My First Business Trip to Japan — and How Alcohol Drank My Profits

Dr. Isaac Kalua Green

In this third instalment of the serialization of Dr. Isaac Kalua Green’s tell-it-all book; Green for Life, we focus on the environmentalist’s first business trip to Osaka, Japan, at just 22 years old. It is a trip that changed his perspective on life after he nearly blew up his entire profit fortune on alcohol.

Here is the excerpt. Enjoy.

... I strode down the Boeing plane’s aisle with a swagger, as if the plane actually belonged to me. Spotting my seat, I noticed a neatly wrapped blanket lying in the middle of it.

An elderly, bespectacled white woman sat in the seat next to mine. “Remove your blanket, madam,” I said, my tone more commanding than I had intended. She gave me an amused look as she reached out for the blanket. A few minutes after takeoff, when the plane cruised smoothly in mid-air, she turned to me and smiled.

“Are you going for studies?” she asked gently.

I bristled, taking offense at her assumption. “I am a businessman,” I declared, my voice jovial but louder and more forceful than necessary. “I am going to Japan to sell my products.” Still smiling, she handed me back the blanket. “The blanket is yours. Every passenger gets one to use later at night.”

Chastened, I accepted the blanket, my oversized ego deflating rapidly. Obviously, I still had a lot to learn about planes!

When I finally covered myself with the blanket that I initially thought wasn’t mine, excitement overpowered sleep. It felt as though sleeping might transport me back to my house in Nairobi. So instead of sleeping, I watched movies and wildlife documentaries in the small overhead screens while sipping cans of beer that the flight attendants graciously provided whenever I asked for more.

Having started consuming alcohol in my mid-teens, I was quite familiar with its thrills and enjoyed every bit of it.

After changing planes in Amsterdam and flying for what felt like a sweet lifetime, we finally landed at the Kansai International Airport in Osaka, Japan. It dwarfed Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. Strange Japanese letters adorned the walls and airport screens, which I found to be both amusing and intimidating. I made a mental note to tell Mum about these strange letters. She would be intrigued.

Osaka. I had never heard of this city until a few weeks earlier. Because Google was non-existent those days, I couldn’t google Osaka to find out more about it. So all I knew about it was its name – Osaka, a name that I had grown to love. A name that represented the incredible economic opportunities that awaited me.

There were Japanese people all around me, which put my fellow Kenyans and I in the minority. This was both unnerving and exciting. I suddenly became very conscious and proud of my black skin.

It was also strange not being able to understand even a word of the Japanese language that was filling the air. I made a mental note to learn as much of the language as I could to help me communicate substantially better and sell all my products.

Later that day, I almost began applauding when we drove into Osaka Umeda OS Hotel, where we would be staying during our time in Osaka. After check-in, I walked majestically to my room and stared at the neatly spread bed, with its legion of pillows and fancily wrapped towels. I felt like a king on top of the world. The only thing missing was a throne – and, of course, a queen. Although I was still a lowly accountant at Consumer Finance Ltd, I felt like a top-notch, globe-trotting businessman. After all, I was the owner of Kipkal Investments and was now a global entrepreneur. I felt an air of confidence around me that hadn’t been there before. Being in Japan had clearly unlocked something profound, deep inside me.

..................

Within moments of settling into my medium-sized hotel room, I flung open the doors of its mini-bar and yanked out a bottle of beer. I was eager to taste Japanese beer.

Hmmm… It tasted good. So good that I gulped three bottles within minutes, determined to make the most of these free drinks. I instantly reveled in that feeling of cold beer trickling down my throat, then wafting into my head leaving in its trail sheer headiness and thrill.

“Oh boy,” I shouted at my reflection in the king-size bathroom mirror, “you are here to have fun and make money!”

Like raindrops sinking into soft ground, the realization that my handicraft entrepreneurship had landed me in Japan at the tender age of 22, sank deep into my soul. That moment crystallized a truth: the global stage isn’t just for others. It belongs to me, to Kenya, to all of Africa. It is up to us to play on that stage and sell our products to the world. After all, the world keeps selling its products to Africa.

.......................

After gulping two cups of tea with toast and eggs, I jumped into one of the cars ferrying us to the Expo center. I could almost touch the excitement in the air as we all anticipated an avalanche of sales on this first day.

Within minutes, an elderly Japanese lady shuffled to my stand. My first customer. She peered at me through thick spectacles. I maintained eye contact, noticing her short hair and spotless black sneakers.

"Konichiwa!" I greeted her cheerfully.

She responded with a formal nod and proceeded to survey the woodcarvings and baskets on my long, narrow table. She would pick a piece, look at it intently, and then move on to the next piece. My mind completely blocked off the humdrum of conversations around me as other customers haggled with fellow traders. My entire being focused solely on that old lady, my first ever customer on foreign soil.

"How much is that carving of a giraffe?' she pointed at the carving in question. The giraffe's long neck was garnished with a bead formation of Kenya's flag.

"We can talk about the price. It's an amazing carving that..."

"How much is it?" she cut me off.

Her stern voice brought back memories of a very harsh female teacher who taught me at Mutito High School. That seemed like a whole other world although it was just four years earlier.

This old lady provided me with my first encounter with the straightforward, straight talking, and transparent culture of the Japanese.

I hadn't even assigned prices to all the products on the table so I told her the amount that came to my mind.

"It is ten dollars, but you are my

friend so..."

"How much in Japanese yen?" she cut me off again.

Luckily, I had a rough idea about the exchange rate, so I hurriedly did a mental calculation.

She frowned and my heart sank. Had I quoted a price that was too expensive? Apparently not, because she proceeded to fish out several notes from her purse and handed them over to me.

After she had left, I sank into a chair, closed my eyes and smiled. 

"Amazing," I whispered, "simply amazing."

I had just made my first sale on foreign soil. An elderly Japanese lady had just handed me ten dollars' worth of Japanese yen in exchange for a giraffe carving that had been produced thousands of miles away in a dusty Kenyan town!

My decision to go global was literally paying off. I vowed that I would always tap into the global market. Always.

I saw images of myself walking barefoot to school in Kitui then saw even more vivid images of my father and I cooking dinner in a tin during those difficult days in Nairobi. Yet there I was now, doing business on the global stage and pocketing Japanese yen. 

Although I later learned that I could have sold the woodcarving for three times as much, I didn't care. It was my first ever sale on a global stage. That sale was followed by dozens more.

....................

That night when I walked into my room, I decided to celebrate a successful first day by drinking an entire Jack Daniels bottle that I had fished from the mini-bar.

By the time the Expo ended, I had made a profit of about 50,000 Kenya shillings, which was a lot of money in 1991. It would have taken me more than three months to earn it! Never had I made this much money in my life in less than a week. This global market was indeed the place to be!

I couldn't stop looking at those dozens of notes and coins in my wallets.

They even smelled better than the perfume that I had bought on the plane. A

feeling of deep gratitude for the female basket weavers and male carvers swept over me.

On the final day when we were checking out, I was handed a bill amounting to the equivalent of just over 40,000 Kenya shillings! I looked at the piece of paper with confusion.

"What is this for?" I asked the smiling Japanese lady at the checkout counter.

Her hair was tied in a ponytail, her name proudly displayed on a rectangular plaque on her navy-blue jacket's breast pocket.

"It's the bill for the alcohol you have been drinking from your room's mini-bar."

My eyes widened as I looked at her in shock.

That alcohol wasn't free?! I didn't voice this thought, unwilling to embarrass myself. I realized with a sinking feeling that the bulk of my profits were about to literally disappear down the alcohol drain.

What a stupid mistake I had made! 

I was mad at myself. How could I make so much money and then lose it all because of alcohol! 

It had been a big mistake to assume that the alcohol in the mini-bar was free.

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