Byeong Chul Kim, President of Misung Commercial Co., Ltd.
Chapter 5. How to make friends in Africa
Family photo in front of a baobab tree in Dakar, Senegal
BNB Magazine has been publishing memoirs in the spirit of sharing knowledge to facilitate solving problems of today. The year’s memoir series features Byeong Chul Kim, former President of Misung Commercial Co., Ltd. Starting as a founding member of Misung in the 70s and spanning five decades, his life in wigs is a colorful story that spans two continents and the history of Korean wigs. Based on the vivid oral histories of President Byeong Chul Kim, this is a direct account of his time in Africa.
Nina Venus’s Standing Alone
In 1983, at the time, international communication was primarily by telex. You’d go to the post office, look up a telex code, and send the message. International calling was available, but the rates were so high that people rarely used it. In early December, I received an international phone call late at night from Lee Bong-sang, the president of Misung. It’s so urgent.
“Mr. Kim! They’ve told us to pull out of the joint venture, what do we do?”
The partner, who had been watching the situation in Africa, decided to pull out because they thought the outlook was not clear enough. Facing the banned local sales, the withdrawal of the joint venture was salt on the wound. Just three months after arriving in Africa, and not long after the Nina brand was launched, the company found itself at a crossroads: to close its African operations or not. The answer was obvious. I couldn’t have gotten over this high hurdle alone. At the time, I remembered what Chairman Yoo said to me as I left for Africa. “You take this money, find out how it’s gone, and that’s all you need to know.”
So I was like, ‘Yeah, I’m not here to make money. I’ll think of it as the price of experience and go for it.’ Conscious of the rising phone bills per second, I made a quick decision.
“Mr. President. Let’s just take over!”
Grabbing a lifeline and getting through the crisis
The immediate urgency was to resolve the sales ban as soon as possible. As it turns out, it wasn’t the Senegalese government that banned Nina’s local sales, but an Islamic leader. With 94% of the population being Muslim, Islamic leaders have enormous political and social influence in Senegal and are not to be trifled with by some foreigners. I mobilized the connections I’d been working on for months to get through this. Famara Shna was the chief of operations of the industrial park at the time.
The first meeting with Commissioner Shna dates back to when I’ve just arrived in Senegal. I headed to the industrial park early for my appointment and ended up being five minutes late due to traffic. When I walked into the commissioner’s office, I was greeted with a bullhorn.
“Is that your protocol? How can you be late for the very first meeting!”
“I’m sorry. I left early and got stuck in traffic…”
“I wonder if you’d treat the president like this! I’ll cancel today’s meeting. Make an appointment again and come back!”
As I walked back to my car, for being five minutes late, I felt ridiculous, but I felt compelled to get this person on my side. In fact, Mr. Shna had worked at the World Bank in the U.S., and later served as a minister in three Senegalese ministries before rising to head the Economic and Social Council.
In the office of Minister Shna (when he was serving as the Minister of Interior)
Since our failed first meeting, I’ve been working on my relationship with him fervently. I visited him often, bringing small gifts as a gesture of goodwill, and informed him about the business operation, and over time, he began to open up to me. He was quick to lend a helping hand in the first crisis we faced after entering Africa.
Miraculously, thanks to Commissioner Sanya, I was given the opportunity to meet with the Caliph at the Islamic shrine in Touba. The caliph is the term for the successor to Muhammad, the founder of Islam, and his authority was so great that in Islam, it was believed that touching the hem of a caliph’s robe would cure illness. Locals would fall to the ground when he passed by, trying to touch his shadow. It was a lifeline for us, too, so we bowed before the caliph and pleaded.
“We didn’t come all the way from Korea for short-term profit. We’re here to train the Senegalese employees and use the profits to reinvest in Senegal. We were told that products made in the export zone cannot be sold locally, but according to the Korea-Senegal agreement, up to 20% of the products manufactured in the export zone are allowed to be sold locally.”
Initially, Nina’s sales ban came after a local vendor who was competing with us went to a religious leader to complain. The arm inevitably bent inward. Still, after hearing our story, the caliph made a rational decision.
“I see. Your position makes sense. I authorize local sales.”
Be the one who loses
When someone asks me how to do well in the corporate world, I emphasize “make lots of friends.” And when asked about the secret to making friends, I recall my school days. The middle school I attended had an unusually long and unique mantra. ‘Be the one who loses. Admiral Yi Sun-sin suffered a great loss. How do you compare Admiral Yi’s loss to the one you will suffer?” And in my opinion, in relationships, what you lose is what you gain in the end. It was the connection with Minister Shna that helped me realize this.
While Shna was rising through the ranks, from the industrial zone commissioner to minister, I was rising through the ranks too, from manager to vice president. Even working under the new titles and with different agencies, I had a good reason to be in and out of the minister’s house frequently. I introduced Nina’s products to the minister’s wife, who needed hair products, and I often spoke to his children with whom I could communicate in English to bring items they look for. I insisted on running errands for them every visit. I pulled out any wilted plants in the garden and planted or pruned new plants, and since I had ornamental fish as a child, I gave him a large aquarium filled with tropical fish and took care of them myself.
Flowers wilted, fish died, the fish tank water needed to be changed … I always had plenty of reasons to visit. I was able to get a private meeting with Minister Shna who came back home after work without an appointment. As the minister sees it, he always said, “Monsieur Kim, Merci beaucoup,” when he saw me, who was a representative of an overseas investing corporation come to his house, roll up his sleeves and clean his fish tank. I was frequently invited to family gatherings. I didn’t force myself to do it, believing it was part of my job, but I did it because I wanted to, so even though my body was tired, my heart was happy and proud. And out of that relationship came a million-dollar break.
My wife and I with Mr. and Mrs. Shna at the Minister’s home.
A million-dollar relationship
One day, a tax bill arrived at the factory, and the amount of taxes assessed was beyond your wildest dreams. In the export zone, we sold the product exempt from VAT, but when we sold it locally, we were supposed to pay VAT, so they calculated all the VAT from the first sale until now, and added the penalty for non-payment, and the amount snowballed. It was worth more than $1 million at the time, a sum that surpassed the value of the company.
Desperate to grasp at straws, I rushed to Shna, who was then the head of the Ministry of Finance. When the minister heard the situation, his response was brief, “I see.”
And the very next day, the tax bill was canceled, just like that. That’s a $1 million tax cut from the minister’s two words. It made me realize that the value of sincere human relationships is priceless, regardless of country, race, or religion.
This is how my relationships usually went. In a way, it seems foolish, but I’ve put in the time and effort to connect with people, even if it’s a hassle.
I also traveled two and a half hours from the factory to meet with Khalif, who allowed Nina to sell locally. We embraced and learned about each other’s religions, shared couscous, and even befriended his son, who ended up working with a Korean company to renovate the temple in Touba.
During Tabaski, the largest Islamic holiday, when the locals followed the tradition of sacrificing sheep, we hand-picked healthy, unblemished lambs to send to key Senegalese dignitaries. The lamb represented atonement, so they were grateful beyond measure and were willing to open their hearts to a stranger of a different color. My family was also invited to join them for a traditional Senegalese meal of Ceebu Jen (rice cooked with fish), and we mingled with them, sitting around large plates and eating with our hands the local way. The relationship was beyond formality and literally “people who sharing food” which translates to family in Korean.
Couscous ©The Spruce Eats
Ceebu Jen ©royacshop.com
The connections I built helped Misung take root in Central Africa. After spreading its wings in Senegal, Nina Venus opened a factory in Cameroon 2 years later, followed by a factory in Togo 2 years after that, and began to expand across Africa.
Continued in the next issue.
