When I was a little girl, I had these hand-me-down shoes that I loved. I wore them everywhere. Anywhere, really. I don't think I cared whether they were appropriate for where I was going. If those were the shoes I wanted to wear, then those were the shoes I was wearing. And when they became too small, I still didn't want to let them go. I would squeeze my feet into them and somehow convince myself that they still fit. I imagine an adult looking at me and thinking, Child, these shoes are clearly too small. Please take them off. But I loved them. And I think about those shoes sometimes when I hear us talk about things like seasons, letting go, releasing, creating room, moving on. Usually, when we talk about letting go, there is something wrong with the thing we're letting go of. It has become toxic. It doesn't serve us anymore. It is holding us back. We have outgrown it. We need to make room for something better. And yes, sometimes that is exactly what letting go looks li...
A few days ago, I witnessed something that left me shaking my head in disbelief. I was translating for a Chinese client looking for salespeople familiar with the Kenyan market. He got a candidate’s number from someone, invited him for an interview, and even picked the meeting location—a coffee shop. The Kenyan sales guy shows up, experienced, knowledgeable, and with an existing client list. Clearly, he’s an asset. But then, things took a turn. First, the Chinese guy shows up 30 minutes late. No apology. Then, he lets the Kenyan pay for his own coffee. Keep in mind, he reached out to him , not the other way around. But here’s the real kicker—the sales guy, despite holding all the cards, asks for a salary of KES 30,000 and freely spills inside information about his former company, which happens to be a competitor to the Chinese guy’s new business. What kind of self-sabotage is this?! This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this happen. I know of another Chinese-owned company where Kenyan wo...