Be Gumite-Sometimes The Door Opens On The 11th Knock

A member of my team recently told me they had followed up with a prospective client I had referred to them. The client had expressed interest in a loan, so I wanted to know how the conversation had gone.

“I called, but they didn’t pick up,” my colleague said. “When did you call again?” “I didn’t.” “Did you send a WhatsApp message?” “No.”

This was someone trying to meet a monthly target. The customer had already shown interest. Yet one unanswered call had become the end of the story. Perhaps the customer was in a meeting. Perhaps their phone was on silent, or they were waiting for a better moment to talk. We did not know, because nobody had asked again.

I thought about how many opportunities in life end that way. We knock once, hear nothing, and tell ourselves the door is closed. Sometimes it is. But sometimes we have barely touched it. The Bible says Knock and it shall be opened. It doesn’t state how many times you should knock.

Ugandans have a word for the quality it takes to return: gumite. Grow a thick skin. Keep going. I learned something about that long before I started running a business, during an internship at the Uganda National Bureau of Standards.

I was studying industrial chemistry, and two fellow students and I had gone to UNBS expecting to work in the chemistry laboratory. Instead, we were placed in the certification department. There was work to learn there, but we wanted the laboratory experience that matched our training. I took the lead, and the three of us went to Human Resources to request a transfer.

I thought we were making a reasonable request. The answer was a shock: our internship placement was ended. We went home.

For about two weeks, I lived with a problem bigger than my own disappointment. My colleagues had followed me into that office. Now they were also without placements, and they blamed me for leading the request. I could hardly argue with them. It is easy to make speeches about courage when you are the only person who bears the consequences. It feels different when two friends are sitting at home because they trusted your judgment.

I was uncomfortable and under pressure, but I did not want to leave matters there. I began sending messages to the Human Resources officer, Mr Abdul. Every morning, I thanked him for considering us and asked him to forgive us. I sent messages in the afternoon and evening too. I kept doing it for about a week and three days.

Looking back, that was a great deal of texting. I would not tell every young person to copy the frequency. But I knew I had to take responsibility for what had happened, explain that we genuinely wanted to learn, and keep asking for a chance to do so. Silence would have been easier. Silence would also have left the three of us at home.

Eventually, Mr Abdul called me to his office. He said he had forgiven me and that I could begin my internship in the chemistry laboratory. I was relieved, but I asked him to consider my colleagues as well. We had made the request together and had been sent home together. He agreed, and all three of us were placed in the laboratory.

That experience stayed with me. Later, when the internship ended, I told my colleagues in the chemistry laboratory that I would come back. I wanted more time doing the work I had studied for. I returned to ask for an attachment after graduation and was told there was no position.

I went back again. And again. I think I tried close to ten times before I was told to speak to the head of the laboratory. If he agreed, a letter could be written for me. I went to him; he knew me, and there was plenty of work to be done. He gave me the green light, and I returned to the laboratory.

I often asked myself a blunt question during that period: “What is the worst that can happen? Will I die?” If the answer was no, I could bear the embarrassment of making another respectful request. That question did not guarantee that anyone would say yes. It stopped my fear of another no from making the decision for me.

I see the same hesitation now in business. A supplier sends one quotation to a potential customer and never follows up. A job seeker submits one application, hears nothing for a week, and decides the employer has rejected them. A young entrepreneur pitches a shop owner on stocking a product, receives “come back another time,” and never goes back.

Even someone trying to collect payment may be afraid to call a customer who has promised to pay on Friday, as though a polite reminder were an offence.

A missed call is especially easy to misunderstand. When a client does not pick up, the next sensible step may be a short message: “Hello, I called about the loan facility you asked us to discuss. Please let me know a convenient time to reach you.”

If there is still no reply, follow up at a reasonable interval. Keep a record. Try the contact method the customer prefers. If the person says they are no longer interested, thank them and leave them in peace. That is professional persistence. One unanswered ring tells you almost nothing about what the person wants.

I worry that some of us have become quick to interpret every delay as a verdict on our worth. We say, “They ignored me,” when we do not yet know whether they saw the message. We say, “They refused,” when they said, “I cannot do it this month.” It can feel safer to call the matter finished than to risk feeling unwanted a second time. I understand that feeling. I knew it when my friends and I were sent home from UNBS.

There is also a harder truth: not every no means “try harder.” Sometimes a person is testing whether you have the commitment to return with a better proposal. Sometimes they are busy, constrained by a rule, or unable to help at that moment. And sometimes no means no.

Resilience requires enough judgment to tell the difference. Ask what is missing. Listen to the answer. Improve what you can. Respect a clear refusal and a person’s boundaries. There may be another route to the goal, even when that particular door stays shut.

For a business owner, this can mean asking why a customer declined instead of immediately cutting the price. Was the product wrong for them? Was the timing bad? Did they need clearer terms? For a graduate, it can mean seeking feedback and building a skill before applying again.

For my colleague with the unanswered call, it meant the much simpler task of sending a courteous message. We cannot solve every setback by returning ten times. But we should at least know what happened before we give up.

I do not tell the UNBS story because I handled every moment perfectly.

My colleagues were right to be angry about the position I had put them in, and my messages were perhaps more frequent than they needed to be. I tell it because I remember how tempting it was to stay home, nurse the embarrassment and say that life was unfair. Going back required me to face the people I had inconvenienced, ask for another chance, and remember the friends who needed that chance too.

When we tell people to be gumite, we sometimes make it sound as though thick skin means feeling nothing. It does not. You may feel ashamed, anxious or tired and still make the call, ask the question, improve the proposal or show up again. The useful kind of thick skin lets you hear a disappointing answer without immediately treating it as the end of your story.

So, if someone has told you no this week, find out what they actually meant before you build your future around that one word. If they need time, give them time and follow up. If your work needs to improve, improve it. If the answer is final, respect it and look for another way forward. And if all you have so far is one unanswered call, please, for the sake of your month-end target, send the WhatsApp message.