Aki December: Soccer Mums, Pester Power & Why Tech Sales Needs to Remember How Africa Buys
Same Forest. Different Monkeys. Fall Asleep Read Again Edition
Aki December. (This is a bit of a long one pole)
That dangerous time of year when logic clocks out early and stori za jaba take over the night shift.
It’s 7pm.
You’re not waking up early tomorrow.
Your boss knows it.
You know it.
The calendar itself has given up.
Cars start misbehaving for no reason.
Wallets develop heat issues.
Kids are home with opinions.
Soccer trials appear like mushrooms after rain.
Christmas parties load aggressively.
And January dreams are being sold at a discount — buy one resolution, get five free.
December is not a month.
December is a mood.
A distortion field.
Which is why decisions made in December should come with a warning label.
Then you see a scene that feels strangely comforting.
Six mechanics.
One car.
All heads inside the boot.
No app.
No dashboard.
No QR code to “track progress”.
Just people.
Noise. Arguments.Experience.Trust.
Someone mutters, “Hii gari imeona mambo.”
Another says, “Hapana, ni sensor.”
And Kawaya just nods quietly and gets ready to sprint for the next spare part.
And somehow — miraculously — the car lives.
That image explains more about sales, relationships, parenting, and December decision-making than most strategy decks ever will.
Pester Power: The Ribena Berry Generation
Before soccer academies.
Before iPads.
Before YouTube Kids deciding what your child wants for breakfast.
There was Ribena Berry.
That advert never played in supermarket aisles.
It played right before the 9pm news.
Parents tired.
Children half asleep.
The most honest moment in the house.
The jingle hits, purple balloon shaped thingys bouncing all over the screen,
The next morning:
“Mum, si we buy Ribena?”
That is pester power.
In plain language:
Pester power is when marketing targets children, knowing they will pressure parents into buying.
The child is not the buyer.
The parent is not the decision-maker.
The household psychology is the target.
December amplifies this effect.
More generosity.
More comparison.
Less resistance.
From Ribena Berry to Soccer Academies
Fast-forward.
“Mum, everyone in my class is going for trials.”
“Dad, the coach said I have talent.”
“They said this is the window.”
Same psychology.
Different product.
Soccer mums and dads are not foolish.
They are hopeful, emotional, and acting under pressure — especially in December.
This is where sport, sales, and parenting quietly collide.
Soccer Mums & December Decisions
December is peak season for:
Trials
Promises
“Let’s see in January” conversations
Comparing notes at church, clubs, and nyama choma joints
Parents are juggling:
Fees
Transport
Guilt
Hope
The fear isn’t wasting money.
The fear is wasting potential.
The Parent Journey (From the Touchline, Not the Boardroom)
Insights from Wanjala Were, CEO – Tisini Tech
Wanjala Were — CEO of Tisini Tech, a data-driven sports technology firm focused on improving African lives using numbers — tells a story that captures this perfectly.
There’s a parent at Ligi Ndogo.
Under-11 games.
Every weekend.
Same parent.
Same spot on the touchline.
Always there.
Last Sunday, the kid scored the winning goal in the final of an Under-11 tournament.
Other parents ran onto the pitch.
Phones out.
Tears.
Chest-thumping.
Instagram moments loading.
This parent?
Unmoved.
No celebration.
No instructions.
No drama.
Just watched. Quietly.
That, Coach Wanji says, is discipline.
Parents, naturally, want to show they know everything.
The ref is wrong.
The coach is wrong.
The formation is wrong.
The kid should be playing number 10, not right back.
But here’s the uncomfortable truth:
If you can’t stay silent for the entire game, drop your child and leave.
Come back after training. Or after the match.
It sounds harsh.
It is hard.
I’ve gone through it myself….twice, and I’m a former Kenya rugby coach & a mjuaji
But emotional detachment is part of development.
The Third-Eye Rule
One of the most practical ideas Wanji shares is what he calls the third eye.
Forget the academy coach.
Forget the Jayden.(eish)
Forget what you think.
Get an independent coach — a second opinion. (after all, you do it when you’re diagnosed with a strange sounding disease)
Ask them to watch the game.
Do not tell them who your child is.
Let them observe.
Let them analyse.
Let them list players who stood out.
If your son or daughter appears naturally?
There is hope.
If not, you’ve save yourself years of expensive self-deception OR NOT.
Your goal
Your outcome
Your decision (academies are still great places for character building)
Toshy’s future
Background Factors We Don’t Like Talking About
A hard truth.
A 15-year-old from an academy in West Nairobi — Lavington, Kileleshwa, Ngong Road — is, on average, physically bigger than a kid from Eastlands.
Why?
Diet.
Three meals a day.
Protein in at least two meals.
Meat regularly.
Meanwhile, a kid from Eastlands may eat protein once every two days.
That gap matters.
It slows physical development.
So yes — kids from Bayblon (cool kids) often develop faster early.
But football has a way of humbling early advantages.
What drives kids from Eastlands, Nyanza, and Western is simple:
Mtaa football is not a hobby.
Its life or death.
Koth Biro finals is the only way to achieve immortality.
That hunger, that fight, macho red. It builds resilience. No where to go kinda grit.
Interestingly, Wanji notes that some of the most technically gifted players often come from Central regions (Murima) — smaller builds, tighter control, sharper decision-making.
Same forest.
Different monkeys.
Same Dream
Next week we go deeper with Coach Wanji and what the numbers say about Jayden & Toshy
The New-Age Tech Salesperson (Plain Language)
Modern tech sales broke roles apart.
SDR (Sales Development Rep)
The first caller. Cold calls, emails, DMs. Books meetings.
ADR (Account Development Rep)
The filter. Checks seriousness, budget, urgency.
AE (Account Executive)
The closer. Demos, proposals, negotiations, signatures.
And then there’s the founder-seller — the African default.
Finds the Corporate client.
Diagnoses the need.
Sells.
Delivers.
Fixes issues.
Owns the relationship.
One face. One number. One owner.
A Polite Truth About Sales in Africa
This is not a tech-bashing piece.
Tech founders are brilliant:
Builders
Optimisers
Problem solvers
The gap isn’t intelligence.
It’s context.
Most tech sales models were perfected where:
Trust is institutional
Reviews replace relationships
Clicking “buy” doesn’t require a phone call
African markets work differently.
Here:
Trust is personal
Decisions are social
Buying is conversational
Accountability matters more than UX
So when tech assumes:
“If the product is good, they’ll click”
The African buyer quietly asks:
“Who do I call if this thing breaks?”
The opportunity isn’t to sell less digitally —
It’s to sell more relationally.
Ok let me explain this in December mode, think of your product as a dude trying to hit on a lady in a club: Do you send and ADR, SDR, AE or the founder to not only try to get her number, maybe dance a little, buy her a drink (I know this sounds sexist, my apologies) and send her home safely while securing a lunch date for 2 days away. If your solution has a closing ratio (conversion rate) like that then youre onto something 😉
The Social Media Illusion
We counted:
Followers
Likes
Shares
Impressions
Restacks
Klout died.
Kred replaced it.
Hootsuite monetised it.
The bank account stayed empty.
Because engagement is not conversion.
And attention is not trust.
Nobody’s Checking… (December Blind Spot)
In December, nobody checks:
Maintenance records
Previous ownership
Mileage
Service history
Recall notices
Hidden dents under fresh paint
Fairy lights hide everything. (This story is not about motor vehicle maintenance)
Same with:
Salespeople
Relationships
Soccer academies
We buy the pitch.
Not the paperwork.
Relationship Chaos (Same Mistake, New Arena)
Dating has roles too.
The closer — intense, urgent, impressive.
The number collector — vibes, charm, promises.
The keeper — slower, observant, often ignored.
Most of us didn’t fall for a person.
We fell for a performance.
Later we ask:
Who owns the relationship?
Who handles after-sales?
In sales terms, you bought the demo unit.
In life terms, the highlight reel. (hehe)
Allow for Mistakes (It’s December after all)
Mistakes will be made.
Money will be spent.
Decisions rushed.
That’s fine.
December rule:
If you’re going to make a mistake, make it memorable.
The kind your friends laugh about.
Family reminds you of.
You shake your head and say, “Wueh.”
Not quiet regret.
A proper lesson.
Every Saint has a past Every sinner a future……haribika (let loose)
Commit consciously.
Half-decisions create full consequences.
Whether it’s:
Soccer academies
Sales teams
Relationships
December decisions
People still buy from people.
Trust still closes deals.
Subscribers still pay rent…hehe
Same forest.
Different monkeys. 🐒🎄
tIncredible framing of how December warps decision-making. The line about parents juggling fees, transport, guilt, and hope while the "fear is wasting potential" is brutally accurate. I've watched this happen in my own neighboorhood where every kid suddenly needs to be the next Ronaldo by New Year's. The Ribena Berry callback is genius becasue it shows pester power never went away, it just upgraded from juice boxes to academy jerseys.
I took my children swimming when they were under 2 years old. I would shake and shiver on their behalf on the sidelines, the coach relegated me to the bleachers, and then I was banished to the car park entirely. They performed better without looking for Mommy’s wet eyes. I learned my lesson. Fast forward to two years ago, they joined a 6-sports academy (all sports must be done until they are 13). I told the boys once you pass the gates, Coach is the authority, I don’t have a say till you’re done 3 hours later. I became the quiet sideline Mom. My favourite was when Babylon Boys were sent to the Mtaa (Kayole) to play a basketball match. Walicharazwa vilivyo, my son asked me why they lost, yet they had practiced. I said, ‘Drive can’t be taught, you must crave it and fight for it.’