Act 1: Scene 7- The Middle of the End

"Although prepared for martyrdom, I preferred that it be postponed" - Winston Churchill

I once read that suicide bombers are able to rationalize the momentary discomfort of martyrdom by focusing on the eternal pleasures of being serviced by 72 virgins in the afterlife. This is precisely the sort of faith-based logic that I chose to embrace before making the great leap out of banking. My high school economics teacher referred to purgatory (this period without income) as 'dis-saving'. Dis-saving was the most terrifying prospect I had ever considered in my adult life. I could foresee a future of budgeting, coupon collections and requests for handouts. Naturally, this was akin to committing career suicide. The most rational decision, in my opinion, was to postpone this eventuality and 'lay the ground work'. In other words, laying the ground work was simply making plans to contain the damage from the implosion of my bank account. In order to accomplish this, I tried my hand at 3 different business concepts which ended up schooling me in real world economics.

Say good bye to the good life, say good bye to consistent income

Economics 101: Product Differentiation ( i.e. no one is doing what I am doing)

Anyone who lives in a 3rd world country knows that the best business to own is one where you get paid in 1st world currency. My first attempt at laying the ground work was to launch an export trading company. My market research was limited to one ethos: go where no one is going. That simple strategy somehow led to me to avocados. Yes, avocados. I liked eating them and I thought that other countries should enjoy eating them too.

The versatile avocado: you can eat it or wear it on your face

A trip to my local Japanese restaurant confirmed one fact: an awful amount of avocado is used in the creation of sushi. I resolved that I would export avocados to the number one specialist consumer country: Japan. If you are wondering how I thought it possible to earn a fat margin exporting the proverbial ice to Eskimos with a minimal operating budget- then perhaps I should provide a brief lesson on the chutzpah of banking. Bankers (and traders in particular) are skilled in the art of convincing one party to readily give up money for a token return while simultaneously lending out the same money at a premium rate to another party. Occasionally, the bankers lend out more money than they should have, burn their fingers and then use tax payer funds to pay themselves annual bonuses. This is banking 101.

Using a derivative of banking 101, I decided to follow a simpler equation to worldly wealth:

1. Find a Japanese supermarket who was looking for novelty premium supplies: i.e. buying each avocado at $10
2. Find an African farmer who was looking for a naive buyer: i.e. a banker who would buy each avocado at $2
3. Find a sympathetic European who would brand my avocados as "Certified Organic"
4. Find an unsuspecting African child (complete with Colgate smile) to act as the face of my product
5. Find myself on the cover of Forbes Africa as the new face of humane agri-business (while banking a gross margin of $8 per avocado)

Suffice to say, I was quickly schooled in yet another economic principle referred to as: comparative advantage. My smiling African baby avocados were no match for cheap and cheerful Filipino avocados.

Economics 102: Black Market (i.e. go where few in their right mind would go)

One central principle I learned from my high net worth clients and the philosopher rapper Meek Mill is: "scared money don't make no money". Occasionally, tremendous opportunities are found where few would dare to wander. This risk taking appetite led me to a war-torn territory known as the Democratic Republic of Congo (D.R.C). I was attracted to the D.R.C for three reasons:

A. All business is transacted in US dollars
B. The tax regime is best described as optional
C. I watched a movie called Viva la Riva (and apparently there are women like her in Kinshasa)

Beyonce has family in Kinshasa

 I decided to form a joint venture with another bright eyed millionaire-in-the-making who lived in the D.R.C. This venture would certainly not be certified organic by any sympathetic, tree-hugging, croissant-munching European liberal. Our path to profit would be lined by mercenary timber trading. In simple English, we would cut down forests and make money*.

*Disclaimer: This was possibly the lowest point of my moral consciousness. My sister had once predicted that I would grow up to become one of those people who sell forests in Africa to drive a Range Rover. I was simply fulfilling the prophecy after a detour in white collar banking.

The operational logistics of this joint venture were certainly more complex than selling organic produce. The strategy I pursued is summarized below:

1. Find an Asian furniture maker and source an order book for timber
2. Call in the order to my D.R.C counterpart who would speak to a 'friend'
3. A Friend would place a call to a guy who lived in a rain forest
4. A guy who lived in a rain forest would hire more guys to find specific type of wood and cut it
5. Wood would be placed on a truck en route to the port
6. Cash would be available to pay off soldiers and rebels located between the rain forest and port
7. Find a bank willing to fund this crazy scheme (based on a legitimate back to back letter of credit structure)
8. Drink Moet and party with pretty girls while our minions labored in the rain forest

It was pure evil genius. Alas, the Gods above saw to it that my plans were frustrated by an unanticipated country-specific obstacle. The D.R.C is located in a part of Africa that most people would characterize as francophone Africa. Francophone Africa is known for excellent restaurants, exotic women and music videos shot against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower. Francophone Africa is, unfortunately, not known for work ethic. The business failed to take off because my partner couldn't marshal his friend and rain forest guy to respond in a time frame that would be considered internationally competitive.

Economics 103: White label (i.e. pay someone else to do most of the work)

I was distraught by the two still born ventures that I had launched and it appeared that I would never be liberated out of banking. That was until a chance meeting with a prospect bank client who directed my clandestine efforts into new age business. He suggested that I consider exporting a white labelled finished product**.

**White labelled finished product: the corporate version of passing off someone else's homework as your own

I decided to white label my own brand of tea.

Dude...have you lost your mind?!

This decision caused a fair amount of confusion among those who knew me. Precisely because I was going to attempt to create a brand of tea in spite of the fact that I didn't even drink tea. Perhaps I had taken the advice to not get high on your own supply a bit too literally.

In a series of events which can only be considered miraculous I managed to achieve the following milestones in the creation of my tea brand:

A. I convinced the largest private tea company in Africa to buy, blend and package my tea for export
B. I hired a team of professional consultants to create a market entry strategy for the export focused tea brand
C. I begun to experiment with different blends of tea
D. I invented an (admittedly dubious) name for my brand of tea- teabutea (sounds like Tea Booty)

I was weeks away from shipping my sample of tea to various importers in Pakistan and Brazil, when a random e-mail from a bank co-worker changed the course of my entrepreneurial efforts. She introduced me to a guy (whose name sounded vaguely familiar) and requested that I listen to a business concept that he was in the process of planning. As I have often said, a single conversation can change everything.

Next & Final Blog Post: Act 1: Scene 8: The End of the End


      

Act 1: Scene 6 - The beginning of the end

"The hottest love has the coldest end." - Socrates

A single conversation can change everything. Similar to the beginning of my romance with banking, the end of the affair was preceded by a seemingly normal chat with an unusually wise man. I was now 28 years old and battle hardened with almost 6 years of banking experience. The discussion proceeded as follows:

Wise Man: So what brings you to this country?

Tendo: I am here to attend two weddings

Wise Man: When will you get married?

Tendo: Perhaps when I finally make Managing Director (MD) at the bank 

Wise Man: Why do you want to make MD?

Tendo: So that I can be rich

Wise Man: What makes you think that making MD is the best return on investment for all the money that your parents put into your education?

Tendo: (Stunned silence)

In the simple Q&A that followed, the wise man broke down my previously held assumptions about employment, wealth creation and purpose. In essence, he cut through the fat of the illusion to reveal the muscle of truth.

The illusion of banking (and perhaps employment in general) is that life gets better as we rise through the ranks. The truth of the matter is that, if you enter a career with the sole intention of arriving at a particular destination (i.e. becoming rich), the journey itself will kill you before you enter the promised land. However, as I later came to realize, if you enter a career for the love of the journey, you will be open to multiple destinations and have a higher probability of fulfillment.

Question: Is money an important thing in your career?
Answer: FALSE! (It is everything)

For those of you who have similar stirrings in your soul, you will probably be familiar with my line of response during this dialogue with the wise man..

Wise Man: Have you ever thought of starting your own business?

Tendo: Yes, but the problem is that I have no ideas.

Wise Man: What do you mean?

Tendo: I don't know what business to start. However I think I would be good at executing someone else's business idea

Wise Man: Well then, you should team up with my son. He is all ideas and no execution.

All ideas and no execution. I think that phrase sums up the reason behind the still born nature of most corporate escape plans. In the 8 years that I worked within banking, I heard many of my peers talk about business plans that they almost did/were about to do/are currently working on/could potentially be launched. The similarity behind all these states of quasi-activity is that very few if any of these ideas actually took place. Perhaps it was fear that held them back from launching.

Once I make a million dollar bonus, I will be free. Wait...maybe 10 million dollars.

It reminds me of a quote I once read about going out to pursue your dreams and having to leave a place of familiarity:

Behind the glory everyone wants to attain is a degree of discomfort nearly everyone wants to avoid.

Ideas sound great until the reality of executing upon such an idea hits you. I loved the idea of leaving the bank to become my own boss until I started hearing horror stories about entrepreneurs who couldn't pay their rent. As I used to tell my friends: "broke isn't a good color on me".

So I began to hatch a grand escape plan that would simultaneously free me from the micro-management hell of employment and also grant me a six figure US dollar income. Of course, I would later learn that there is virtually no start up that you can self fund and also derive a six figure income within the first 1-3 months. Unless of course you launch a recreational pharmaceutical manufacturing plant.

Drugs are one hell of a business

Given that I had no special aptitude for the sciences, I decided to brain storm business concepts that I could launch while still working for the bank. The first thing I did once I returned home was to register a company whose specific focus would be: general trading. It sounded all-inclusive enough for me to explore just about every idea I could conceive. The greatest challenge I faced was devising some business which would operate as  follows:

Morning Hours:
5 am - 8 am

Afternoon Hours:
5 pm - 8 pm

These hours would of course work perfectly for the following professions:

A. Celebrity fitness consultant
B. Traffic policeman
C. School bus driver

I was back to square one. I had the execution capabilities but lacked the ideas. Just when I was about to give up I remembered one of my favorite clients from my stint in the tropical west African country. He too had once been a corporate slave but had managed to open his own trading company. He seemed as smart as I thought I was, and his business appeared to be simple enough. After all, just how difficult could it be importing crude oil from the Middle East and selling it locally at a premium? Ignoring the $20 million start up capital that he had managed to raise, I decided that I would emulate this man. Thus began the adventures of Tendo: banker by day and trader by night.

It was a short lived and humorous adventure.

Next week: Act 1: Scene 7 - The middle of the end

You are (not) what you do

"To be or not to be, that is the question." - Hamlet, Shakespeare

I recently went through a 'fish out of water experience' when a new acquaintance asked me a routine question: "So, what do you do?". I froze in silence. All I could mutter was: "I am a former banker". I felt like a combat veteran reduced to fighting high cholesterol. Just how did I reach this pitiful position in which I equated the loss of my staff pass to the loss of military security clearance. I can distinctly trace three stages in the evolution of my personal identity.

Pre-Banking:

These were the days of my schooling. Education is what I did, but it certainly wasn't what I was. One of the benefits of youth was that questions of identity (asked by adults) were centered on your future career ambitions.

However, questions of identity (asked by my peers) were primarily defined by my quirky personality and bizarre interests.

If I recall correctly my bizarre interests included the following:

1. Being the greatest ever piano-playing/ classical-music-composing, kick-ass investment banker
2. If number 1 didn't work out, I would settle for being the greatest ever piano-playing/ classical-music-composing, corporate lawyer
3. Failing numbers 1 & 2, I would settle for simply being the greatest ever piano-playing/ classical-music-composing, President of the republic

I had a precocious understanding of the fact that the sound of money is music to the ears of struggling artists.

Despite my corporate/political leanings, I never thought my future ambitions defined my present identity. This was largely because my career plans were liable to change on the whim. This was until I met the investment banker who changed everything. Suddenly, I had a concise response to all the adult interrogations of future identity.

The earliest peek into identity-as-defined-by-occupation occurred at the tender age of 19 years old when I purchased the following shirt:

  
  My mentor shook his head worryingly and warned me against dressing like a banker while I was still a teenager. I took this as the highest complement.

In Banking

I didn't notice the loss of my personality-driven identity when I first entered the brotherhood of banking. Instead I quickly learned that those who describe bankers as one generic type, are akin to those who think of Africa as a country. This is because bankers are a loosely knit collection of tribes with subtle distinctions. I present to you an example of 4 unique identity traits of bankers:

A banker is identified by their job role:

Cash Management Specialist (version African)

Cash Management Specialist (version American)

A banker is identified by their employer:

Rural Frontier Markets Focused

Urban Emerging Markets Focused

A banker is identified by their car:

Recent bank-hired former college student still on probation

Recently promoted former college hire now on bank staff loan

A banker is identified by their primary residence:

Expatriate Banker in 3rd world hardship country

Expatriate Banker in 1st world home country

Post Banking

Once outside of the bank, I faced a short-lived existential crisis. If I wasn't a banker, did that mean that I lacked an identity? I had spent years defining myself by my employer, my corporate title and my lifestyle. It often felt that society as a whole enjoyed mental shortcuts which pigeonholed individual identity to career choice, and I willingly went along for the ride.

In a most remarkable coincidence, life has come full circle. My identity is once again defined by who I am and not what I do.

Recent counter-intuitive life choices are perhaps best understood as the result of my quirky personality and bizarre interests.

Finally I am free to just be the greatest ever piano-playing/ classical-music-composing/blog writing former banker.   

Love in the time of Banking Part 2: Romance is in the air(port)

"A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles"

- Tim Cahil

As a college student, romance and travel were inexplicably married in my imagination. So perhaps it was no surprise that cupid struck me on one of my 24 hour commutes between home and school. Public transport and private adventure were the name of the game in the days of my youth. The end goal was to shift this onto private jets once I entered the kingdom of investment banking.

Total Travel Time Elapsed: 00 hours: 01 minute

Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign. Please take your seat and fasten your seat belt. And also make sure your seat back and folding trays are in their full upright position.

Travelling economy class on a long haul flight would momentarily convert me into a small village child observing big city kids.  My bone of contention was the inhumanity of having us walk through the space-shaped cocoons of first class and flatbed hammocks of business class before we reached our cattle-class economy seats.

A seat in economy is an automatic guest pass to an urban symphony of unnatural scents and sounds. It is, plainly speaking, a sensory overload of crying babies, toxic stomach gas emissions and home cooked food in pressure sealed plastic.

I must have had my eyes closed, envisioning another reality in which I wasn't a broke college kid, when she took her seat across the aisle. The symphony paused and the duet began. 

Sir, is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable?

Total Travel Time Elapsed: 00 hours: 53 minutes

Passengers connecting onward to other destinations are requested to check their boarding gates at the flight transfer desk upon arrival. We wish you a safe onward journey. Thank you for flying with us this morning

I changed planes and it just kept getting better. Mystery passenger and I were on the same flight (again). Sadly romance doesn't typically occur at 6 am while connecting between flights in African airports. Therefore this next flight left me with exactly 8 hours to make something happen. 

Just what could I possibly conjure up in 8 hours? This mission impossible was further complicated by her middle seat position in the center of a 5 seat row. In a post 9-11 world, all suspicious behavior exhibited by a passenger on a plane, would have had me restrained and deported by an undercover air marshal. The prospect of a cancelled US visa was all I needed to sit tight and watch the in-flight entertainment versus creating it.

Luckily, a random trip to the bathroom restored all hope when I caught her staring at me. I smiled. She looked away.  She smiled. I looked away. Our mute call-and-response signaled the commencement of the mating dance. Hope, sweet hope.

Total Travel Time Elapsed: 09 hours: 10 minutes

For your safety and comfort, we ask that you please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the Captain turns off the Fasten Seat Belt sign. This will indicate that we have parked at the gate and that it is safe for you to move about.

The wheels touched down and jerked me forward. It was now or never. I eyed her across the plane and impolitely moved in front of the other passengers to ensure that we would reach the exit door at the same time. Once I got out of the plane, I glanced back and found her walking confidently in my direction. She smiled, I smiled and then it was awkward. 

If my memory serves me right, I believe she asked me what time it was. While I subconsciously mouthed some sort of response, my consciousness inhaled her in thirsty detail.       

As if often the case whilst paying attention to everything but the matter at hand, I found myself willingly led to a breakfast date at the airport McDonald's  It was going to be a very good morning.

Tendo transit time hours remaining: 4

Mystery girl transit time hours remaining: 3

Seemingly impossible objective(s) in mind: 1

A community of those who love while travelling

Total Travel Time Elapsed: 10 hours: 40 minutes

Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned off the Fasten Seat Belt sign, and you may now move around the cabin.

Ronald McDonald would have been proud of our fast paced flirtatious banter as we tucked into a happy all-American meal in that nondescript European airport. Perhaps it was the novelty of it all, but before I knew it, the waters of inhibition parted and we raced across the gulf of anonymity.

I have always felt that a certain distance from home permits one to push the boundaries of socially acceptable behavior and so I moved into what my parent’s would summarize as scoundrel-like ease with the mystery girl. After all, a well behaved African boy shouldn't talk to beautiful strangers, let alone go on a breakfast date within 5 minutes of meeting a girl. I reasoned that what happens abroad, stays abroad.

Total Travel Time Elapsed: 12 hours: 01 minutes

Ladies and gentlemen, the Captain has turned on the fasten seat belt sign. We are now crossing a zone of turbulence. Please return to your seats and keep your seat belts fastened. Thank you.”

Its going down like a frown

I had never been to Vegas but I fancied myself a betting man. Odds were that this was a once-in-a-lifetime personal connection between two passionate but travel-weary strangers in a foreign land. This serendipitous outcome would have to be sealed with a memorable ending.

I thanked the good Lord above for the folks who designed and managed this airport. Specifically the divine foresight of creating a quiet place of rest and relaxation for those whose backpacker-like bank balances would never see the inside of a business class lounge. We accidentally stumbled upon this mecca of darkened windows and flatbed chairs and sighed a breath of relief.

I scanned the sparsely populated room and judged the terrain sufficient to pitch tent and explore the contours of our respective islands. Nervous anticipation gave way to steady discovery and I blame the rest of what happened on caffeine, sugared pastries and youth.

As I settled onto my final flight, I closed my eyes, reclined my seat and smiled. For whether quantitatively or qualitatively speaking, it was surely one of the best 24 hours of my life thus far.

Conclusion: Public transport + private adventure = timeless memories  

Total Travel Time Elapsed: 24 hours: 00 minutes

On behalf of this airline and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we look forward to seeing you on board again in the near future.    

  

Act 1: Scene 5: Helping rich people get richer

'Its like the more money we come across, the more problems we see'

- Notorious B.I.G & Diddy (aka P. Diddy, aka Puff Daddy, aka Sean "Puffy" Combs)

Africa is a continent of contradictions; the birthplace of mankind and the play ground of disease and despair. Tens of thousands of humanitarian workers have given up the material trappings of an ordinary Western corporate life in order to improve the lives of helpless Africans. Whether through churches, celebrity baby adoptions or luxury tented safaris, almost everyone has played a part to alleviate poverty. Everyone, that is, except me. I chose the path less taken and dedicated two years of my life to helping the unlikeliest of Africans in despair. I chose to help the 0.000001% of Africans who needed a wealth manager to ease the pain of being of an ultra high net worth individual.

                                                                         So what should I do with the other $10 million?

As a result of my time volunteering with the mass affluent, I learned many valuable lessons. It is with great pleasure I present to you three secret gems of wisdom acquired from this era:

1. Rich people don't share secrets gems of wisdom 

I believe the only reason I became a wealth manager was to expose myself to whatever infection made rich people get  richer by just breathing. This may be puzzling to hear as I imagine my earlier identification as a wealth manager may have led you to believe that I was the reason my clients became rich. Not quite. I was only the reason my clients were able to monitor, in real time, just how rich they were. In order to understand the puzzle, you first have to understand how the majority of third world ultra high net worth individuals came to be:

A. Friend of the President
Rich because you are the only person legally allowed to do whatever you do in the country

B. Enemy of the state
Rich because you serve the state and pay yourself by robbing your employer

C. Prince-ling
Rich because your ancestors fall into category A or B

As you can tell, it didn't take a genius to uncover the secret behind campaign contributions. However it certainly required wealth management expertise to create the most tax efficient structure to shelter the windfall.

                                                                       Friends with benefits: I will make you into a titan of industry


2. Suit yourself: why rich people sometimes dress like the help and vice versa

Whenever I identified myself as a wealth manager, I often saw a twinkle in the eye of the employed masses who somehow thought I possessed the keys to the kingdom of Forbes 400. Cocktail events were never the same as all conversations would invariably follow this pattern:

Cocktail Guest: So what do you do in Mega Bank Corp?
Tendo Money: I am a wealth manager
Cocktail Guest: Let's be friends

I imagined that it was the tailored suits and fitted shirts that helped me acquire numerous 'friends' and expand my networking circles. Conventional wisdom in our profession recommended that a wealth manager should dress like money. The dodgy rationale being that if we looked like we didn't personally need money, then the moneyed prospects would trust us like one of their own. In truth, we resembled impeccably dressed butlers serving care-free masters. This lesson was imparted to me by a client whom I chose to call the Maverick. The Maverick openly expressed his distrust for slick, sugar-tongued banker types. As a self-made millionaire who never went to university, he had no time for suits. Literally. He made it a point to wear paint-stained jeans to every meeting we organized and the only time he wore a suit was on the occasion of his son's graduation. The day before the ceremony he went to a good Samaritan thrift store and bought a $20 suit. Like a savvy investor, after the ceremony he returned the suit to the store and promptly picked up his cash. He knew better than to waste good money wearing a bad suit.

                                                                                I dress better than you- why won't you call me friend?

3.  Its all in the approach: what chasing hot girls taught me about acquiring rich clients

Hot girls: Young and gorgeous- men worship the ground they walk on

Rich people: Middle aged and pot bellied- men worship the ground they walk on

If you have ever seen a hot girl being pursued, you will always notice a herd of suitors trying variations around the same themed approach. This approach will primarily involve a level of attention that would puzzle a stalker.

If you ever pitch a rich person for his business, he will tell you that he has 5 other banks who have promised him even better rates, lower costs and heightened levels of personal service.

What is the commonality here? Hot girls and rich people always go for those who pay them little to no attention. I am not a psychologist but reverse psychology works like a charm. I called it the non-pitch pitch. I would meet a prospect and talk about anything and everything other than what I did for a living. Befuddled by this indirect approach, the rich prospect would ask me what I did for Mega Bank Corp, I would tell them I was a wealth manager and then proceed to talk about golf/weather/politics. The conversation would end as follows:

Rich prospect: Listen Tendo, lets meet up another time and you can tell me what you can do for me as a wealth manager
Tendo Money: Yeah, sure. Whatever
Rich prospect: Call me, maybe

Like a teenage romance, its totally not cool to lose your calm even when all you desire is right in front of you. Hot girls and rich people always fall for that.















 

Welcome to Crack Rock: Escalation Empire

"Amen' is like the Send button on an e-mail" - Steve Toltz

 When I was a young banker I dreamed of many things: a hot girlfriend, a fast car and a sleek blackberry. The blackberry was to bankers what I imagine crack cocaine is to addicts: to die for.

                                                                  You can't shoot this up but it do feel good though

However my needs for a blackberry were purely limited to the show factor of nonchalantly placing it on the table while having drinks with my friends. I was shallow. I was young.

I began to loathe my accessibility once they handed me the keys to the kingdom in the form of my very own crackberry. As any self respecting addict will tell you: crack is wack.

Legend has it that the following blackberry e-mail conversation once occurred within the servers of Mega Bank Corp.

_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Beast, Blackberry
Sent: Monday 5.33 pm
To: Tendo, Young
Subject: Important

Please come by my desk and pick up the client document. I need this to be photocopied.

_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Tendo, Young
Sent: Monday 5.35 pm
To: Beast, Blackberry
Subject: Re: Important

Kindly ask someone else to do this work as I am already tasked on some other work

_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Beast, Blackberry
Sent: Monday 5.37 pm
To: Tendo, Young
Subject: Re: Important

I don't see you on your desk Tendo. Have you left the office?

_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Tendo, Young
Sent: Monday 5.39 pm
To: Beast, Blackberry
Subject: Re: Important

I am in the toilet.
_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Beast, Blackberry
Sent: Monday 6.20 pm
To: Tendo, Young
Subject: Re: Important

I don't think you're in the toilet. Its almost been an hour and I checked all the bathroom stalls. Where are you?
_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Tendo, Young
Sent: Monday 6.25 pm
To: Beast, Blackberry
Subject: Re: Important

I was home. In my own toilet.

_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Beast, Blackberry
Sent: Monday 6.31 pm
To: Manager, Immediate
Subject: FW: Re: Important

Immediate Manager,

I am sorry to have to escalate this incident to you but I believe that Young Tendo is not familiar with his job responsibilities and I am encountering a significant amount of push back on tasks that I have assigned to him.
I believe that since you are his immediate manager, this is a potential performance appraisal issue.
_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Manager, Immediate
Sent: Monday 6.52 pm
To: Tendo, Young
Subject: FW: FW: Re: Important

Young Tendo,

FYA. See below. What is this all about?

_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Tendo, Young
Sent: Monday 7.00 pm
To: Manager, Immediate
Subject: Re: FW: FW: Re: Important

Sir,

Good evening. I regret that Blackberry Beast has involved you in a petty incident. This situation is more than it appears to be. He told me (offline) that I am mismanaged by you. I think he may have some power assumption issues.

I feel so lucky to be managed by you and hope that God would speed you into the highest levels of office.

Please let me know if there is any work I can help you with tonight because I don't plan to sleep. I work at your pleasure.

Also, can I perhaps bring you a cafe latte tomorrow morning? It would please me greatly.

Thank you Sir once again
_________________________________________________________________________________

                                                      Sir, I think I can see my face in your feet. Thank you for the opportunity.
_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Manager, Immediate
Sent: Monday 7.15 pm
To: Beast, Blackberry
CC: Tendo, Young
Subject: Re: FW: Re: Important

Blackberry Beast,

I think you need to spend less time looking for my immediate reports and more time focused on your own work. Why wasn't your task assigned to one of our summer sandbags?
Perhaps you need a refresher session on Leadership 1 Training.

regards,

Immediate Manager
_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Beast, Blackberry
Sent: Monday 7.42 pm
To: Head, Department
Subject: FW: Re: FW: Re: Important

Good evening Department Head,

First, I would like to profusely apologize for interrupting your evening. You have been a great mentor to me and I am forever grateful for your having nominated me to attend Leadership 1 Training. I really believe that if I just keep my eyes on the ball and follow your sage advice, I will one day be able to achieve perhaps half of your  career achievements. I am in amazement at the example that you have set for both women and people of color in this bank.

I recall during our end of year discussion that you asked me to keep an eye out on emerging issues within the greater team. I believe that there are certain members of the mid management team who do not follow your management style and this could jeopardize this year's revenue target. Forgive me for being so blunt but case in point is Immediate Manager. He has frustrated my ability to generate revenue by not allowing me to utilize his direct reports. I think he may feel that I threaten his hold on his current position.

Kindly advise the way forward.

Thanks once again

_________________________________________________________________________________

                                                                   We forgot to highlight our culture during orientation

From: Head, Department
Sent: Monday 8.30 pm
To: Manager, Immediate
Subject: Re: FW: Re: Important

Immediate Manager,

I have just been alerted to the situation. I am disappointed in your handling of this situation and this will certainly impact your year end assessment. As you are aware from previous discussions, Blackberry Beast is one of our upcoming high potential managers and I expect you to offer your unconditional support in all that he does.

I will discuss this further with you tomorrow.

_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Manager, Immediate
Sent: Monday 9.05 pm
To: Head, Business Unit
Subject: FW: Re: FW: Re: Important

Business Unit Head,

Good evening Sir. Trust that all is well. I am going to cut to the chase here. Two years ago, you promised me that Department Head was just a diversity hire and that I should sit tight because in two years she would be gone and I would be rightly promoted.

Can we please schedule a chat tomorrow to discuss my career opportunities because I am unable to work in an environment of incompetence brought on by our diversity hire requirements.

Thank you Sir.
_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Head, Business Unit
Sent: Monday 9.45 pm
To: Manager, Immediate
Subject: Re: FW: Re: FW: Re: Important

I got this bro! You just sit tight. I never forgot that I owed you one for being a good soldier when HR twisted my hand into promoting department head.

_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Head, Business Unit
Sent: Monday 9.46 pm
To: Head, Human Resources
Subject: Re: FW: Re: Important

Human Resources Head

Department head is no longer a good fit for us as she is clearly unable to manage a situation without resorting to threats. This is not what you promised me when you recommended her. I am thinking Asia Pacific could be a good region to send her to.

I have 15 minutes free for a discussion at 10 am tomorrow. Come down to my office with a list of job openings because I cannot have that woman in my team by year end.
_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Head, Human Resources
Sent: Monday 10.30 pm
To: CEO
Subject: FW: Re: FW: Re: Important

CEO

Hope you enjoyed your midday 18 hole round of golf today! Just a quick one before you get into the office tomorrow. We really need to talk about how business unit head is bullying staff. I don't like the tone in his e-mail and i feel threatened if I dare raise my voice.

P.S. Let me know if you want me to teach you how to improve your swing. I have definitely got a loose 6 hours whenever you want.

_________________________________________________________________________________

From: CEO
Sent: Monday 11.01 pm
To: 1, Godfather
Subject: Re: FW: Re: FW: Re: Important

Godfather 1

Its getting impossible to handle business unit head. He is acting like the de facto head of this country operation making me look like a minister without a portfolio.

Kindly advise.
_________________________________________________________________________________

From: 1, Godfather
Sent: Monday 11.29 pm
To: Head, Business Unit
Subject: FW: Re: FW: Re: Important

Business Unit Head

What the hell is going on down there? I thought I told you to sit tight and I would make you CEO at the end of this year. Don't get ahead of yourself kid! Now be a good boy and play nice.

I am going to send out a general e-mail to country staff.

________________________________________________________________________________

From: 1, Godfather
Sent: Monday 11.30 pm
To: ALL COUNTRY EMPLOYEES
CC: CEO
Subject: Team work

Team

I would first like to congratulate you for an incredible performance last year. This was in no small part due to your amazing show of team work.

You work in one of the greatest organisations in the country where colleagues see each other as family. Families are happy places where our diversity is recognized and encouraged. We may be different but we are united by our similarities.
Whenever I visit your country, I am always overwhelmed by the stories of colleagues going out of their way for each other and this makes me believe that our future is extremely bright.

Please keep up the teamwork and I promise you that by year end, we will have plenty of developments and movement of key staff to bigger and better opportunities.

Love,

Godfather 1
_________________________________________________________________________________

From: Beast, Blackberry
Sent: Monday 11.59 pm
To: Tendo, Young
Subject: FW: Teamwork

Tendo

I hope you read that e-mail from the big man. In the spirit of teamwork I still need you to make those photocopies first thing in the morning.

P.S. Use the toilet before work starts
_________________________________________________________________________________

Act 1 Scene 4: Boredom in Babylon

"Like.............whatever"

- Any bored teenager, anywhere in the anglophone world

I once heard someone compare bankers to teenagers. To understand the comparison, I invite you to observe the species (banker brat) around bonus announcement/promotion day. Whatever you do, don't threaten a bankers sense of entitlement over status and pay. You may observe a Jekyll and Hyde moment.

I was no exception to the teenager syndrome and this illness struck me at the height of my good fortune as a banker. Life couldn't have been any better and I was so bored in Babylon. During this time I felt as though I were having a debate with three different sides of me.

Yes, I said three different sides of me.

I present to you the great debate of boredom between me, myself and I that occurred over a period of 21 months at the apex of my banking career.

Month 1: Mid cycle Salary re-fit (technical term for randomly bringing your salary up to market average)

Me: Wow! I just got an 89% salary increase. Damn it feels good to be a banker!
Myself: What is that in dollars? I need to remain internationally competitive
I: You mean these **@*** were underpaying me 89% compared to market?!!

                                                                              89%

Month 2: Relocation back to my country of birth

Me: OMG. How exciting!
Myself: I hope this comes with fat benefits
I: But its not like you're moving to New York

Month 3: Additional 11% salary increase

Me: I am feeling so blessed with a 100% salary increase within three months
Myself: But its not like I am earning in US dollars
I: These **@** should have been paying me this last year

Month 4: Promotion to Assistant Vice President (AVP)

Me: I can't believe I made AVP by the age of 26
Myself: So maybe I'll make Vice President by 28
I: Making AVP is so last year. I know a guy my age who made Vice President this year.

                                                              Cheers to the frickin' bank

Month 5: The bank buys me a German sedan for my "official bank use"

Me: "Beema, benz or bentley"
Myself: Winning! (African Banker 1, American Banker 0)
I: However, I would much rather prefer a Range Rover

Month 6: I move into a "nice" apartment

Me: It just doesn't get any better, a really "nice" apartment for a bachelor
Myself: Now all we need is appropriate furniture
I: This is not the penthouse suite

Month 7: Weekend trip to Italy for a friends wedding

Me: I would hate me too
Myself: Straight up Ballers Anonymous
I: But Kanye does this every month

                                     What do you think I bank for? To drive a **@** RAV 4?

Month 8: Selected to host my clients at a World Cup match

Me: Damn it feels good to be a banker- paid to go watch sports!
Myself: Why did they book me in the courtyard lodge? Was the Radisson Blue unavailable?
I: Flying business class isn't the same anymore...Net Jets anyone?

Month 9: Itchy feet

Me: I am not feeling challenged in this role
Myself: I am doing VP work for AVP pay
I: When is this **@** financial crisis going to be over? I want to relocate to NYC

Month 12: Life is so unfair

Me: I don't feel appreciated
Myself: I need a hug
I: Cry me a river

Month 14: A routine trip to Zanzibar

Me: Perhaps the only perk of this job is my once a quarter 3 day 'business' trip to see my 1 client in Zanzibar
Myself: These luxury beach resorts are a true home away from home
I: I wonder if the bank has an office in Fiji?

                                                       Pinstripes and Pina coladas

Month 18: Seriously itchy feet

Me: I am so bored of this sh*t
Myself: I feel I need a stretch assignment
I: You need to not be in Africa

Month 21: Internal transfer approved

Me: How exciting! I get to start a new business unit
Myself: Finally I am going back to the money tribe
I: Like..................whatever

                                        ___________________ End____________________

Next week: Act 1: Scene 5 (I haven't figured out the title yet...)

Love in the time of banking- Part 1: Miss Crimson

“Luck in business like luck in love, is a game of numbers”- Anonymous

Bankers love numbers and I loved bankers. One too many investment banking internship interview questions had taught me to self-identity as a "quant."

Definition: Quant- short for 'quantitative': someone possessing a natural affinity for numbers.

Example: It doesn't take a quant to figure out that bankers make bank.

As a freshman in college with one eye fixed on wall street and the other on the Wall Street Journal, romance was an unwanted distraction from the ultimate goal of securing the apple of my eye: an offer letter from a  bulge bracket investment bank. So it was rather unexpected when cupid struck me in the most un-banker like of locations- a greyhound bus.

what I traveled in vs. what I imagined I should be travelling in 

This is my story of love told in numbers:

   

212: Distance measured in miles from New York City Bus Terminal to Boston Copley Square Bus Stop

33: Outside temperature measured in degrees Fahrenheit

6: Layers of clothing I was wearing (which included a suitable leather jacket and several other layers not worth mentioning)

3: Number of thermal underwear I wore by October of my freshman year. (Mental note: Winter is coming already here)

1: First winter of my life

0: Amount of tolerance Africans have for American winter

4: Hours of travel time I planned to spend thumbing through the vision bible

2: Number of empty seats available on the bus

1: Hot black (possibly African) girl who chose to sit next to me

40: Percentage Increase in heart beats per minute once she told me she was a freshman at Harvard College

20: Percentage decrease in heart beats per minute when she identified herself as Nigerian American*

25: Percentage increase in heart beats per minute as she further identified herself as a ‘Pre-Med’ student

*No offence intended to my Nigerian and Nigerian American friends. As they say: “no wahala dey”

What all pre-med female students could eventually evolve to:  Claire Huxtable  

7: Figure income of a D.I.N.K** power couple (Investment Banker and Doctor Miss Crimson***)

3: Number of awkward smiles flashed as I did the math on the strategic nature of such a possible union

2: Times I thanked God that she chose to sit next to me on the bus

Definition of terms

** D.I.N.K: Double Income No Kids- this is the supreme state of co-habitation in Manhattan

*** Crimson: Patent number US126778987 (i just made that up) covering the unique crimson color of the Harvard College emblem

*** Miss Crimson: A suitable specimen species of the Harvard College universe

30: Minutes Dr. Miss Crimson napped on the bus journey to Boston

30: Minutes I watched Dr. Miss Crimson nap on the bus journey to Boston

30: Cringe worthy points as I remember doing the aforementioned

10: Digits in an American phone number (virtually impossible to memorize)

6: Number of times I envisioned our future marriage on the bus ride

3: Number of days hours I waited to call and ask for a date after disembarking from the bus

8: Number of friends I informed of my upcoming date with Dr. Miss Crimson

3: Hours spent in downtown Boston picking the perfect smart casual look for the date

2: Gifts my friends (wrongly) advised me to bring to the date

28: Minutes of commuting time from my college dorm to Harvard square for the date

25: Number of students in my freshman class who were secretly trying to transfer to Harvard College before sophomore year

20: US dollar budget per head I could seriously afford for the date

100: US dollars I carried with me for the date in the earliest example of bankers who spend beyond their means

60: Minutes I arrived earlier than necessary to ‘scope’ out the territory and plan the pseudo spontaneous nature of the date that I would pretend to display

3: Restaurants in Harvard Square which seemed romantic but spontaneous in my naive opinion (namely: Au Bon Pain, Fire & Ice and Bertucci's)

9: Times spent changing the exact posture to assume when she walked towards me

3: Kisses on cheeks (like my euro fashion style)

1: Awkward look on her face when I presented her with a box of chocolates and a dozen roses

3: Hours automatically cut off from time Dr Miss Crimson had budgeted for our date once she received my surprise gift set

2: Minutes spent deliberating my limited choice of ‘spontaneous’ restaurant suggestions

1: Hour which the date lasted from the 3 kisses to the 1 and only goodbye

20: Minutes I spent describing my passion to become an investment banker

10: Minutes of awkwardness after Miss Crimson remarked that my passion was pretty shallow

2: Minutes Miss Crimson spent describing her motivation to become a doctor

55: US dollar total cost of dinner

45: US dollars saved when she declined my offer to get dessert

35: Temperature outside in degrees Fahrenheit as I walked Miss Crimson back to her dorm gate

78: Number of female applicants accepted into Harvard Medical School in August 2005

77: Other female pre-med students I could potentially date

Priceless: Lesson learned that an investment banker and an idealist should never date

                                       ____________ The End____________

Next week: Act 1: Scene 4: Boredom in Babylon

Act 1: Scene 3 - Things fall apart

"Sometimes things fall apart so that better things can fall together"

- Marilyn Monroe

My relocation to the tropical west African country was the beginning of reality and the end of the romance. All great love is said to be destined for a tragic ending and so it was with my affair with banking. I suppose one could say that we were an unlikely couple.

The years that followed set the tone for my seven stages of grief.

Shock and disbelief:

Sub-prime. Financial crisis. Government takeover. It all happened so fast, one minute I was expensing meals at the toniest restaurants across Africa and now I was cutting coupons. Former masters of the universe were now super civil servants. Bankers were being tossed overboard by the thousands, BMW dealerships turned into ghost towns and the world as I knew it was upside down. Champagne for the pain. Banking was a dirty word.  

Denial:

I refused to believe that the affair was over and pursued banking like a jealous lover. Surely it would all be resolved soon and perhaps this was all a bad dream. My immediate manager seemed to think so too. In a period of 24 hours he informed me that there would be no salary increase for anyone and then he left the office to purchase a Mercedes Benz limousine for his official bank use.

Anger:

I was incensed. I felt robbed of my rightful inheritance. The era of six figure bonuses had come to an end and I had barely had a spoonful of the great syrup. I felt that banking wasn't worthy of my love.

I am ashamed to admit that I considered betrothing myself to the arch enemy: management consulting.

Thankfully I found solace in the words of fellow banking brothers as encapsulated in the below video call-to-arms which was issued at the height of the financial crisis when dark clouds gathered and it appeared that bankers had lost the war on talent:

Bargaining:

I was ready to compromise, I wouldn't let banking leave me so easily. I considered all options. Perhaps I would find a way to 'leverage' my emerging market experience and negotiate a transfer to London. Surely, I figured, they would appreciate acquiring my talent at a discount.

I overestimated my buy two-for-the-price-of-one African appeal.

So I begun to consider closer options, that was until one local competitor gave me a job offer with a salary discount and mandatory Saturday morning work hours. I should have known better than to attempt to dilute my brand name experience.  

Guilt:

It was all my fault. Like an over excited lover, I had  given too much, too soon. Perhaps I had been too keen, too willing to compromise. I should never have left America and entered into the arms of African banking. I was too young, too over paid and too ambitious. Now everything was uncertain. My own mother questioned the sanity of my decision to remain in the crucible of crisis. Shopping trips to London seemed unwise in this climate of uncertainty. There would be no further pinstripe suits and monogrammed shirts. I cancelled my sartorial subscriptions. I was a lion stripped of dignity, it made no sense to roar.

Depression:

'Winter is coming'

The summer of my youthful exuberance was over. Reality set in. I wouldn't become CEO of the bank before I turned 30 years old.  I hid my business cards and avoided rotary club. I didn't poke back my facebook pokes. I couldn't face the world anymore. Falling in love with banking at 16 years old now seemed tragic. Like a teenage bride, my time had come too soon. My 'type A' personality trait had led me down this dark path of hope and despair. What was it all worth?

Acceptance:

The crown prince accepted that he would never make it to Kings Landing. This game of thrones was rigged. I accepted my fate as yet another African banker with my Toyota, puppy dog and single mortgage.  Perhaps I would find a way to move into this curious new paradise called Private Equity that bankers were beginning to whisper about.

Just when it seemed all was lost, the glorious summer of my discontent emerged. I got wind of a transfer back to my home country to take on a regional role. The young lion would roar once more. Damn, it felt good to be a banker.

Next week Wednesday: Flashback forward Love in the time of Banking: Miss Crimson