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Michael Hopkins

A few years ago I was walking by the poolside at the Muthaiga Country Club to my table when I spotted my dear friend Bob Munro, now sadly passed away. He was there with his family and with his friend Michael Hopkins, to whom he introduced me. Since then Michael and I became close friends as well, but equally sadly he too passed away just recently, a few weeks before his eightieth birthday.

For the last few years Michael had been living part of his time in Malindi, part in Nairobi and part in France near the Swiss border, in each location continuing to pursue his passion for Corporate Social Responsibility, where he had been a pioneer in developing sustainable frameworks. He’d written numerous books on the subject, including periodic updates, and he was also a visiting professor at many universities, including Management University Africa here in Nairobi. He’d also written a series of blogs condemning the awfulness of Brexit, which he later collected into a book called Brrrexit!.

Professor Hopkins was greatly in demand for interacting with students on the highly topical subject of sustainability, as well as with corporates, and this around Europe, in India and Mauritius, and elsewhere. He was also in demand with me, as he became my guide on CSR and sustainability, plus the closely related ESG issues – on Environment, Social and Governance.

I particularly admired him for his “systems thinking”, urging those with whom he interacted to integrate their ESG strategies with their overall ones. And another point he liked to make was not to confine CSR activity to the for-profit private sector but also to not-for-profits and to the public sector. Great thoughts! Plus to have sufficient but not excessive regulations for it all.

I quoted him in a couple of my articles on such subjects in this column, and we participated in a joint book launch at the Westgate bookshop, him with his CSR volume, taking it “From the Margins to the Mainstream” in an uncomplicated way, and me with a collection of my articles on ESG.

Michael and I linked up in several other related ways too. He introduced me to Prof. Mike Saks, a UK colleague of his who also specialised in such fields, and the three of us co-founded the UK-centred International Responsible Leadership organisation, which promotes such kind of leadership around the world.

Now Prof. Hopkins may have been a much-respected academic in his field, but I don’t think I’ve ever come across such a jolly fellow, whose laughter so often filled the room. Michael was a joker, not least about himself, and he and I would always have such a happy time together, whether just on the phone or in person.

His jolliness, his very firm values and his areas of interest also led me to introduce him to my Rotary Club of Nairobi, where he would nudge us into building sustainability into our community projects. Not surprisingly, his commonest phrases were to “treat others the way you want them to treat you,” and to “treat all key stakeholders responsibly”, very aligned with Rotary thinking.

Michael became a very popular member, often staying behind after our weekly lunch meetings to chat further with a few members. And when he passed away a great sense of sadness swept over the club. Just recently Rosemary Wahome, herself in the sustainability business, asked me if I’ve thought about how to honour Michael’s contributions to sustainability, and it immediately occurred to me to propose a sustainability award in his memory to our Rotary Club. Discussions on this are now under way.

On 16th November – Michael’s 80th birthday – a memorial service was held in Malindi to celebrate Michael’s life, with his son William and daughter Eve present. And following this his cremated remains were carried out on a boat and sprinkled into the Indian Ocean. Unfortunately I couldn’t be there to eulogise my buddy Michael, but happily I have this opportunity to write about him.

We will continue learning from Prof Hopkins about CSR and sustainability by reading his writing and remembering what he taught us, and it will keep reminding us of his permanently on-display sense of humour and his jolly laughter.

Intergenerational Conversations

The National Cohesion and Integration Commission, NCIC, was established following the post-election violence of 2008 as one of the commissions that would help re-establish sobriety in Kenyan society. It has been going about its work ever since, with the media mainly expecting it to go after those spouting hate speech. However NCIC was not given prosecutorial powers, and so they were often described as “toothless bulldogs” – despite them working closely with other institutions that did possess such powers. Their budgets have also been limited.

The media has by and large ignored NCIC’s other activities, ones that have been occupying most of its time. These included peace-building mediation in different parts of the country, and five years ago I wrote an article about how they went about it. “They collaborated with other agencies,” I wrote then, “benefitting from their expertise and their networks; held public barazas; organised work projects bringing youth together; and through all this started developing a culture of peace rather than of conflict. As a result of their mediation expertise progress has been made, and without needing to resort to judicial intervention.”

More recently, inter-generational issues have emerged as a serious source of conflict, and so NCIC decided to apply its skills and experience to hosting meetings that brought together members of different generations, as well as both genders and various sectors of the local communities in which these town hall meetings were held. They held them where conflict issues specific to those communities were evident, in Marsabit, Isiolo, Nairobi, Taita Taveta, Kisumu, Busia and Kilifi.

They called these meetings Intergenerational Conversations, a really nice term, as it speaks of listening as much as speaking, and this is in a friendly atmosphere. NCIC applied its mediation expertise to facilitate a coming together between the different elements present.

In the selected counties, where interethnic tensions and historical marginalisation have strained community relations, the need for cross-generational dialogue was particularly pressing. Intergenerational and interethnic mistrust have continued to fuel misunderstanding, polarisation and vulnerability to manipulation by extremist actors. And when youth – especially Gen Z – feel alienated and unheard, they become more susceptible to recruitment into violent networks and misinformation campaigns.

Conversely, when they are meaningfully engaged and connected to mentors, elders and institutions, they become powerful agents of peace and resilience. The county-level Intergenerational Conversations bridged these generational divides and created a platform where all voices were valued. By bringing together the experiences of elders, the innovation and energy of youth, and the influence of women and local leaders, the conversations facilitated mutual understanding, addressed generational grievances, and fostered a shared vision for peaceful coexistence.

In Isiolo, for instance, the forum generated several recommendations and achievements, including calls for increased youth representation in governance, review of public participation laws, and strengthened mentorship programmes to bridge generational gaps. It fostered peace, unity and social cohesion by encouraging dialogue and understanding across age-groups. A key outcome was the recognition that elders provide wisdom, while youth bring energy and innovation, helping dismantle the “us versus them” mentality and replacing it with a shared vision of cooperation.

NCIC followed up with podcasts where diverse voices from across Kenya were heard to engage in honest, reflective, positive and forward-looking discussions on governance, leadership and political culture.

The first episode, “Wisdom in Transit”, explores how values, ethics and lessons on leadership are passed across generations. “New Guards” highlights emerging youth leaders and their role in reshaping Kenya’s governance culture. “Old Wisdom: Bridging the Ages” examines how traditional knowledge and modern governance can coexist to promote cohesion. “Political Decency in Action” focuses on civility and integrity in political engagement, while “Government Without Borders” discusses collaboration across counties, institutions, and communities within a devolved governance system. The sixth episode, “The Cost of Indecency,” analyses how intolerance, corruption and disrespect weaken democracy and development. “Youth Agenda: The Future of Governance” centres on the aspirations of young people and their inclusion in leadership, and the final episode, “A Shared Vision”, calls for collective action toward a just, decent and unified Kenya.

Given an availability of budgets, NCIC would host many more town halls, create and distribute more podcasts, and follow up on earlier engagements. Indeed I am encouraged to see that the recently appointed NCIC CEO/Secretary, Dr Daniel Mutegi, has a serious background in monitoring and evaluation, including through the World Bank, and he has been a member of the Vision2030 Secretariat. All this means he will be focusing on the long-term impact of such initiatives in a robust manner.

And as Rev Dr Sam Kobia reaches the end of his term as chairman of NCIC, we can look back on all this “toothless bulldog” has accomplished to promote cohesion and integration, much of it quietly and behind the scenes, as such activity is at its most effective. Well done, Dr Kobia.

So see NCIC’s Intergenerational Conversations as role models for how to bring Kenyans together, within their communities and higher up to the national level.

ChatGPT on Adam Grant

Having lost an article I’d written about three of Adam Grant’s books, I asked an AI-ologist friend to find it in my laptop. Unfortunately he couldn’t, so instead he kindly asked ChatCPT to write it on my behalf. He fed thirty of my past columns into the app so it could get a feel for my style, and then gave it this prompt: “Extract the style of Mike Eldon from the document and use it to analyse the books of Adam Grant listed above.” Here’s what emerged with the usual AI speed…

On Being Bold, Humble, and Human: Adam Grant’s Lessons for Kenya Today

In my years of working with Kenyan leaders, teachers, youth groups, and executives – from Kisumu to Kilifi – I’ve often found myself returning to one quiet question: Can kindness survive the pressures of performance? Can empathy and ambition walk together? Adam Grant seems to think so. And as I reflect on his ideas, I find echoes of our local struggles, and, our quiet triumphs.

Take for example the idea that we should learn to “think again” – to unlearn, to remain curious, to admit we might be wrong. This, I find, is deeply counter-cultural in many Kenyan institutions, where hierarchy can freeze dialogue and where a title sometimes carries more weight than an idea. But I’ve also seen young professionals in Nairobi tech hubs and rural community organizations challenge outdated assumptions, ask better questions, and surprise even themselves. As Grant reminds us: intellectual humility isn’t weakness—it’s wisdom.

Then there’s the myth of raw talent. In a country where exam results define futures and where brilliance is often measured by a grade, Grant’s notion of hidden potential is both refreshing and liberating. He tells us that coachability, not credentials, is the true predictor of greatness. And indeed, I’ve witnessed it – an overlooked intern in a county office who becomes an indispensable problem-solver; a high school dropout in Kakamega who leads her peers in microenterprise. What they needed wasn’t a head start. It was someone to believe in their stretch.

But belief isn’t enough – we must also act. In Give and Take, Grant distinguishes between takers, matchers, and givers. I thought about this as I mentored a young NGO leader struggling with burnout. She was giving too much. Yet, Grant reminds us, being a giver isn’t about being a martyr—it’s about sustainable service. In Kenya, where communal responsibility often collides with individual limits, this is a vital lesson. Generosity needs boundaries. Philanthropy needs self-care.

One of Grant’s most profound collaborations is Option B, which speaks to resilience after tragedy. And here, we need not look far. From post-election trauma to pandemic loss, Kenyans carry many invisible wounds. I think of teachers who show up after personal grief, boda boda riders who persist after injury, single mothers in Mathare who rise each day with quiet strength. Option B gives us language for their courage and, more importantly, tools for healing. In it, Grant and Sheryl Sandberg offer what I would call structured empathy—a kind of practical compassion we need more of in our workplaces and homes.

Finally, Originals is perhaps the most Kenyan of all the books—though not in the way you might think. We are a deeply creative people. From handmade jikos to high-tech startups, we are natural innovators. But what Grant does is dignify the slow-burning rebel, the one who doubts before they disrupt. He teaches us that being original isn’t about being loud—it’s about being committed. This lesson could guide many a changemaker in our counties and ministries.

Adam Grant is not writing for Kenyans, and yet, his work reads like a mirror. It reflects our potential, our mistakes, our hopes. It challenges us to lead without ego, to mentor without condescension, to grieve without shame, and to grow without limits.

What I take from Grant, and what I hope others do too, is this: Success isn’t what you have; it’s what you share. Leadership isn’t dominance; it’s dialogue. Progress isn’t perfection; it’s permission—to rethink, relearn, and rise again.

In Kenya today—where we hunger for ethical leadership, where our youth brim with restless energy, and where communities demand both dignity and development – Grant’s work reminds us to remain bold enough to speak, humble enough to listen, and human enough to feel.

So there it is – very thoughtful and articulate, although not fully a reflection of my style. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll have another go at the topic myself, using my human intelligence.

Writing a Business Daily column for 18 years

Ten years ago, on the eighth anniversary of my first column in this newspaper, I wrote one about what it’s like to be a columnist. With Business Daily celebrating the 18th anniversary of its birth a couple of weeks ago, my editor and I thought it would be good for me to go back to what I’d written in 2015, now having published over 470 articles here.

I wrote then about how founder managing editor Nick Wachira twisted my arm into becoming a regular contributor, and it was good to see his as one of the articles that appeared a couple of weeks ago about how Business Daily came to life and how it struggled through its early days to the prominence and influence it soon started enjoying.

As I spoke to Nick and to my present editor Allan Odhiambo about this 18th anniversary, they both pointed to the transformative impact of the online version of the paper, of social media, and of younger readers generally, on how contributors communicate these days compared to when Business Daily started.

A very tangible change came when a few years ago the paper went through a redesign and my word limit was chopped from 1,000 to less than 800 – a real sign of the times.

What about the topics I’ve been writing about? For me, the domain that has moved centre stage in the last few years is the one about compliance, sustainability and everything around the Environment, Social and Governance (ESG) trio.

As for my writing style, it has always been rather conversational, and mainly I tell stories about what I experience in my professional life. This enables my readers – very much including my younger ones – to enjoy the ride and not need too much time to absorb my messages.

In my 2015 article, I wrote that as I thought about possible topics I fully assumed I would run dry within a year of starting, maximum eighteen months. Yet there I still was, churning out my twice-monthly thoughts, with little prospect of writer’s cramp setting in, I acknowledged. As I went about my business, as I read an article or a book, heard a talk or participated in a board meeting or a workshop, or just engaged in a casual conversation, I explained, I was constantly scanning for ideas. And that is exactly how it has remained.

It has been very satisfying, and it became a normal part of my life, I wrote, while now I actually think of it as my hobby. “It’s a great feeling when an idea for a piece suddenly strikes me, and then I can hardly wait to hit my computer and get going,” I wrote. “It was George Bernard Shaw who described inspiration as ‘a blank piece of paper’ and other than now replacing the paper by a screen he might have added the need for a deadline. For necessity is indeed the mother of invention, with the columnist’s deadline un-negotiable.”

Now, as has always been the case, quite often as I start hammering away I have little idea of where my story will take me or how it will end. Sometimes, I revealed in the earlier article, I feared that what I have to say would consume considerably less than my word quota, so I would have to force myself to create the balance – and this without waffling. Then on other occasions I overflowed my limit, so I was forced to chop precious phrases and sentences – a painful exercise I still endure.

It was an article I’d read in the New York Times that gave me the idea for my first one on this subject. The author challenged his readers to list all the original ideas they had, and then to write an article about one of them. “Perhaps you’d be very successful at this,” he accepted. “But now imagine doing it for four weeks,” he continued, “then for two months, then six, then a year, then five years. And all this while pursuing your other activities. How do you think you’d fare?”

The writer wouldn’t go so far as to say his readers would be sure to fail. But he admitted being left with a grudging respect for columnists. “It really is a lot harder than it looks,” he concluded, adding that he couldn’t imagine how he’d cope with the demands of staying fresh for a regular column. You can imagine how good that made me feel.

I ended my last article noting that I was approaching my 1,000-word limit. And here I am now reaching the 800 mark. Gotta stop.

Uber Chat Chat

I hardly ever drive my car anywhere in Nairobi these days, having become accustomed to the convenience of calling up an Uber Chap Chap. I so appreciate not having to deal with the heavy and unruly traffic, and not having to worry about parking. Plus, I enjoy chatting with many of my drivers. Not all of them, as some seem to prefer quietness. A few open our conversation, while with others I’m the one to get us going.

Amusingly, several of the chatty ones have started by asking me which country I’m from, and it shocks them to learn that while I wasn’t born here I have lived in Kenya for nearly half a century – before any of them were born, and for some even before their parents were.

This typically leads us to talking all the way to my destination, making the time go by much more quickly and enjoyably. Often we moan about the potholes and the general state of the roads, and about the aggressive matatu drivers and the entitled Prado ones with their tinted windows that provide them with that extra anonymity.

The most interesting and easiest conversations are about politics, as we dissect the state of the economy, how our leaders are handling the issues and how their skills at selling their policies and programmes so outweigh their ability to deliver on what they promise.

For those who stay quiet, and particularly for the more serious and unsmiling ones, I hold back, as I continue judging whether they’d be OK with some chatting or whether they would rather just focus on the driving. There’s speculation on my part here, as maybe they are more introverted types who prefer spending time with themselves, or maybe they just feel I might be such a person and it would be more respectful to restrain themselves unless I initiate interaction.

The easy test is to just to make a brief comment, about the weather maybe, or the traffic, and then to see how they react. If I am sufficiently encouraged I might follow up by asking how long they’ve been an Uber driver, or whether it’s their full-time job – as for some it is not and they are also studying or doing business or are otherwise engaged.

Recently I was shown a facility on the Uber app that asks us riders if we want to converse or not – impressive, and it avoids wrongful speculation on either side. I’ve also been informed by one driver that as part of their training they are advised to stay quiet – more so with women passengers, in case their chatting is misinterpreted – unless the rider starts chatting.

Hm, maybe that’s rather more prudent than necessary as surely, just as with us riders, they learn to assess who prefers silence and who would enjoy conversation – particularly if, like me, their passenger is sitting in the front seat next to them and they can observe body language more easily. Indeed the mere choice of sitting in front means one is more likely to be a chatty type.

For those who make my trip with them fun by chatting with me, they become my friend and I’m sorry to have to just MPESA them my fare and leave when we arrive at my destination, knowing it’s unlikely we’ll ever meet again. For the quiet ones, I respect their preference – provided they show adequate friendliness.

As I’ve been reflecting on these interactions with my Uber drivers it’s led me to think more broadly about how we and those beside us decide whether to stay quiet while spending time alongside each other. It can for instance be on adjacent airline seats, where we might well be together for several hours, including for one or more meals.

I love it when I can strike up a conversation with such a neighbour, accepting that it’s not what everyone wants. On a recent flight to London the lady sitting next to me spent the entire journey looking out of the window next to her or buried in her phone. I got the message!

How sensitive are you to what your Uber driver’s preferences may be? How good are you at launching conversations – whether with such a person or with anyone else? Some are better at it than others, putting those they are with at ease and having the time pass by more interestingly and enjoyably. It’s a skill worth developing if you are not.

Good, bad world and my way

My colleague Frank Kretzschmar and I recently hosted another of our leaders’ circles, where participants tell personal stories around a theme we select.

Regular readers of this column may remember articles I have written about earlier such events, including one titled Now more than ever: sustainable living with heart and mind and another, Holding on to optimism – we can set an example.

This latest one invited us to balance the positive and the negative, through our theme of Good world, bad world… and my way in it.

We asked those in our circle to share with us how they were dealing with the uncertainties and contradictions that emerge out of nowhere and confront us all, and to tell us whether they were able to remain positive in spite of the troubling global and local situations in which we live.

While those present were generally still doing fine, how were they touched by the desperate plight of so many people around them?

And to what extent were they going beyond empathy to compassionate action that was making a difference?

As always, before our meeting Frank and I searched for quotes to display around the room that could inspire our storytellers, and among those we chose for this theme was one from the Dalai Lama, who reassured us that “compassion and tolerance are not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength”, and another from Barack Obama, who commented that “empathy is a quality of character that can change the world”.

Those we invited were not selected at random. Defying diversity and inclusivity, they did not include rabble-rousing politicians or criminal gang leaders or tenderpreneurs, ones who would have sneered at the very thought of worrying about the plight of others.

Rather, we heard from men and women who were concerned about building a better and more sustainable world – this while at the same time being realistic about the “bad” around us.

Taken together, should we be more optimistic or pessimistic about the direction in which we are heading?

The negative consequences of climate change and Covid, of the war in Ukraine and the increase in authoritarianism, of inflation and inequality, can easily lead us to be overwhelmingly gloomy, to conclude that the bad is outpacing the good, we heard from some.

But we were also reminded that much good is with us too – however underplayed by the media, which always emphasises the bad and the ugly.

Life expectancy has been rising in many countries, while global poverty has reduced, and there have been breakthroughs in treating cancer and other health issues.

“It’s a matter of perspective,” one participant suggested, adding that “when you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change”.

Much of how they were actualising their compassion was taking place quietly, and not least among the peace-builders in the room – for here success often depends on behind-the-scenes engagement.

Everyone was very realistic, accepting that even “doing small things in small ways” is fine, while they “did the right things in the right way” to make the world a better place.

They acknowledged that we all do what we can within our generation, while also being aware of its consequences for future ones.

Here we heard a brilliant quote from Thomas Jefferson, who told his people that “we will be soldiers, so that our sons can be farmers, so that their sons can be artists.”

Not gender-sensitive by today’s standards, but point made.

The subject of values kept cropping up, for it is the promotion of healthy ones that enables good people to thrive rather than evil ones.

And while this issue hovered over us throughout the afternoon, our time limits did not allow it to be aired fully.

In their closing reflections, several appreciated how they had been greatly encouraged by hearing the positive stories of those around them, leading them to feel more cheerful and optimistic than when they had arrived.

Write your autobiography

A few months ago I wrote a column about the benefits of writing a journal, including providing raw material for a possible future autobiography.

So, today, I want to follow up with an encouragement to you to get going on that autobiography – whether you have been keeping a journal or not.

And here I am not just appealing to older readers, as whatever your age it will help you with self-discovery, introspection and reflection. It can also act as therapy and self-counselling.

I have been keeping a detailed daily journal for quite a long time, conscious of these trapping memories for reference.

But I was not expecting to get going on my autobiography for several years given how busy I was… until I came down with some health issues and took a flight to London to be assessed at a hospital there.

I was confined to a stretcher throughout the flight, so I asked myself how I was going to spend all that time lying flat.

The thought occurred to me to reflect on the flow of my life, as a first go at developing the content and sequence of chapters for my autobiography.

It was, as it is called, the “initiating incident” to my writing, as since then in the hospital and now back home I have been hard at it, making excellent progress – although with a long way still to go.

I have also been an initiator for others to begin writing their stories. I’ve helped edit the autobiographies of some of my friends, and I was recently invited to contribute an introduction to the one by James Foster, written for his family.

Our life story can be more about personal, and emotional issues, to do with relationships between us and family and friends (Prince Harry!), or more about our professional life.

It all depends on what moves us and to whom we want to appeal. Is our goal to titillate with a “kiss-and-tell” series of revelations about intimate encounters, as some such stories reveal?

Not mine, and most likely not for most Business Daily readers. To amuse and entertain? To inspire and educate? Some combination thereof?

Do we see ourselves as uninhibitedly frank, and relaxed about revealing a “tell-all” account of our life? Or, at the other end of the spectrum, do we unduly need to always be uncritical and positive, not offending anyone by omitting delicate issues?

Somewhere in between, maybe. And how do we deal with negative episodes that risk us being sued for libel by the bad guys we have had to deal with? (They’re the most gripping stories!)

Next, how do we avoid appearing to be bragging? For that’s how life stories started, with the self-promotional Egyptian pharaohs of 3,000 years ago in their tombs… and how they continue today with characters like Trump.

If that’s the idea, then better have a biography written about us! While a memoir is not meant to be an extended sales brochure or CV – except for politicians as preludes to their campaigning – it’ll hopefully boost our self-esteem, with me as the hero of my story.

My suggestion is that you just start writing elements you can get going with easily and enjoyably, without inhibitions or worry at this stage about the quality of the writing.

Feel free to rant and rage; jot notes about topics; capture memories as they reveal themselves.

Initially, at least, you can be writing just for yourself, just for the grandchildren, or already for a wider audience.

And there can then be different versions for different audiences.

Ask yourself about your life’s shape. What is your story, told through a pattern of events, so you and then others get to know what your life means?

What do you believe in and why? What is your purpose in life? What were your triumphs and setbacks, crises and breakthroughs? What were your dreams fulfilled and unfulfilled; opportunities grasped and missed; moments of fun and hilarity?

Most importantly, why would anyone want to read what you have written? What will they learn from it and do differently as a result?

Who would want to publish your story and why? Who is your audience and who are you not interested in writing for?

Finally, talk to your previous generations for background before it’s too late – or you’ll regret not having done so.

Passage through Palestine in eyes of my grandfather

In my last article I explained why it’s a good idea to keep a journal. I’ve been doing so for quite some years, at least hoping that my grandchildren will find something of interest in what I have written about.

I say this aware that in the 1940s my grandfather Robert Bischoff kept a meticulously written record of how he and his wife, plus their two children – one of them my mother Gaby – left their lovely home in Bucharest, Romania, in January 1941.

They decided to depart as anti-Semitic Fascist dictator Ion Antonescu had seized power there, and German troops were already present in significant number.

My grandfather wrote his journal in Romanian, and many years ago I took it upon myself to translate it into English. His text filled 38 typed foolscap pages, with very long sentences strung together in paragraphs that were also unusually long.

While Romanian was the first language I spoke after I was born, I never studied it formally and from when I arrived in Britain at the age of three I switched to English.

But I was fluent enough to take on the task, even with no dictionary and no Internet to consult at the time. What a labour of love it was.

For long, my grandfather – like many others at the time – was hesitating over whether the Romanian scene would increasingly make life unbearable for Jewish families like theirs.

At first he was more with the optimists, but eventually the situation deteriorated to such an extent that the decision to emigrate was made.

He worked under great stress over many weeks to obtain the necessary paperwork for the departure, not least the transit visa for Turkey and the entry visa to their final destination Palestine (before it became Israel), and finally they were ready to leave.

They travelled by train from Bucharest to the Black Sea port of Constanta; by boat from there to Istanbul; then on trains across Turkey and Syria; and next through Lebanon – by bus from Tripoli to Beirut and from there by car into Palestine, to Haifa and on to Tel Aviv, arriving on 19th January, eight days after leaving Bucharest.

The last entry in the journal is from November 1946, by which time Robert’s daughter Gaby had met and married my father Bruno, who had left Romania a few months after the Bischoff family, to rejoin Shell – for whom he had been working in Romania.

His journey was infinitely more precarious, in a small and flimsy yacht that for over 52 days took him and his fellow crew members to Cyprus and from where he managed to transfer to Palestine. (My father, as captain of the boat, kept its log – also in Romanian – so I have the full details of his adventure too… a story for another day.)

Robert found my father to be “a courageous young man and sure of himself”, and he was happy to see him marry his daughter. Now let me jump to March 1945, when I was born.

“I had the feeling that this would be an exceptional child, from all points of view,” my grandfather enthused.

“This feeling, and our exaggerated sentimentalism, make us see in him all that can be most beautiful in life. I could speak in detail about him, and there would be many pages to fill. If I were to do it I would have to devote a chapter separate from all the others, though sincerely speaking, I don’t even know if I would be able to put in writing what I feel in reality.”

He wrote about so much else in his journal, about the threat of a German invasion following the arrival of its army in Alexandria and the withdrawal of the British from Egypt – making him wonder if they should perhaps have remained in Romania; about the fragmented nature of local politics, with so many political parties – as is the case in Israel today; and about the poor state of education and nutrition.

Reading the journals again – thanks to my grandchildren having developed an interest in the holocaust – makes me wish I would have engaged more with both my parents and grandparents about their earlier lives. So you know how this is going to end: do so while yours are still around.

Key leadership lessons I learnt from my father

Two days ago I reached the age of 75 — the age my father was when he passed away 35 years ago. So it provided an opportunity for me to reflect on our relationship and on how I was influenced by his example.

Bruno Eldon enjoyed a 33-year career in Shell. He joined the company in Romania, from where he and some of his Shell colleagues escaped the Nazis in 1941. He then rejoined the company in Israel (the British Mandate of Palestine at the time) and finally again in England in 1948, where over the years he rose to be the head of Shell’s management training division.

As I was growing up, at school and then at university, I was exposed to all the latest management thinking, as my father had to keep right up to date in running his workshops for Shell executives from around the world. I learnt about the newly emerging leadership styles as organisations like Shell increasingly employed skilled knowledge workers who needed to be motivated quite differently from those who came before them.

Indeed, as I have written before in these columns, it was in those 1950s and 60s that the foundations were laid for today’s best leadership practices. Since then we have been hearing incessantly from subsequent generations of management gurus, but in essence, it’s more fancy new jargon than fundamental developments.

I was fortunate in not only having my father explain all about motivation and teamwork and appraisals and other leadership matters as practised in one of the leading global corporates, but I had the privilege of meeting many of those who participated in my father’s programmes. For he would invite them to our home for Sunday lunches, where this mere teenager would act as a co-host to those senior executives.

But my weekends were spent in other ways too. For I was the family’s gardener, cutting the lawn and the hedges and pulling up the weeds while my father played the horticulturalist. My job description included washing the car, and every evening I would wash the dishes after dinner as my sister dried them. Later, my father and I would often walk our dog, and it is here that he played the role of my coach.

I attended the London School of Economics for some of my undergraduate studies, 40 years after my father came from Romania to study at LSE. During those years, while an intern in Paris with Eurofinance (the first investment company to operate at a European level), my father came to visit me and it was the first time I remember us conversing as adult to adult rather than as parent to child: a true relationship shift.

When he retired from Shell on entering his third age my father continued with his management training and also became a management consultant, running workshops all over Europe and also in Africa. This was largely with Management Centre Europe, which was associated with the American Management Association — both still prominent institutions today.

Not many years later, now living in Kenya, I became very involved with the Kenya Institute of Management, and when I turned 60 I too reinvented myself as a management consultant, spending many of my days in ways uncannily similar to how my father spent his at that time of his life.

Shortly before he died I visited my father in London for what turned out to be our last meeting. We seemed to be aware that this would be our farewell, and as we sat in his study he notionally handed over his books and papers and overhead slides on management, many of which now adorn by bookshelves at home. Bruno was a very talented painter, and our house is also filled with his wonderful works of art.

What a shame he is not around for us to compare notes on how my life has mirrored his since he passed away. There is so much value he could have continued adding to me, and I would like to think he could even have benefited from my experiences too.

To conclude, let me invite you to share important conversations with your father, before it’s too late. Learn from him, and let him also learn from you.