LAWI SULTAN: Why bad customer service signals a deeper injustice

Lawi Sultan Njeremani/HANDOUT

In Kenya, the daily grind of navigating government offices, matatus, supermarkets or office receptions often feels like a gauntlet of indignities. Long queues, dismissive security guards, curt receptionists and reckless bus conductors are not just inconveniences—they are glaring symptoms of a broader societal failure to practice justice in everyday life.

I believe justice is the cornerstone of an equitable society, enabling everyone to thrive to their fullest potential. Yet, in Kenya, justice remains an abstract ideal, preached in policy halls but rarely lived in the interactions that shape our days.

Bad customer service, from the matatu to government ministries and agencies, is an injustice that undermines dignity and opportunity.

Consider the scene at a typical government office. Citizens, often travelling far and at great cost, queue for hours only to face unresponsive clerks or outright rudeness. The Commission on Administrative Justice, Kenya’s Ombudsman, logs thousands of complaints annually about delays, unprofessionalism, or denied services, with marginalised groups hit hardest. This is a betrayal of the social contract, where taxpaying citizens deserve respect and access.

Step into a supermarket or mall, and the story continues. Security guards, often underpaid and overworked, wield disproportionate power, profiling shoppers based on appearance or enforcing arbitrary rules.

A report by the Private Security Governance Observatory from 2022 highlighted how poor training leads to verbal abuse or excessive scrutiny, turning errands into exercises in humiliation. At building entrances or residential estates, guards may bar entry or demand unnecessary searches, signalling that dignity is conditional on perceived status.

Airlines fare no better. It beats logic, for example, for an air hostess to deny a passenger access to a toilet right in front of them and direct them to the back of the plane simply because the toilet is in the area demarcated as premium class. This echoes the injustice through overt segmentation that devalues the “lesser” customer, a practice I have criticised as a harbinger of inequity.

Office receptionists, the gatekeepers of opportunity, often embody this failure. Social media threads abound with tales of distracted or obstructive receptionists who treat visitors as nuisances, especially job seekers or small-business owners. Their rudeness creates barriers to economic mobility. When a receptionist blocks a caller from a decision-maker or dismisses a walk-in, they perpetuate a system where access favours the connected, not the deserving.

Telephone pilot lines, meant to resolve issues, often deepen frustration. Whether it’s a telecom’s endless hold or a one-star-rated call centre, scripted responses and dropped calls dominate. Persistent complaints about unresolved queries disproportionately affect those without digital alternatives. This invisible barrier mirrors the siloed justice I’ve long critiqued: promised in policy but absent in practice, leaving citizens to endure systemic indifference.

Nowhere is bad service more visceral than in Kenya’s matatus and buses, the lifeblood of urban mobility for 3 million daily Nairobi commuters. Overcrowding, fare hikes, reckless driving and abusive conductors are rampant. Historical “death-defying” risks, enabled by police bribery, persist despite regulations like the 2004 Michuki Rules.

Conductors treat passengers as mere profit sources, cramming them into unsafe seats while prioritising speed over safety. It is a stark parallel to my critique of airline class systems, where economy passengers—vital to profitability—are treated as “fillers” rather than equals.

These examples reveal a pattern: bad customer service in Kenya isn’t just a service failure; it is a justice failure. It stems from systemic issues—underfunded training, low wages and a “hustle” culture that prioritises survival over empathy.

Media outlets lament Kenya’s “endemic” poor service, yet the root lies deeper: a society where justice is siloed to official rhetoric, not lived in daily acts. When a guard profiles a shopper or a conductor insults a passenger, they echo corporate practices that prioritise wealth over fairness. To build an equitable Kenya, we must treat justice as a daily practice, not an abstract ideal.

First, mandate universal training for frontline workers—guards, receptionists, conductors—emphasising empathy and accountability. Second, expand digital complaint platforms like the CAJ's Complaints Management Information System (CMIS), tying performance to incentives. Third, foster a cultural shift through education and media, normalising respect and courtesy as a Kenyan value. Finally, address systemic barriers, like fair wages for guards, to ensure workers can deliver justice.

Bad customer service in Kenya is more than an annoyance; it is a daily injustice that stifles potential and divides society. By reimagining every interaction as an opportunity for fairness, we can move closer to a nation where everyone thrives. Justice isn’t just for courtrooms, it is for the matatu stop, the supermarket aisle and the government queue. Let’s start there.

Social consciousness theorist, corporate trainer & speaker, agronomist consultant for golf courses and sportsfields, and author of 'The Gigantomachy of Samaismela' and 'The Trouble with Kenya: McKenzian Blueprint'