The bank offered Ruth Njoroge a million dollars and asked for repayment in a currency her customers did not earn.
Her Nairobi company installed solar pumps for farming cooperatives. Farmers paid in Kenyan shillings after harvest; the imported equipment was priced in dollars. The loan would finance five hundred pumps. It would also become more expensive whenever the shilling weakened.
“Scale solves the risk,” said Peter, her board member. “More customers, more cash flow.”
Ruth’s accountant drew three exchange-rate scenarios. In the worst, every profitable contract became a loss. In the best, the company doubled within eighteen months. Her sales team had already promised installations to villages where women still carried water uphill.
At a cooperative meeting in Nakuru, a farmer named Grace asked whether the quoted price was final.
Ruth hesitated. The proposed contracts allowed increases if exchange rates moved sharply.
“So the rain fails, our harvest fails, your currency changes, and the price rises?” Grace asked.
On the drive home, Peter said Ruth was confusing compassion with finance. “If we don’t install the pumps, someone else will.”
Ruth declined the full loan. She borrowed one-quarter in dollars, negotiated a local-currency facility for operating costs, and raised customer deposits. The blended financing paid for only 130 pumps. Peter resigned from the board.
When the shilling fell, the company raised prices for new orders but honored signed contracts. Expansion stopped. Competitors installed faster, then repossessed equipment from farmers who missed adjusted payments.
Two years later, Ruth’s company remained regional and perpetually short of stock. Grace’s cooperative bought a second pump with retained harvest income.
At the signing, Grace asked if Ruth regretted refusing the million.
“Every time a competitor posts their numbers,” Ruth said. “Not when I sleep.”
Outside, clouds gathered without promising rain.
