A guide in Africa - Why investors in frontier markets need someone to show them

2013-02-28 09:16:54

rlp

Schumpeter

Feb 23rd 2013 |From the print edition

CARDBOARD BOXES are not sexy. But they are useful: imagine trying to shift a

lorryload of eggs from farm to shop without packaging. Because boxes make it

easier to move things around, they allow shops to stock a wider variety of

goods at lower prices. So to run a cardboard-box factory in Africa is to put

more and better food on African plates.

The Riley Packaging plant in Uganda is quite a sight. From wall to wall and

floor to ceiling, it is crammed with vast rolls of paper. A visitor feels like

an ant gazing at stacks of toilet rolls. A management consultant might ask: why

does Riley need to keep so much inventory three months worth heaped idly on

the floor? Surely there are better uses for the firm s capital?

Actually, no. The paper has to be imported. Uganda is landlocked. The nearest

port, at Mombasa in Kenya, is more than 1,000km (620 miles) away on iffy roads.

Containers passing through customs there face long and unpredictable delays.

The factory keeps masses of inventory because it cannot rely on supplies to

arrive just-in-time. And we can t ever let customers down, says Ashish

Thakkar, a part-owner of the firm.

Ignorant investors beware

Global investors are salivating over Africa. They know the continent is growing

fast and they want a piece of the action. But how? There are not enough listed

African firms to absorb even a fraction of the ignorant money itching to flow

south of the Sahara.

The real money in Africa is in selling stuff to the emerging middle class.

Plenty of foreign firms know how to make things that Africans want to buy. But

they don t know their way around Africa. They need a guide. That is where Mr

Thakkar comes in. He is the founder of the Mara Group, a conglomerate that

helps outsiders do business in Africa. Mara has fingers in pies of every

flavour. Its joint ventures not only make boxes in Uganda; they also make

glass, build hotels and operate call centres all over Africa.

Mr Thakkar is no expert in any of these businesses. Ask him what exactly Mara

does for IBM to help it fulfil its IT contract for Bharti Airtel, a

mobile-phone firm, and he puts the man in charge on speakerphone to explain. In

a typical Mara venture, the foreign partner provides the technical expertise.

Mara offers local knowledge: how to buy land, cope with red tape, promote the

business, manage relations with suppliers and so on.

This is a potent business model. For all the current optimism about Africa, it

is still a tough place to do business. Mr Thakkar knows this only too well. His

family arrived in Uganda (from India) in 1890. They lost everything in 1972,

when Idi Amin, a dunce of a despot, kicked out Uganda s Asians and grabbed

their shops. The Thakkars returned to Africa in 1993: to Rwanda, shortly before

the genocide. They lost everything again. Mr Thakkar, who was a schoolboy at

the time, saw bodies strewn in the streets as he was evacuated. Undeterred, he

started his first business when he was 15. Every weekend he flew from Entebbe

to Dubai to fill a suitcase with electronic gizmos, which he took back to

Uganda and sold. The Mara Group now employs 7,000 people. Since it is privately

held, it is impossible to say how profitable it is, but Mr Thakkar says margins

are decent .

Mara is different from other African fixers in two ways. First, it is

pan-African. Most fixers only have contacts in one country; Mara has operations

in 19. This is crucial. Many African countries are small. Multinationals would

rather sign a single pan-African contract than lots of small ones. Starting in

Uganda, where his family knows everyone, Mr Thakkar has forged ties with

bigwigs across the continent. It helps that his family knows the other Gujarati

business families in east Africa. It helps even more that Mr Thakkar gets

invited to shindigs like Davos, where African presidents are plentiful and far

more approachable than at home.

Second, Mara has a brand: a reputation for integrity, and for getting the job

done. This was hard-earned. Once, when the operator of a box-making machine was

sick, Mr Thakkar grabbed the instruction manual, took charge and stayed up all

night so as not to be late delivering an order to Unilever. Potential partners

know Mr Thakkar will do anything to avoid tarnishing the Mara brand, so they

trust him. In countries where the rule of law is weak and contracts hard to

enforce, that matters.

There is money to be made in Africa by getting the basics right. For example,

in Kampala, the Ugandan capital, Mara is building a hotel with shops attached.

One selling point will be: enough parking spaces. At the shopping centre across

the road, you need a driver to drop you off. If you have no driver, tough.

Mr Thakkar brims with ideas for new businesses. Microfinance via mobile phones

in east Africa. Growing sugar in Nigeria. And even, via his non-profit

foundation, a pan-African social-networking site. He is also adept at Richard

Branson-style public relations. He is planning to be an astronaut, and to take

the flags of the nations where he operates into space.

Mara is a family concern Mr Thakkar s father is the chairman and has wealthy

backers in the Gulf (it is based in Dubai). But its growth has been powered by

one restless individual. That may be a weakness: a conglomerate that relies on

the charm and dealmaking skills of one man may struggle to outlive him. An

obvious parallel is Lonrho, a pan-African conglomerate built up by the late

Tiny Rowland, a swashbuckling British entrepreneur. Lonrho fell apart after

Rowland retired, and is now only a fragment of its former glory. The Mara Group

is just one really driven guy , warns another African entrepreneur. Maybe so;

but Mr Thakkar is only 31, and has plenty of drive left.

Correction: An earlier version of this article said that the combined value of

the stockmarkets in Botswana, Ghana, Kenya, Mauritius, Nigeria, Tunisia and

Zimbabwe was only $24 billion. This was wrong. The stockmarkets in Nigeria and

Kenya alone are worth $84 billion. Sorry.

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From the print edition: Business