work longer hours. You can deman...

There is a particular kind of person you meet in business who makes you realise that good intentions and good company are not always the same thing. I have one such person. Let's call him James. James is a genuinely good man. He means well. He is honest, hardworking and, as far as I can tell, genuinely wants to help. If you have a problem, he will try to solve it. Sometimes, unfortunately, he will try to solve it ten times. James has a remarkable ability to turn a simple matter into a small administrative project. You agree on something at 9:00 a.m. By 9:15, he has called to confirm it. At 9:27, he calls again because he is wondering whether you really meant what you said. At 9:43, there is another call. By lunchtime, I am beginning to question whether we ever had the original conversation. And then there are the journeys. James can travel an impressive distance to deliver something that could probably have been sourced five kilometres from where we are working. You look at what he...

 The older I get, the more I understand people who quietly disappear from the noise. Not because they have failed. Not because they have given up. And certainly not because they have nothing to say. Perhaps they have simply discovered that peace is sometimes more valuable than being seen. I have spent many years moving around. Work, construction sites, meetings, projects, business, travel, farms, conversations with interesting people and the occasional conversation with people who were considerably less interesting but somehow lasted much longer. Life has a way of keeping you busy. For a long time, I thought being busy was a sign that things were going well. There was always somewhere to go. Someone to call. Something to fix. Another project. Another opportunity. Another problem waiting patiently for my attention. Then, somewhere along the way, I began to appreciate something different. Quiet . There is something wonderful about waking up and not immediately feeling that the world ...