Speeches by Nduati

I have visited Addis Ababa several times, but my first experience is etched clearly in my memory.

As the plane descended, I stared out at the sprawling city, its lights twinkling like scattered jewels against the inky blackness of the night. Looking at those lights I wondered Who were all these people and what were their lives like?

When I entered the airport, it felt like being swept into a river of humanity. The crowd surged with urgency, passengers rushing to catch their flights. The noise was deafening—voices echoing, footsteps shuffling, luggage wheels clattering. The PA announcements blurred into incomprehensible noise. The little English I could pick out was spoken in an unfamiliar rhythm, making it even harder to understand.

The signs written in Amharic looked more like intricate artwork than a language I could decipher. Even though the signed had English translations on them, my brain just couldn’t register what they were saying. Airport staff gestured and spoke in accents that left me guessing. I was completely disoriented.

Though I had traveled outside Kenya before, this was the first time I truly felt like a foreigner—lost, overwhelmed, and out of place.

You can imagine my apprehension when, in July this year, I learned I’d be moving to Addis Ababa for several months. The thought of living in such an unfamiliar place weighed heavily on me, pushing me dangerously close to despair. 

How would I manage?

When we got here, my wife and I hired a guide to help us settle in. He was a lifeline, helping us find an apartment, showing us where to shop, setting up phone lines, and even recommending interesting places to visit.

But when his job was done, that old disorientation crept back.

I’ll never forget the afternoon I tried to order food using a delivery app. When the rider called to confirm directions, he didn’t speak a word of English. Trying to guide him to our apartment turned into a comedy of errors. My frustration boiled over to the point where I accidentally blurted over and over, “I don’t speak English!” My wife still laughs about it.

That moment was a wake-up call. I realized this wasn’t going to work unless I changed my approach—and fast.

That food-ordering fiasco made me confront my communication style, which, as I realized, is a double-edged sword.

On the downside, I tend to get frustrated when I rely on others for something I can’t do myself. My decisive, fast-paced nature can come across as demanding or even abrasive—traits that don’t translate well when you don’t speak the local language. I come off sounding hostile and unfriendly.

But my strengths were also clear. I’m focused, results-driven, and motivated by challenges—qualities that help me adapt to difficult situations.

To thrive in Addis, though, I had to let go of control. I needed to shift my focus—not to my own goals but to the needs of those I was communicating with.

Take the delivery rider, for instance. All he wanted was to complete his delivery and move on. Instead of trying to explain directions, I could have named a nearby landmark, like a recognizable hotel, directed him to it and walk the short distance to meet him. It would simplified the process, avoided frustration, and work for both of us. This is the approach I have taken over the time I have been here.

The most significant way I let go of control was – when I needed to get a haircut. I even thought of only cutting my hair when I traveled back to Nairobi. 

She only speaks Amharic and Arabic. When I first walked into her shop, I smiled, pointed to my hair and beard, and sat down. At first, she looked unsure, but then she nodded and got to work. 

When it came time to pay, I had no idea how much she charged. So, I opened my wallet and gestured for her to take what she thought was fair. She laughed, chose an amount, and handed me back the rest.

Since then, we’ve become unlikely friends. Despite the language barrier, there’s a shared understanding between us. On my last visit, she smiled and told me, “Other locals are my customers, but you—you are family.”

These days in the evenings, if I were to look outside my window I can see airplanes landing at the airport in Addis Ababa. I imagine one of the lights that the passengers can see is coming from my apartment. 

Maybe all those years back when I was wondering who are the people living in this city, I would have been less disoriented if I realized that they were just like me. People trying to get things done and all I needed to do was to connect with them.

The key to thriving in an unfamiliar environment is to let go of that need for control in the communication process. Focus on the needs of the other person. Communication must be a collaboration—a shared effort to find solutions.

So, the next time you feel out of your element—whether in a new country, a new job, or even a new team—embrace it. Let go of control, and go for creating connections.