Client-consultant relationship

By Julie Ahadi

Let’s start with a predefined notion of “normal” from a western perspective:

1. A western male teenager: Dresses in a hoody, wears expensive trainers, and spends time either graffitiing or climbing walls.
2. A young Arab man: Walks aimlessly around malls for hours, dressed in a sparkly white, freshly laundered thawb and headdress (with sandals).

Perhaps that’s the reason, therefore, that a video, showing an Arab man in traditional attire as described above, scaling multiple buildings in sandy (undisclosed) locations, went viral earlier this year. His speed and dexterity has earned him the nickname “Spiderman of the Gulf”. But, aside from the fact he was wearing the most inappropriate footwear–yes, sandals–is it that much of a big deal? A young, fit man with time on his hands and energy to burn choosing to climb a building or ten? It seems pretty standard for any–and all–silly antics to be filmed by your mates and uploaded onto YouTube these days. And that’s exactly what happened here. So it’s not the act so much as the circumstances–i.e., someone doing something which is completely at odds with our cultural stereotypes–that amuses us so.

By Fiona Czerniawska

One of the things the consulting industry isn’t short of is myths. You have to be a small specialist or a big brand? Wrong! Clients’ number one buying criterion is price? Wrong! With increasing amounts of data now available about the industry, sacred cows are falling like ninepins.

By Julie Ahadi.

I used to enjoy sleep. And then I had a baby. Much like the heyday era of consulting, when an abundance of cheque-happy clients and high fees was the norm, I used to roll around in bed of a Saturday morning thinking ‘there’s plenty more where that came from’. Not only has my window of opportunity for a relatively easy life closed, but I am now conditioned not to be able to sleep, even if I am permitted to.*

And to some extent, I’m the problem – I’ve created an adorable baby Frankenstein. At some point along this magical journey, my daughter may just (may just, mind you) have mistaken my kindness for weakness. The moment she’d call; I’d jump. And she got used to it. And so did I. And it really didn’t need to come to this – I’d read all the books, listened to (far too many) people’s helpful advice and yet here I am – me and my eyebags. But, like so many sleep deprived, busy mums (and there are plenty busier than me), I soldier on.