A Cry for Hope, A Testament of Resilience

1. The Problem

We, as Africans, are in need of hope. Our governments have failed us — filled with people who steal, plunder, and live large while preaching sacrifice. They masquerade as one of us, yet daily betray our futures. Since independence, they have dragged our countries toward collapse, and the only reason things haven’t completely fallen apart is because of rare, upright individuals who seized their moment to push nations forward.

The truth is brutal: most in government are a waste of public resources. They deserve to be fired and face the struggles of ordinary life — then maybe they would understand what it feels like to survive out here.

2. My Descent and Privilege

I have felt a glimpse of the pit: broke, in debt, jobless, desperate. Without my parents’ support, I would have been destroyed. Their help with food, rent, and moral grounding gave me a base. Still, it was brutal — juggling loans, begging networks for work, and being hounded by loan apps that spammed, threatened, and even impersonated lawyers.

Yet, I clawed back. I knew I had validation for a startup idea that customers needed and would pay for. I had to endure six months of rebuilding, three of them sheer hell, before I could find my footing. What saved me was a cocktail of privilege, luck, and resilience — and my agency to seize every chance I had.

3. Lessons in Work and Ambition

Not everyone has my support system. But I believe every young African can do it. Start with what is necessary, then move to what is possible, and eventually attempt what looks impossible.

Sometimes, that means taking the low-paying job, proving yourself reliable, and learning everything. Be curious, be coachable, and let experienced men train you — even if the relationship is harsh and imperfect. It might make you the boss’ “pet,” but it will give you priceless exposure.

The danger: never make your boss’ dream your own. I did, and it cost me years of passion and toil chasing another man’s validation. His dream consumed me until I woke up to the truth: I was expendable. That realization broke me, but it also freed me.

4. Breaking Free

Leaving without savings, with debt, and in emotional turmoil was terrifying. But it was necessary. My network became my lifeline — goodwill earned from past effort, respect built through diligence, and relationships nurtured over time. That’s the hidden power of networking: every interaction is a door to a future opportunity.

Eventually, I found stability and used it as a springboard to return to my true mission. I began building Thenks, the soul of what I had once started with Shukran. Because I was the vision-bearer, I carried the original fire.

5. Building Again

My job at Azizi became both a contribution and a bridge. I gave them wins, strategies, and loyal customers, but used my free time to push Thenks forward. I respected that duty, but I also knew my calling.

With Thenks, I reclaimed customers, hired a strong team, and built something real. We broke barriers and became a $500M African startup. More than that, I found joy in being a missionary — diving into industries, finding problems, and using tech to solve them. Then came the next stage: training young innovators to multiply the impact.

6. The Vision for Africa

This is how we tell a new story for Africa: through resilience, agency, and innovation. Our governments may fail us, but individuals can light the path. We must raise beacons of hope — people who show what’s possible, who create systems, and who open opportunities.

From startups to policy, from technology to governance, I will keep building, training, and shaping. Because Africa deserves more than betrayal — it deserves transformation.