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The Journey to Elsa’s Kopje

My journey to Elsa’s Kopje was a new beginning. I was becoming my own man. It had been seven months since I left Shukran to strike it out on my own. There was nothing more for me there. I had done my part. My contribution had been reduced to a mere five percent, despite co-founding it, working on a low salary, and turning down job offers I was qualified for.

It hurt deeply to leave. I had poured my heart into that company. I was Shukran, and Shukran was me. But now, that union was no more.

For so long, I had not fully embraced my own path because I had been afraid of standing alone against the cold, uncertain world. I knew this moment would come eventually; I just didn’t know it would arrive so soon. When I joined Impact Africa Network, I had told myself I would stay for three or four years — just enough to learn how to build a company. But like all wishes, one must be careful. I joined on February 21st, 2021, and left on April 3rd, 2025.

When I walked away, I carried with me anger, confusion, and shame. The customers who believed in me were shocked. Some were empathetic, others disappointed, some speechless. They could not understand why I had left my own company. I wanted to explain, but how could I truly tell them what it felt like to be a founder and yet treated like a mere employee? I was the minority shareholder. If only they knew how much of a minority I truly was.

The Weight of Survival

After I left, I faced another challenge: survival. I had to figure out how to make money, how to stay afloat. I reached out to friends, revisited old job offers, called around to see if any positions were still open. My parents helped with rent and I’m forever grateful for that. My girlfriend at the time also chipped in to help me through the first month. But it still wasn’t enough. For two months, I had no job, and desperation pushed me toward digital lenders.

I knew, in theory, how predatory those loans could be, but nothing prepared me for the reality. Interest rates as high as 35%, disbursements that gave you half of what was promised and repayment windows of just seven days. And when the deadline came close, the harassment began with private numbers, endless calls, insults and even threats.

One day, one of them went too far. They sent an email to Shukran’s public address, pretending to be a law firm collecting debt. That was the line for me. I fought back, copying the Central Bank of Kenya, the Communications Authority, and quoting the Data Protection Act, the Digital Credit Providers Act, and relevant case law. They never responded but the calls stopped.

It taught me something about dignity. About how people and institutions treat you when you have nothing to give them. Since then, I tell anyone who will listen: if you need a loan, go to a bank or SACCO. Go where you are treated like a human being, not prey.

A Door Reopens

Amid that chaos, help came from an unexpected place. I had met Kago years earlier, in my first year of university. I was at a tech conference, eager and clueless, when someone handed me his card and said, “Call this guy, he’s looking for young developers.” I called, and Kago turned out to be the kind of man who saw the world differently. He was smart, sharp, looking for people who lived and breathed their craft. He even mentioned he wanted to people who have been coding since they were 5. I didn't fit the bill exactly but I did like computers since I was 7 and played a lot of video games.

We lost touch after a few conversations, but years later he showed up at Impact Africa Network. I reintroduced myself and kept him updated on my progress with Shukran. When things started falling apart, I invited him for an investor meeting. I still remember the words that came out of my mouth:

“I know I invited you here to invest in Shukran but I don’t think you should.”

I told him the truth. About the 95% to 5% structure. About the disrespect. About the hidden documents and the manipulative culture that made me feel small in a company I had helped build. He understood me completely and even shared his similar experience that ultimately led him to leave his startup, Eneza Education.

Two months later, he introduced me to Amelia, the CEO of Azizi. We met, talked, and immediately connected. Three months after leaving Shukran, I joined their team.

That role was a blessing in disguise. It gave me a salary to stabilize myself and fund Thenks. It got me back into agriculture which is something I had worked on in university through Enactus. It took me to Bungoma, far away from my old life in Nairobi. And most importantly, it reminded me that my skills, my ideas, and my work ethic had value.

At Impact Africa, I had learned to play small. I used to hold back, dimming my light so as not to provoke the temper of a boss who thrived on intimidation. That environment taught me a lot but it also showed me what happens when leadership becomes tyranny. The organization’s failures were never about resources or ideas; they were about character. And when I finally left, I knew I was choosing peace over chaos.

I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I’d accepted my father’s offer to work at Google, or my aunt’s offers at Microsoft or Visa. Maybe I’d be somewhere in Silicon Valley right now. But life unfolds the way it must. I did my best with what I had and that’s all anyone can ask of themselves.

A New Chapter Begins

Elsa’s Kopje came at the perfect time. Thenks was taking shape after seven months of building, and I finally had a moment to breathe. I had always imagined taking this trip with my girlfriend, but that chapter had closed. She had checked out long before I found the courage to leave. For my peace and self-respect, I had to let go and I vowed not to turn back.

That meant I would go alone.

It felt strange. Safaris are meant for couples, for shared sunsets and clinking glasses. But maybe this one was meant for me alone. A space to meet myself again.

For as long as I can remember, I have sought safety in the presence of others like parents, mentors, lovers, colleagues. Even when the situation wasn’t ideal, I would stay just to avoid being alone. The fear of abandonment has always lingered in me, pushing me to overprove myself, to win approval, to earn my place in people’s lives. But Shukran and my ex taught me something vital: no amount of effort can make someone see your worth.

This trip was about breaking that pattern and about facing solitude without fear.

Becoming

I had already taken big steps forward:

Now, Elsa’s Kopje would be the next one.

I packed my journal, cigars, a safari hat, and my favorite shades. I borrowed my parents’ car, promising to return it with a full tank and even pay for service. It wasn’t just about the car, it was symbolic. I wanted to prove that I could use what I had responsibly, that I could give back even as I borrowed.

At camp, I followed a simple rhythm. A good meal and a drink. A game drive. A quiet afternoon journaling with Mount Kenya in view. A few conversations with the staff about Thenks and some banter. Then whiskey, a cigar, music, and the night sky. Solitude, but not loneliness.

When I drove back home, passing the golden hills and long stretches of road, something in me had changed. The fear that once kept me tied to others had dissolved.

I had gone to Elsa’s Kopje alone and come back with myself.

Now, it’s time to be great.
Time to build.
Time to conquer the world as my own man.