This check-in from Kenya begins with a story from America. It's about a woman named Grandma, and, depending on where you are coming from, it may or may not have a moral. The story takes place in two acts, each one contrasted against the other.

Act I: Grandma is a pillar of the community. For the last 30 years she's run the general store on the corner, and she has always treated her customers with respect and fairness. Grandma is cute, frail, kind-hearted, and defenseless. She gives kids free lollipops when their parents aren't looking, and she knows every customer by name.

One day, a new customer comes into the store. He wears a designer suit and crocodile shoes. His broad-collared shirt is open wide to reveal a hairy chest and several gold chains. He wears dark sunglasses, and his hair is slicked straight back. Because he is new in town, the stranger decides to introduce himself and his two very large friends to Grandma.

"Hi, Grandma," he says. "My name is Jimmy Mafucci. These two men are my colleagues, Bone Crusher and Dog Meat. We are seeking donations for our charitable organization. Since you are such an upstanding citizen, we thought you might find it in your heart to donate $100 to our cause."

"Oh, I don't know," said Grandma. "I'm just a simple shopkeeper, and $100 is a lot of money for me.

"Well, that's too bad, Grandma," said Mr. Mafucci.

"Yeah, too bad," said his colleagues.

"We had really hoped you could help us out," said Mr. Mafucci as he and his colleagues headed for the door.

The next day Grandma arrived early to open her shop (as she always did) and to her dismay found that a large projectile had made its way through her front window. Who would do such a thing to a beloved community member like Grandma?

A couple of days later, as Grandma sat behind the counter of her shop with a beautiful new window in place, Mr. Mafucci and his colleagues stopped in for a visit.

"Gee, Grandma, that's a beautiful new window you have," said Mr. Mafucci.

"Yes, a beautiful new window," said his colleagues.

"We thought you might reconsider a gift to our charitable organization," said Mr. Mafucci.

"Oh, well," said Grandma, "I think I could spare some money for a donation."

"You are a very kind and generous individual," said Mr. Mafucci.

"A very kind and generous individual," said his colleagues.

Over the next year, Mr. Mafucci and his colleagues made sure to visit Grandma every week, and they were never disappointed by her generosity. But one day, they arrived at Grandma's shop to find a "Closed" sign on the door. Unfortunately, Grandma had been too generous and could no longer afford to pay the rent for her shop.

"Now, that's too bad," said Mr. Mafucci.

"Yeah, too bad," said his colleagues.

*

Act II: Same shop, same Grandma. Only this time instead of Mr. Mafucci and his colleagues walking into Grandma's shop, a man named Sam Walton walks in.

"Hi, Grandma," said Mr. Walton. "I thought I'd stop in and introduce myself, seeing as how I'm going to be your new neighbor and all."

"Well, welcome to town, Mr. Walton," said Grandma, always the neighborly sort. "We're mighty glad to have you."

One day, after closing up her shop, Grandma decided to say hi to Mr. Walton in his shop. As she strolled down the aisles looking for the counter where Mr. Walton sat, Grandma noticed that every item in Mr. Walton's store cost exactly $1 less than the same item cost in her store.

"Oh no," thought Grandma, "I better lower my prices or else all my customers will start shopping here at Mr. Walton's store." Over the next year, Grandma went to visit Mr. Walton in his store many times, and every time she did, she noticed that no matter how much she had reduced her prices, Mr. Walton always charged $1 less for every item.

One day Mr. Walton noticed that Grandma hadn't visited for a while, and so he decided that he would pay her a visit. When he got to Grandma's shop, he noticed a sign on the door: "Out of Business."

"Now that's too bad," said Mr. Walton. "Too bad."

*

In America we have rules that govern economic activity, that set the terms for exchange between two parties. Our rules say that what Mr. Mafucci and his colleagues did was wrong, but that what Mr. Walton did was okay. Using physical muscle to force someone out of business is not acceptable, while using economic muscle to do the same thing is. But to Grandma, does the mechanism really matter? Probably not.

Yet this is something that happens every day to Grandmas across the country. And intuitively it makes sense to us because that's just the way we do it. We have internalized the rules of the system.

When I got to Kenya, three different people tried to sell me a safari package before I had even left the airport. Each one of them told me that he had a "friend" who would get me a great deal and show me lots of lions and giraffes and zebras. My guide books told me that each one of the had a friend who would probably walk off with my money.

Obviously, I didn't take anyone up on any of these offers. I needed to survey my options first. Shop around a bit. But everywhere I went - and everything I've tried to buy - was a matter of talking to some guy who had a friend who would get me a great deal. Were they telling me the truth? Or were they trying to fleece me? I don't know. And I don't know how anyone would know. It seems like every transaction in this corrupt and lawless country was just a black market, smoke and mirrors game of three card monty (to mix several metaphors). It's enough to make a guy long for good old institutionalized, Uncle Sam-style capitalism. At least that's an actual system, where each party knows what he's getting into with every transaction.

But let's think for a minute about Grandma's Kenyan counterpart. And let's pretend for a minute that she's buying a safari.You can bet that she'd know exactly how to find the friend you could trust. Why? Because she knows the rules; she sees the system.

To me, the three men who approached me in the airport were intrusive, pushy, and untrustworthy. To Grandma Kenya, they were just -- advertising. And when you think about it, those guys are no more intrusive, pushy, or untrustworthy than the ads that enter our homes through TV and magazines on a daily basis. We're just more accustomed to the ads than to the men at the airport. What's more is that each one of their safari-leading friends are just doing their respective bests to make a buck. And of course they're going to fleece me. They're going to charge me as much as they possibly can without losing my business to someone else. Is that any different from what Verizon is trying to do to me every time I sign up for a new cell phone contract? Not really. The only reason they don't take me for more is that they know I'm going to stop by the Cingular store down the street and compare prices. And they know that if they quote me too high a price, the guy at the Cingular store will find a friend who can get me a better deal. The only difference between me and Grandma Kenya is that when it comes to shopping for a safari, she knows where the Cingular store is and I don't. But when it comes to buying a cellphone plan in Boston, Grandma Kenya is going to feel every bit as fleeced as I do over here.

*

Now, on some level, this is all a little bit too radical for me. There is a voice that keeps telling me that the things happening between me and Verizon are fundamentally different - and better - from the things happening between Grandma Kenya and the unnamed safari salesman. And it all centers around continuity. I know that if Verizon promises me one thing and I don't get it, I can walk right back to the store and demand a refund. Or at the very least, I can decide to never shop there again. The same thing doesn't apply here in Kenya. Certainly not for me, and maybe not for Grandma. But the question is would the rules I have in America be the same for Grandma Kenya if she were to come visit. I like to think that they would. Especially at large, permanent institutions. But it's not only important that the rules and norms of economic exchange are consistent, but also that they are obvious enough for anyone unfamiliar with them to figure out.

When you think about all this in the context of "economic development," it certainly makes you wonder about the right way to approach things. On the one end of the development spectrum is foreign direct investment, which involves the Verizons of the world setting up shop here in Kenya. At the other end are campaigns and strategies which focus purely on growing locally-based, domestic entrepreneurial ventures. The difficulty is that the foreign direct investment initiatives create systems where Grandma Kenya is essentially trying to navigate the Boston cell phone marketplace in her own back yard. Will she get the new economic rules and norms that her country is playing by now that Verizon has come to town, or will she constantly feel like she's getting fleeced? But at the same time, encouragement of local entrepreneurs results in growing a system that resembles the smoke and mirrors, friend of a friend game that I had to play while looking for a safari. Is that okay? Certainly it's not ideal for me, but I don't think it is for Grandma Kenya either. And that's because as the economic system grows, Grandma Kenya isn't necessarily gaining more economic power, which means that the safari dealers of the world have no reason to be transparent with her. The key is to make sure that Grandma Kenya gains access to clear, consistent information -- whatever system she is in. And, as with most things in the world, the best way to do that is through the ever-popular mixed approach: it's going to have to be a bit local and a bit global.

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