Stand down, soldiers. Lay down your arms. The [jollof] war is over. Senegalese jollof, and not Nigerian or Ghanaian jollof, is the best in West Africa. Thus says Frank Aswani. We are in Upper Hill, where, after every sip of coffee, he peels back the memories of his travels layer by layer. It’s a bright day, but out the windows, the Nairobi winter presses very close.
His father died when he was 25, and he was the firstborn son, a tall poppy in a garden full of brothers. He was earning 25K, in a four-bedroom house in England, with a brand-new Audi A4 that said something about him. He had diamonds on the soles of his shoes.
“I decided I didn’t want children, because I was taking care of my siblings.” Now he has three. Fate is fate.
He can’t imagine what life would have been without his children. Though they all live in South Africa, he brings them home to meet their clansmen and dance the ‘isikuti’—the dance of the gods. And to eat kienyeji chicken. “It’s all they ever eat,” he says.
Frank loves living, and loves living well. Collecting music CDs and vinyl. Exercising in his elusive hunt for the six-pack. Bantering with his band of brothers from Mean Machine RFC, and their esprit de corps. And every so often, he’ll make his way to Anfield to watch Liverpool play a game.
“There are people who are around a lot, but leave very little behind. And people who are around a little, and leave a lot behind, like the late Diogo Jota.” Something tells me he is not just talking about Jota.
What’s it like being Frank?
It’s striking a balance between what I do for a living and what I enjoy doing. My most important role is being a dad. I’ve got three children, even though I never wanted children.
My father died when I was 25, and I am the firstborn of five boys, so I inherited four boys and a mother, and I had just gotten my first job, earning Sh25,000. My mother had quit her job three weeks before my father died of diabetes to go and take care of him, so I felt I had done my role as a parent, raising my siblings.
I am also a big music collector. I have like 6,000 CDs, about 1,000 vinyls, and maybe 50 terabytes of digital music. I masquerade as an in-house DJ within the four walls of my house. I am big on sports. I am a big Liverpool and rugby fan as well.
I was a Mean Machine captain in 1992, even though my brother was the better rugby player, he was the vice-captain of the Kenya Sevens team. I exercise five times a week religiously, and I love cooking.
You’ve almost answered all my questions [laughs]. What's your most Kenyan behaviour that you refuse to let go of?
I can tell you the one I let go of for sure: I stopped drinking three years ago. But I haven’t quit my love for traditional foods, and Kenyan coastal foods. One of my best dishes to cook is biryani, for example.
What's a strong memory you associate with food?
Choice. I think one of the biggest things you can do, especially after you've worked hard and can earn a living, is to be able to choose what you can eat. That ability to choose: to eat to the taste that you like, to the quality that you want, and to the health benefits that you seek, we take for granted.
You said initially you never wanted children. What changed?
Because it's not always your choice [chuckles]. And as a man, you are never in control. It's not your choice. That's the thing. You think you are in control, but you are not. So that's number one. Two, it's about compromise. You meet a partner who wants children, but you don't.
So, you compromise.
How have your children changed how you manage your business?
That's a very good question. They have helped me wonder what I want to leave as a legacy. Because every time I see them and their friends, I ask myself, ‘So what am I doing for these children?
How is what I'm doing impacting their future, their lives, their ability to thrive and grow? And it's not necessarily about my children per se, it's about me being part of the village that's nurturing all those children.
So, outside my eight-to-five job, there are two other problems that I have committed myself to solving. One is how to solve the youth unemployment. Because our young people are arguably our biggest assets, but if not well taken care of, they would be the biggest liability we've ever faced.
What's a question that fatherhood hasn't answered?
[long pause] That you can't choose your children, your children choose you.
That's why you see sometimes you can have two children raised in the same house, same parents and everything, but they turn out very different. So, inasmuch as you can try to influence your children to be a certain way, they still have a choice to choose how they turn out.
Do you parent more like a coach, a philosopher, or a DJ?
Haha! I think when they were young, I was a headmaster. As they've grown older, and I've gotten comfortable with their growth and maturity, I've become more of a coach. I leave them with questions to think about life, rather than tell them what to do.
Do you feel you missed out on a childhood on account of having to bring up your siblings?
Not quite so. I was 25 when my father died. What I feel I missed out on was creating early career memories. Because I didn't have that much disposable income to spend on travelling and doing those kinds of things. Luckily, now I probably travel too much [chuckles].
I also probably missed out on quite a lot of investments. But in hindsight, I gained the benefit of giving my brothers a chance in life. That's why I don't believe in black tax. It's our responsibility as Africans to take care of our people and our family members come first.
But don't you think that responsibility robbed you of siblings as you took on the father figure?
No, funny enough, it brought me friends and a family that I probably would not have built if I hadn't gone through the experience with my brothers. My brothers and I speak every Sunday afternoon for two hours. I think it gave me something a lot more than what I lost.
Your passport is highly stamped. Which version of you exists in every country?
That of inquisitiveness. I'm very curious to find out unique things about the places I go to. Depending on where I am, cultural-ish things, I appreciate architecture, especially in Europe and the Middle East.
I've learned to go with an open mind and take the places you go to for what they are, rather than what you think they should be. I try to leave a country with a bit more information about its music and culinary experience.
What’s one place you’ve gone that still holds your heart?
I have a thing for Ghana because Ghanaians are very humble people, smart, thoughtful, and grounded in many ways. Their food is also very good, but I think, having been to Senegal, I have settled the Jollof War. I think the Senegalese Jollof is the best in West Africa.
When execs like yourself travel, more often than not, they are given an airbrushed experience in the Sheratons and Stanleys. How do you plug into the other side?
Don't forget I work for a non-profit. I can't afford to stay in the Sheratons haha! If I go to places I haven't been to before, I will take an extra day or two at my own cost to be a tourist and just mingle with people.
Frank Aswani: Rhumba-loving CEO defines success beyond where one comes from
What’s your most un-CEO behaviour?
I like dancing to Lingala music. I love rhumba music [chuckles]. I grew up in a house where Franco [Luambo Makiadi] was big. My name, Frank, comes from two sources.
One, the priest who married my parents was a Spaniard, and Franco was his first name. And two, we played a lot of Franco at home. Anyway, when you find me loosening up, I won’t be stiff like people expect me to be haha! In this life, you've got to find your balance.
What song best tells the story of your life?
Dance with My Father by Luther Vandross. My father died at 54, and I never got a chance to experience him, spend quality time, and seek his advice and counsel.
What do you think your father thinks when he sees you now?
He was big on education. He’d come into the living room with a cigarette in hand and find us waiting for him with our report forms. He’d be proud that his boys have stood up to the challenge and are independent, responsible men, and that the humility from our mother still runs through us.
What would you teach him about fatherhood?
To be a lot more expressive. He was a soldier who spoke at us, not with us. And show a lot more vulnerability, especially as he got older.
Are you raising your kids differently?
I am doing my best, yes. There are certain things I have carried from my father: education, hard work, discipline, commitment to self-improvement, and the freedom to be a young person growing up.
Did your love of music stem from him?
Probably. He had his moments when he would just be singing. But also the environment I grew up in, mtaani, Kariokor, lent a lot to my love for African music.
Has music helped you make a big life decision or stopped you from making a bad one? Yes. A couple of years ago, I was going through a tough personal thing, and I would have easily made stupid decisions out of anger. There are a couple of songs that I listen to every day that have a calming effect on my soul. Music gives me options for whatever mood.
What’s something you grew up believing that has since changed?
You can’t imagine losing your parents or life without them. But I think they watch over us even in their absence, because leadership is also quite a lonely space.
What will the boy growing up in Kariokor tell the executive sitting here now?
It doesn’t matter where you come from, but where you want to go. Run your race, define your measures of success, and you can get to any place you want to be.
When I strip away the titles—father, CEO, partner—what remains?
Your character and who you are as a person. How do people feel around you? What do you stand for? It is the impact you make and the decisions you make, the legacy you want to build, which are not necessarily tied to titles.
If I were to read only one chapter of your life, what would you recommend?
[long pause] Optimism and resilience. That would kind of capture my early life, especially after I lost my father. I went to Lenana School, which had many affluent families there, so you grow up with some peer pressure, and I think you have to remain confident because confidence is a very important thing in your beliefs, journey, and destiny.
And then balance. I've tried to live my life with excellence on both sides—a good father, but also to fulfil my passions in music, reading, rugby, and Liverpool, where I go to Anfield at least once every three years.
I've learned you have to be ready to learn, unlearn, and relearn all the time, that ability to be adaptable, for that is the only way to remain relevant to the world.
And, it's very important that you set time for the relationships that matter to you, I know because I have made some mistakes in that space. So now if I think about you, I will call or text to check up on you.
You mentioned books. What is that one book that you are yet to “finish” even though you have finished it?
The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho is probably my favourite book. I've read it maybe two or three times now, because it is quite rich and powerful.
What is the one other book that you'd recommend to anyone?
There is a book called Fingerprints of God by Graham Hancock. It's a fascinating book about history. Could the story of mankind be far older than we have previously believed?
What's something difficult you go through that not many people get to see?
I worry whether I'm giving my best shot in what is my most important role, raising my children. Because I have a lot of hope that I'm probably doing this to give the world responsible young people.
What could you do better?
It's a very tricky time now because they're getting into adulthood. And it's about trying to find time and space to spend quality time with them. To hear them and understand where they're coming from, and see where you can best play a role to make their reality happen.
What's the one thing you've come to terms with?
That I’ll never have a six-pack, hahaha! But I have a flat stomach.
What does a perfect weekend look like for you?
Sleeping in a bit late on a Saturday because that's the only time I'm sleeping properly. Be in the gym at 9. Have brunch with my son. My son always comes to the gym with me.
Be back home at 2. Take a nap. Maybe watch a Liverpool game or the All Blacks with some of my friends. Be in a jazz concert in the evening.
Sunday, wake up maybe around 10 or 11. Have a late breakfast. Have a barbecue for the family in the afternoon. Speak to my brothers between 2 and 4. And then settle in and start preparing for work in the evening.
Who do you know that I should know?
My cousin Caroline Waswa, a single mother of two, and she’s worked hard for herself and built a life to support her children. Hats off to women who are doing that heavy lifting on their own and still balancing successful corporate careers.
For a person who never wanted children, they sure do come up a lot in your life…
Haha! They do! And I think you realise not only what it takes to raise good children, but the fact that we have a responsibility to do the best for our children.
What is the one question you were ready to answer but I have not asked?
My fears as a man. I fear not being the best version of myself and not doing enough for the people around me.
Whether it's my colleagues at work, my siblings, my children, or my family. I fear not learning enough from my mistakes and stalling; I am continuously striving to be a better version of myself. So, if I feel like I'm stagnating, I get concerned that I'm not doing well enough. For myself, and those around me.
What’s your biggest regret?
Not making more time to spend with my mother. I’d come to Kenya, say, once a month, but I’d probably see her maybe once every second month. I always just assumed she’d be there.
My mother, at 70, went to the hospital for a routine admission, and she never left, after a month in the ICU. That hangs over my head until today. Make time for your folks, you won’t have them for too long.
What’s a dumb thing you believed for a long time?
Growing up, there was a bike we used to ride called chopper, but in the mtaa we called it komerera. I used to think komerera was a brand, only to realise it is a Kikuyu word for ‘lean over,’ because when you rode that bike, as the seat was a bit higher than the handlebars, you had to lean over. Haha! And I only got to know of this 10 years ago [chuckles].
What impact has rugby had on your life?
Like any team sport, you build a band of brothers playing rugby. And when you play for certain clubs, you build a family that transcends generations.
The fact that I played for Mean Machine, I have access to past generations of Mean Machine players, just because I was part of the club and we have a certain DNA that runs through us. Despite how hard we bashed each other on the pitch, we always had time for a drink after, so a lot of my friends were either people I played with or against. Rugby has that power in building brotherhood.
What’s your favourite hobby to do alone?
Exercising. When I go to the gym, it’s my time to step away from everything. I put on my earphones and get absorbed into my world, and unplug from work and family for an hour and a half, and have time for myself.
I cherish that for it’s not just about health nourishment, but my personal time when I can be alone in my thoughts and space while doing something I enjoy.
If you weren’t an executive, what would you be doing?
I’d be a smooth jazz artist with a farming career. I’d combine my love for music with farming. Imagine being able to enjoy music in the context of farming?
