Five years of looking for sick people, chasing referrals, surviving rejection and being called “Daktari” everywhere I go.
I have been in the health industry for five years now.
Five years.
At this point, I think I deserve a certificate. Or a medal. Or at the very least, a very large cup of tea and a chair somewhere far away from my phone.
I mostly work in hospital marketing.
And when you tell people you work in hospital marketing, I think they imagine you sitting in an office designing posters saying:
“Your Health, Our Priority.”
No.
My job is much more interesting.
I am literally out there looking for sick people.
Yes.
You read that correctly.
Other people are praying that nobody gets sick.
Me?
Well…
When someone tells me their company has 500 employees, my brain immediately starts doing mathematics.
How many dependants?
Who handles their medical cover?
Who is the HR manager?
Who makes the decisions?
When can I come and see you?
Please don’t judge me.
It’s my job.
The first thing hospital marketing teaches you is that people will call you “Daktari.”
Everywhere.
I have walked into police stations and before I have even finished introducing myself:
“Aaah, daktari!”
Me:
No, no, no… I’m not a doctor.
But nobody is listening.
“Daktari, come sit.”
“Daktari, we are having a problem of our people.”
“Daktari, you can treat this one?”
“Daktari, when you come next time bring the cards.”
At some point you just smile.
Because explaining the difference between a marketer and a doctor for the fifth time is now taking away from your marketing time.
And it doesn’t stop at police stations.
The mama mboga knows me as daktari.
The touts know me as daktari.
The watchman knows me as daktari.
Sometimes I feel like I should just start introducing myself that way.
And the funny thing is, some of these people actually become your friends.
You meet a tout, explain what you do, talk to him a few times and somehow, three months later, he has become your unofficial hospital ambassador.
You see him from a distance:
“Daktariiiii!”
You wave.
He waves.
Then he tells his friends:
“Huyu ni daktari wetu.”
Meanwhile, I’m thinking:
God, please don’t actually get sick and come looking for me.
The mama mboga is not any different.
You buy vegetables from her, chat a little, she knows where you work and suddenly:
“Daktari, leo uko?”
“Yes, niko.”
“Daktari, hii hospital yenu iko wapi tena?”
And now you’re giving directions while buying tomatoes.
That’s hospital marketing.
You never really stop marketing.
Then there are the calls.
Ah, the calls.
You call a manager.
No answer.
You call again.
Still nothing.
You send a WhatsApp.
Good morning madam, I hope you’re well. Just following up on the proposal…
Blue ticks.
Nothing.
You call.
They answer.
“Hello?”
And suddenly you become the nicest human being alive.
“Good morning! How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s good!”
You don’t say:
Please, I need you to sign this thing.
No.
You build relationships.
You talk.
You ask about their work.
You have coffee.
You talk about traffic, football, family, the economy, anything.
Meanwhile, somewhere inside your head:
Please give me the business.
Please give me the business.
Please give me the business.
Outwardly:
“Wow, that’s really interesting!”
Internally:
Sir, please remember why I came here.
Sometimes you even have to turn the charm up a little.
Smile.
Listen.
Compliment.
Laugh at a joke that wasn’t particularly funny.
Laugh again.
Be memorable.
Basically, you are trying to make someone like you enough to trust you with their business.
It’s almost like dating.
Except nobody sends you flowers.
And rejection?
Rejection and I are old friends.
“I’ll get back to you.”
One of the most dangerous sentences in sales.
Because “I’ll get back to you” can mean anything from:
I’ll call you tomorrow
to
Please never call this number again.
Then there is:
“Send me the proposal.”
You send it.
Silence.
“Let’s meet next week.”
Next week comes.
Silence.
“Call me after the board meeting.”
You call after the board meeting.
Silence.
At some point you start wondering whether the person’s phone has been swallowed by the earth.
And sometimes…
Blocked.
You just stare at your phone:
“Sasa nimekukosea nini?”
But you keep moving.
Because somewhere in your head there is always that little voice saying:
Maybe this one will say yes.
And sometimes they do.
A doctor sends a referral.
A company signs a deal.
A manager finally says:
“Let’s try you.”
And suddenly?
You are the greatest marketer who has ever walked the earth.
You call someone and say:
“Guess what!”
Your handwriting looks better.
Your walk changes.
Even your lunch tastes better.
Then you look at your revenue report.
Reality.
Because the pressure is real.
This is the part people don’t see.
They see you outside smiling, walking into offices, having coffee, making calls and looking like you have everything under control.
They don’t see what happens when a revenue stream slows down.
Suddenly there are questions.
Your manager wants answers.
HR wants to know what’s happening.
The CEO wants to know why the numbers are down.
You are sitting in a meeting explaining what happened, what you are doing about it, what you are changing and what you expect next.
Meanwhile, inside your head:
But I have been calling these people!
What else do you want me to do? Camp outside their offices?
There are days I walk into the boardroom feeling like a champion.
The numbers are good.
Business is coming in.
Everybody is happy.
You sit there thinking:
Yes. I belong here.
Then there are the other days.
You walk in quietly.
Notebook in hand.
Suddenly you become very interested in your figures.
Let me just look at these numbers again.
As if they might have changed in the last five minutes.
And of course, the one account you were praying nobody would ask about?
That’s exactly the account they ask about.
“So, what happened here?”
Explain.
And sometimes the pressure follows you home.
You have had a full day of rejection.
Someone has been rude.
A deal has fallen through.
Your manager has asked hard questions.
HR has sent an email.
The CEO has asked about revenue.
You have smiled through all of it.
Then you get home and your husband gets the full briefing.
“You will not believe what this manager told me today.”
And then you tell the whole story.
Every detail.
Sometimes twice.
He has heard this story before.
Many times.
But he listens.
Because tomorrow there will probably be another story.
Then there is the weather.
The weather does not care about your targets.
Scorching sun?
You have a meeting.
Rain?
You have a meeting.
Traffic?
You have a meeting.
Your feet hurt?
Congratulations.
You still have a meeting.
There are days I’ve walked under the hot sun looking for business thinking:
Surely there must be an easier way to make money.
Then it starts raining.
And you’re still walking.
Because that manager is waiting for you.
Or at least, you hope they are.
And then you finally get the referral.
This is where hospital marketing becomes interesting.
You have spent three weeks convincing someone to trust your hospital.
They finally send a patient.
You celebrate.
Then immediately you start praying.
Please let the front office be nice.
Please let the nurse be kind.
Please let the doctor handle the patient well.
Please let billing behave.
Please let nobody mess up.
Because you can spend months building a relationship and someone can destroy it in five minutes.
And when that happens?
Guess who gets the call?
Me!
Suddenly I am the marketer, relationship manager, diplomat, therapist and professional apologizer.
“I’m really sorry about your experience.”
Meanwhile, inside my head:
Please don’t kill my account.
Because that’s another thing I’ve learned.
You don’t just sell the hospital. You carry the hospital’s reputation with you.
Five years later, I think I understand what this job has taught me.
Hospital marketing is not just about selling.
It’s relationships.
It’s persistence.
It’s rejection.
It’s pressure.
It’s trust.
It’s walking into an office where someone was rude to you yesterday and saying:
“Good morning! How are you?”
as if yesterday never happened.
It’s getting rejected at 10 a.m. and going for another meeting at 11.
It’s being called Daktari when you are very clearly not a doctor.
It’s making friends with touts, police officers, mama mboga, managers and random people you never expected to know.
It’s walking in the sun.
Getting rained on.
Chasing referrals.
Chasing people who are clearly trying to run away from you.
Sitting in boardrooms and explaining numbers.
Going home and telling your husband the entire story.
And then waking up the next morning and doing it all again.
Because at the end of the day…
Revenue must show.
And sometimes?
You win.
Those are the days that keep you going.
A doctor sends a referral.
A company signs the deal.
A manager finally says yes.
Someone you met months ago calls:
“Daktari, send me the hospital details.”
And you smile.
Because you know exactly how many doors were closed before that one opened.
So, yes.
I work in hospital marketing.
I spend my days looking for sick people.
I chase doctors.
I chase managers.
I chase referrals.
Sometimes I chase people who are clearly trying to run away from me.
I get ignored.
I get rejected.
I get questioned.
I get called Daktari by people who genuinely believe I can treat them.
I walk in the sun.
I get rained on.
I sit in boardrooms and explain numbers.
I go home and debrief my husband.
And sometimes…
I win.
Five years in.
Still knocking.
Still smiling.
Still selling.
Still praying.
Still being called Daktari.
And somehow…
still enjoying the madness.
After all…
What is marketing without a little rejection?
And what is a marketer without the audacity to come back and ask again?
Aaah, daktari… kesho tunarudi tena.
