All in a day's work for a Kenyan debt collector

Every morning, before Nairobi starts shouting, I open my dashboard and stare at the list of overdue accounts like a teacher looking at a class full of troublemakers. Some names remind me of empty promises. Others remind me of “I’ll pay tomorrow” warriors who have been stuck in the same “tomorrow” for five months. But the work must be done – so I take a deep breath, sip my tea like it’s jet fuel, and dive in. I start by sending notices. Professional. Firm. Respectful. But let’s be honest — some people read them like they’re horoscopes: “This doesn’t concern me today.”

Others reply instantly, apologising as if I personally designed inflation. A few leave me on blue ticks, and the brave ones block the number before finishing the message. But every notice plants a seed… or a heart attack. Either way, movement begins. Then come the calls — the real entertainment.

You haven’t lived until you’ve heard a debtor swear they are “in the bank queue”, but somehow you can hear a boda and frying mandazi in the background. Some become poets, some become pastors, some forget English, and some give explanations that could win Oscars. But between the drama, the negotiation, the pressure, and the laughter, payments somehow happen. Not all — but enough to make the job addictive.

And in the middle of all these emotional gymnastics, I’m also running business development. Drafting proposals, meeting CEOs, and convincing companies that cash flow is not a suggestion. Sometimes I’m negotiating with a debtor on WhatsApp while simultaneously presenting a recovery strategy to a boardroom. Multitasking? Mastered. Stress? I also mastered it.

Then, occasionally, I step into the field – because some accounts only respond to sunlight and human presence. These visits are partly mediation, partly investigation and partly therapy. You see the real story, you hear the truth behind the voice notes, and eventually, a handshake, a plan, or a promise seals the moment. By the time I leave, another stubborn case is solved. Small wins that feel big.

And just when I think the day is over, life reminds me that I’m not only a debt collector — I’m also a dad, a husband, and a human being who still needs to take care of himself. So, after the last call, I switch roles. I help with my kids’ homework, listen to their stories about the day, crack jokes, give hugs, recharge with family, and try to remember that my own peace is part of the job too. Because a burnt-out collector collects nothing.

By the time night settles, the dashboard tells its story: payments made, new business secured, commitments updated, some excuses defeated. Chaos somehow becomes order. The accounts that were impossible to act on in the morning have suddenly found a way to pay. And everything — somehow — falls into place.

People think debt collection is just shouting and threats. But the truth is its strategy, psychology, endurance, humour, negotiation, and a little bit of madness. It’s messy magic. And every day, whether it ends in laughter, stress, or victory—I wouldn’t trade the story for anything.

- The writer is a certified public accountant, credit management specialist and the founder of Marathon Debt Recovery Ltd