Michael Karam: Audience not paying attention at your Lebanese meeting? Then relax, it’s all fine

Here’s a cultural tip for free. When in Lebanon, if people answer their phones in a meeting, or appear to not pay attention as if you’re not there, don’t worry. It might be good news.

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Last week, I emailed a Japanese friend asking if he knew anything about the Nishiyama Ryokan. A Ryokan, for those who know (I didn’t until last week) is a traditional Japanese inn, and this being my second trip to the Land of the Rising Sun, I wanted a more authentic experience than the rather sterile, but admittedly functional, business hotel I had stayed in on my first visit last year.

The Nishiyama is listed on Trip Advisor, but the reviews were so mixed that I figured I would tap my mate’s local knowledge. He replied within five minutes. “The notorious haunted hotel to which no Japanese go? You can read Stephen King’s horror stories about it. Enjoy. But I won’t see you. The evil ghost sticks to you there and you will bring it out. This is not a joke.”

The Japanese believe that the dead will not rest if neither purified nor set free from emotions such as jealousy, envy or anger, through prayer. If this does not happen, the ghost haunts where it lived. Bonkers? Perhaps. But why take the chance?

The incident highlighted the perils of venturing into unknown foreign travel and I was reminded of another friend who had been invited to Lebanon, on my recommendation, to pitch for a serious contract. A London-based PR executive with 20 years’ experience, she had financed a movie to reinforce her argument and travelled at her own expense to make the presentation. For my part, I had lobbied industry heads to turn up and listen.

We turned up groomed and efficient as ever. The PowerPoint was in place and the audience assembled. I felt confident my friend had not made the trip in vain and I wouldn’t look like a prize idiot. All the great and the good had to was watch the show, take in the message; be convinced by her linen-crisp professionalism and the contract was in the bag. From my end I was just happy that another Lebanese sector would creep out of the post civil-war foliage and into the open plains of the global market.

It began well, but then three minutes into the presentation, a mobile phone rang. The “chairman” fumbled for his pocket and then motioned my friend to pause the film, which she did, albeit slightly bemused. There followed a 10-minute phone conversation with a colleague who had just been given a ministerial position. “When would he like his fellow sector members to visit his office and congratulate him?”

Diaries were consulted and days were proposed. In the meantime, other phones rang and people left the room to take calls in private. I was volcanic with embarrassment and rage even if my friend who, let us not forget, had flown from England at her own expense to give the pitch, appeared to be poise personified. I learnt later it was shock.

By the time the calls ended, the meeting was effectively over and even though there was another 12 minutes of film, people had begun to leave. Surely, I pleaded in Arabic, we had to watch the remainder of the film, out of politeness at least. Yes of course, they murmured and everyone sat down again. But the moment was lost.

Well she got the contract. There was never any doubt, I later learnt. Apparently my recommendation was enough, and at that moment I finally knew the value of relations and relationships in the Middle East. The meeting was merely a formality. The strange thing was that, after 18 years in the country, I still hadn’t picked up on this nuance.

So here’s a cultural tip for free. When in Lebanon, if people answer their phones in a meeting, or appear to not pay attention as if you’re not there, don’t worry. It might be good news.

Suddenly, the haunted hotel story doesn’t seem so odd.

business@thenational.ae

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