Falling...

I remember well, I must have been a little over nine years old. I was neither clever nor better looking than the next boy. My passions lay in the play field, at break-time kicking and batting balls in a game of soccer or rounders’. There was no persuasion at all to venture beyond this boy caricature.

My first encounter, it jolted my little sinews and in a moment of paralysis my mouth mumbled. I had not developed the rudiments of the English language nor the cheesy one-liners boys inherit from their older siblings. Worsening my fumbles. Instead of calming my nerves and composing myself in the best possible way to my advantage, I was overcome by an urge to say something. I wish I had controlled that urge, because it exposed all my disadvantages.

She giggled and ran away.

What she left behind, were sweaty palms and a dry mouth.

For the next three years or so I recounted this episode in my head so many times over. It was my daydream and my night capsule. Yet, I avoided her at every turn.

With every thought, my feelings grew, bubbling inside like hot larva. Perfect enough reason to claim her as my own. Yet she had no idea she had been spoken for. Like the tyrant of old, I claimed her as mine to my friends and foes. Any disputes were swiftly resolved in threats and fists.

My possession of her had little to do with how she looked, neither her intellect nor amorous thoughts. It was simply how I felt. The debilitating sweats and pumby thoughts came from deep inside me. From depths I never knew a human could have.

I often wonder how she felt, or what would have happened if I had had the courage to share my agony.

The next time I experienced the bubbling hot larva was in my late teens. My voice had cracked the edifice of youth and sounded manly. In essentials I had become precise, well formed and had my share of admirers.

Yet she took the grasp off my breath. Literally. It was my first kiss. This time the rudiments of boy and girl missed me totally. Yet she placed with great dexterity her lips on mine. Slowly, she nibbled and whispered. My loins failed me.

The one kiss, the only one we ever shared possessed me for a long time to come. Suddenly I had all inclinations to make her my wife and consummate our passions. I was deliriously enchanted. I wrote verse and played musical codes to her amusement. I gave up all reason and she consumed my thoughts and days.

She was my forever.

Fast forward and somehow the tinge of a kiss is lost and the loins demand more enchantment. The in's and out's, the twists and turns, the hurts and hates, painful love and delightful romance. Becoming a creature of habit.One is further and further away from deep depth where hot larva resides. The heart dies, slowly.

Love is an experience. The closest I can recount is through the “mis-education of Lauryn Hill,” the power of her voice, the calamity of her words and the soothing melody is the best of my encounters. Nothing matters anymore. Not food, not ambition not family. You fall beyond understanding. For her it was either her Magnus opus or the fruit of the uterus. She had to choose, Zion or fame; She had fallen.

Therein lies the tragedy of love. Best personified by Heathcliff, the character from Wuthering Heights. In Heathcliff we experience the best of our emotions and the worst of our passions. It swirls in intrepid romance and crushes in lunacy. We are like Catherine, ready to forgo our prospects to be with Heathcliff. Yet in the very next turn, willing to give up our feelings for good prospects. A whirlwind of good and bad. Or like Heathcliff, the love that overwhelms and falls over the cliff.

Through Cathy’s character Emily Bronte is as close to the nature of man than any other;

“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine (Heathcliff) are the same, and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire.”

Yet she chooses Linton. There is an obvious war between the soul and the physical self. To have one is to deny the other. This is the choice that love demands from us.

It seems from my little self, I have been quite aware of this choice. But like most I have denied my soul to edify my self.

David Hatendi; Books are the best of things, well used; abused, among the worst

"The old fable covers a doctrine ever new and sublime; that there is One Man, present to all particular men only partially, or through one faculty; and that you must take the whole society to find the whole man. Man is not a farmer, or a professor, or an engineer, but he is all. Man is priest, and scholar, and statesman, and producer, and soldier. In the divided or social state, these functions are parceled out to individuals, each of whom aims to do his stint of the joint work, whilst each other performs his. The fable implies, that the individual, to possess himself, must sometimes return from his own labor to embrace all the other laborers. But unfortunately, this original unit, this fountain of power, has been so distributed to multitudes, has been so minutely subdivided and peddled out, that it is spilled into drops, and cannot be gathered. The state of society is one in which the members have suffered amputation from the trunk, and strut about so many walking monsters,--a good finger, a neck, a stomach, an elbow, but never a man. "R. Emerson

David Hatendi was the first black Rhodes Scholar to come out of the then Rhodesia. That, in itself is a high recommendation. Yet, as society we are privy to the many Rhodes scholars who wobble and dither, whose actions make us wonder what good is scholarship if in action it is indistinguishable from the street brute. In David we find what Emerson called the Man.

The man is no more.

He died in his sleep. As private and quiet, far from the maddening crowd as was his living years. Typifying what Emerson saw as the true scholar, as someone imbued to reflect and act; “action ripens thoughts into truth”, Emerson wrote to the American public. A man must think and act, think and act. His actions always guided by his thoughts. Very difficult enterprise today, where actions are rather spasmodic. Zimbabwe has lost its own Emerson.

For a young man, David represents a breed very rare in Zimbabwe. That fine essence of being, the combination of thought and action that made him a Superstar. He achieved many firsts, the least of which was his Rhodes scholarship in 1977. He was one of the first black students at the prestigious Peterhouse Boys school, an elite private boarding school 80kms outside of Harare in Marondera. His father, a priest was an Anglican rector there.

From high school, he went on to graduate from the University of Zimbabwe. Throughout his scholarly life he was active in sports and culture. At oxford we are told he, “took part in cricket (including playing for the Authentics), squash, hockey, and athletics, served as President of the Oxford University Africa Society, and was President of the Shakespeare Club (a dining club), and a committee member of the Grid Iron Club.”

After an international illustrious career at the World Bank, Morgan Grenfell, IFC and NM Rothschild and Son, he went back to Zimbabwe to become the first black managing director of MBCA. This was not just any bank but, then an extremely private and prestigious one, whose major shareholders were Old Mutual and NM Rothschild and Son . Which he led for ten years before a brief stint at NMB. So prestigious, was MBCA at the time corporates would fall over each other to have an account and it was the best employer in the country. Testimony of how he led the ship.

What is interesting is to contrast the path he chose compared to the path many bright black scholars in Rhodesia chose. On one hand, you have the Edison Zvobgo, Nathan Shamuyarira, Bernard Chidzero and Simba Makoni who went to prestigious schools and worked in prestigious organisations in America and the UK. They chose public life and became politicians.

David chose the private life and to be in business. Choosing industry over politics is a rare achievement in Zimbabwe, especially during the 70’s when politics dominated the landscape. And every black young man thought it his duty to contribute to the black struggle after which become a government technocrat in Zimbabwe’s early years. Even rarer was that he never became a politician in his later years, or as is the norm in Zimbabwe, an extension of one.

So much political madness has occurred in recent years. One that would have reeled him over would be the political appointee at the central bank in December 2003. His brother in Law Julius Makoni bore the brunt as his Bank NMB was targeted and he fled the country. So did many bankers and industrialists. In one defining scoop, what was a bright future for Banks and Industry turned into a nightmare, worse than a blistering “snowed in day” in Dickens’s Oliver Twist. Zimbabwe’s best left the country at this point and were easily assimilated in the best organisations in London and New York. David chose to stay and build in what little way he could. Spending most of his time in private business and charity.

I remember him most, in his pristine bespoke, Anderson and Sheppard navy blue blazer with glistering gold crown buttons, pinstripe shirt and a polka dot pocket square. Khaki chinos probably made by John Lobb, red socks and standing upright in velvet brown loafers. This was his favourite dress and one he was most comfortable in. Did I mention he had full hair? He was a gentleman in deeds and manners. In conversation he was well read, well thought out and well spoken.

When I look at the personal decisions he made I ponder at how easy it could have been for him to choose a different path. That he remained a private individual and could walk the streets of Harare nonchalantly as any other, only his dress and stature to recommend, is probably his most enviable quality. He was accessible. A man of such breadth and depth, could still hold a conversation with the common man and have direct influence on young ambitious men. Above all make it possible for someone like me to imagine a non political life as a real possibility. That one can still achieve without political connections. Perhaps Africa can learn a thing, Politics does not mean Influence.

This and that

“There is a time in every man's education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. “ Ralph Emerson

There is something to be said about a man’s state of mind. It is either he spends the better part of his life wishing he were something else or doing something else other than the present. Or, he spends a great amount of time complaining how this or that does not work or is not suitable to his liking or whim. This, I have observed is what rules the nature of the present man. He is neither happy with his present state nor the state of the world.

Man is the only species whose weakness is apparent to him alone and whose world is then governed by those weaknesses. Plants and animals are prone to greater vagaries that expose and make bare their weaknesses. Yet never has a plant or animal stopped sprouting or its being, to complain of inherent short falls. The eagle soars as far as it can and so do ordinary flies, roses bloom and so do thistles. The day never stops.

Man cannot survive as if the world owes him a living. The universe, in its reality and existentialism has existed way before man and his thoughts ever existed. His birth is significant and unique, since he possesses ability no body or form possesses. Man can create in the same likeness and foam, nature and nurture like his maker.

The drivel

Yet man is best useful and happiest, in another’s creation. He is told of a “New York state of mind”, and thus leaves his village in Kenya, sells his cow and soul to fund his trip. Upon, his arrival in New York, he toils, changing his accent and stride, acquiring those peculiar habits that will make him a New Yorker. In this quest, of embodying New York, the boisterous boy shouts in mantra, “New York State of mind”, (after all he lives there) as if to convince himself and not the crowd that he shouts at.

A state of mind is a spirit. It is not a location. Search New York itself and you will find the caricature is boxed and preserved in a fantastical Hollywood location site. And never evidenced in New York itself.New York, was someone’s creation. Before they sold it to those men fond of being followers.

Of Politicians

What of those men keen on revolutions and ravel as surrogates of defunct ideas? Whom one finds happiest amongst fellow hordes in "occupy this" and "occupy that". 99% nonsense and 1% noise. I see many coming out, with t-shirts and such, with aplomb subscribing to the Obama frenzy. “I got your back”. What foolishness, utter laziness to abrogate one’s ambitions to a political demagogue. Obama is a man blessed with trickery to force other men to follow a fade. The more that follow, the more popular he becomes. Never leave one’s fate to any politician of any hue.

Entrepreneurship and starting something that changes the world

Whatever it is let it be what has never been done before. Only then can you attest to have changed the world. Write a book if you must, break the Olympics record, record music, paint art, invent- innovate, in all remember fortune favours the brave. Be different. Let your story be one your grand children will find relevance. That is good enough.

A venture like any adventure is best explored with closed eyes and an open heart. Trust your guts and will power. Dream differently and relish the creative realm- therein the story of life is weaved.

Of youth and school days

What I learnt most in high school was less the core curriculum and more the extra- curricular. In extra activities-non core (the irony) I veered off science and economics and entered the worlds of Dickens, Hardy and Austen. I debated with much acclaim and understood team spirit on the grounds of sport. Here, the lesson is quite clear for any young man out there. The best of humanity is found on the sports field and in liberal subjects outside of the classroom. One learns to lead through experience as a track captain, learns of human attachment by being part of a team, and meritocracy through competition.

Sadly these virtues are lost to the stupidity of youth. Saddest, is that the less stupid find great accomplishment in the classroom to the detriment of the extra curricula? The classroom teaches one to parrot and become a follower. Most people are of this fold. True leaders, those of a breed of born qualities such as intuition, courage and will power find practise in some sport, art or cultural pursuit.

On Marriage and life long associations.

In all of society the propensity to get married is equal if not more than the propensity of a bird to fly. It is an innate human quality, a selfish desire for affection. No matter how primal or sophisticated the human becomes, instinctive desires lead us to mate. This ability to create is a laudable endeavour and gives one a sense of purpose beyond the self.

What I find disconcerting is the desire to mate as the single most important human desire to live for. How pathetic is the human race in its desire to copulate and wish all troubles away. The hurdle is twenty six living ages for women and thirty five for men. After which, hormonally the human species cannot habitat alone and the desire becomes greatest to be hitched. This has obvious dangers, which any mind can decipher.

My comments shall be restricted to finding the right mate. Circumstances permitting, an individual shall come across as many hopefuls as the stars in the sky. A difficult endeavour to compute the “right” mate, since any metric used is likely to change with time. Moreso, a star in the sky only shines brightest depending on where one stands. The wisest words I have heard where in a parable about Wheat and Tares. Let them grow together, since it is difficult to differentiate when they sprout and are growing. But at harvest time, Wheat and Tares become obvious. Live life and be patient until harvest time. Before then, everything is murky and ill conceived. Imagine harvesting a maize cob before its time.

Upon finding the right mate. Never regret one’s choice, since regret is self fulfilling. The more one regrets, the more disappointing the choice.

Should I conclude?

The danger is apparent. One cannot live a life as if they owe it to anyone. Not even their parents. Man owes it to himself to live. To his spirit to determine his course and state. Only then will the universe listen. Man is made to lead. Uncover this great secret and watch how other men of weak disposition will imitate.

My thoughts on "Lazy (intellectual) African Scum

On Field's opinion piece You Lazy (Intellectual) African Scum!

The weird and the bizarre

The first time I read Field’s opinion I had my moment of chuckle and I quickly moved on. I did not see the need to pass his opinion around; actually it had no substance whatsoever. Alas, between the times I had my first chuckle and now, my email box has been inundated with comments directed at this opinion piece. Field’s opinion has gone viral. Perhaps, in itself a testimony of how to attract African “intellectuals” to anything. Ridicule, and make fun of Africans and in hordes and heads they come out of their holes to defend. So I had to re-read and understand the fascination.

So what is it that I found weird and Bizarre about this opinion piece? Well I goggled Field Ruwe and from what I gather he is an intellectual with a penchant for fictional writing. I suppose that sets the tone for his opinion piece since most of what he wrote was fictional. Beginning, with this character called Walter. In my estimation, this character is one Field imagined and the conversation that took place took place in his head. My estimation is based on the following; Walter works for a Vulture fund. That is, a hedge fund that buys 3rd world debt. Yet, in all that Walter says, besides the insults there is nothing to convince me that he works for a hedge/vulture fund, nor has he ever been part of the Zambia debt restructuring.

The factual case noted against Zambia with respect to Vulture funds is Donegal International vs the government of Zambia for an amount of $3.28m with respect to a loan between Government of Zambia and government of Romania. A London court ruled on this matter and as far as I am concerned, a legal issue that was addressed appropriately. The other Vulture funds, perhaps I should add, where vulture funds have been of concern or raised concern is in DRC, Uganda and Cameroon. Nowhere have I found Zambian lawsuits or notable disagreements with its external creditors.

But, you must realise that Walter oscillates between Zambia and Africa with such abandon I am convinced he either does not know of the issues or believes Zambia and Africa are the same. If Walter does ostensibly exist beyond the imagination then surely he is not the intellectual we suppose him to be. Truly weird and bizarre. The premise on which the argument stands on is nothing but quick sand!

Much ado about nothing

That brings me to the other issue, this idea of intellectuals driving development. Or rather the lazy intellectuals in Africa. Field studied History at Master’s level. I am not sure of his particular specialisation but every History student is aware of research methodology. Of my History friends, I find there are more pedantic about facts and historical accounts. Even pejorative remarks are taken to their logical conclusion through a very precise and elaborate exposition. I find this opinion piece lacks in intellectual rigour. If indeed Field and Walter sat on a plane and exchanged words, then I am utterly surprised Field could not see through Walter’s lies. And call his bluff. I am therefore surprised it has received the attention that it has. Especially from Africans.

Another fact is that nowhere have I ever read that America was built by Intellectuals. Indeed I am yet to find a civilisation built by intellectuals. Hardly, have I come across an article hailing Bill Gates, Steve Jobs and Sean Parker as intellectuals. Andrew Carnegie could hardly read. An immigrate worker who came with nothing and with basic arithmetic he became an industrialist. The same is true of Rockefeller . The same with Lincoln and Washington. Men blessed with nothing else but the will power to get things done.

If ever, I am to be part of this conversation and contribute meaningful then I would direct readers to one Joseph Schumpeter whose work on development is the most erudite and comprehensive. Schumpeter after studying nations and how nations develop summed it beautifully; “ successful innovation requires an act of will, not of intellect. It depends, therefore, on leadership, not intelligence, and it should not be confused with invention". Indeed Field’s postulation is much ado about nothing.

“i beseech you in the bowels of christ think it possible you may be mistaken.” O Cromwell

Evidently Field is mistaken in all fronts. And it is not him I beseech. But the many people who have found time to make this opinion piece go viral. If Field meant to instigate, then let him be. If he meant to insult, then take his insult as harmless. Of the many opinion pieces in the world in this new age era this my friend is what you decided to dwell and labour on? Of course taking pot shots at you, incidentally means I am guilt as well. To that I am ashamed. But my shame paled in comparison to the damage this viral has already caused. I have been amused as some defended the indefensible, as some agreed with pies in the sky and some became resolute to fight a cause. Yet all we had to do was open the book of Ecclesiastes “I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.

This part of my life... this part right here? This is called "happyness."

I am inclined, in most instances, to deliberate and interrogate all issues in my life. I am disinclined to sway that way at this moment. At this moment I have the flower bloom spirit, I content in my little happiness. Like the blooms of spring I attract the bees and their sting. But, that little irritation will not sway or abate my happiness. I am alive, i am alive, thank God i am alive.

Do not be bothered much on why i was reading "little red riding hood". It's not what you think. Anyway, i found an interesting interpretation of the story, that made the little fable even more interesting;

"The wolf in the fable was likely fabricated out of an inherent fear of the unknown, not on the genuine threat of wolf attacks. While wolves are in fact predators, there is only one recorded death of a human by a healthy wolf; and yet, fables like this have led to the gross misrepresentation of this keystone predator. Both wolves and wilderness were treated as enemies of humanity in that region and time. Sadly, these types of stories continue to misrepresent true patterns of wolf behavior (i.e., fearful of humans) and they perpetuate the false notion that wolves are a threat to humans (all historical evidence shows that it's actually the other way around)."

The man in the arena

“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

The year came to an end. Like most, I too reflected on all that happened. My first thought, was to look back and think it a hard year. My first thoughts were to look at the many friends lost, the uncomfortable terrain, the embarrassments, the let downs and the failures. I started reflecting on life and how it would all be much better in the comfortable fold, in the pastures of wellness. I started envying those quiet souls surrounded by calm waters. I thought about how sleep is a distant relative, and when it does come, like many distant relatives it’s not welcome at all.

I started making new year’s resolutions- how I will be a better person, I jotted down all the lovely things I will do, places to visit and all the generalities of the normal life. I almost prayed for normalcy.

I stopped in my tracks.

What solder trains and prepares for peace? A soldier’s time is in battle. I then blacked out all thoughts and remembered Hannibal, the Carthaginian General. To fight the Roman army, he tracked through the Alps and lost half his army before his first battle. Losing his eye was no worse than losing his family in battle. The Romans, called him a savage, a barbarian without superiority of mind. His fellow Carthaginians did not support him, in fact the senate stopped his food and men supplies. Hannibal, after tracking for over a year and bracing the vagaries of the deathly Alps winter did not hold back. He brought war to the Romans.

I started, thinking, what Hannibal would have wished for after that year. What was supposedly a disastrous year? Hannibal, was a soldier, what he wanted was war. He thought it fortunate, that although he had lost a lot, what he lost was what was pruned off. What remained was the most suitable for war. He wanted war. For the next sixteen years, that is what he gave the Romans.

To understand what sort of man Hannibal was, the historian Titus Livy provides useful background information;

“ Hannibal was possessed of enormous daring in facing dangers. He could be physically exhausted or mentally cowed by no hardship. He had the ability to withstand heat and cold alike; his eating and drinking depended on the requirements of nature, not pleasure. Not given to sleep, when he did it was not brought on by a soft bed or silence-many observed him lying on the ground, amidst the sentry-posts and pickets, wrapped in a soldier’s cloak. His dress was no better than that of his comrades, but his weapons and horses marked him out. On horse or foot, he was far the best soldier; the first to enter battle and the last to leave once battle was joined.”

All of sudden it dawned on me. My heart is least settled in quiet waters. In any case it is too early to lie in my pastures, much needs conquering. Being the man in the arena, I am aware of many errors along the road and the pitfalls of any journey. It does not mean I give up my sense of adventure and my sense of building something. It’s war that I wish for and to be a better solder.

The morning after

The morning after.....I gasp for what little air I can take. The sheer effort drains the little energy I have. Yet I must breathe, so here goes, once again. Breathe, breathe and breathe. At this moment breathing has become a conscious and deliberate effort for my survival. If I take a moment away from it, I will forget. Breathe, breathe I must breathe.

The journey started with so much expectation, after all, how hard would it be. I was a clever guy, with a brilliant idea, a vast network and excellent exposure. The plan was simple; I laid it out on paper and practised my pitch. I had done this before, the idea-writing and pitching. I was the best. I recalled my best pitch and the applause I got. Surely now, with such a brilliant idea, they would fall over each other to be part of the next big thing.

I remember pitching across the world, the audience varied with pockets dragging with gold and honey dripping. “If you are part of this,” I argued, “you will find your Nirvana.” Today, the morning after, when I can breathe a little, I open the emails I got after the first few pitches many seasons ago. “Brilliant,” they all said. “The idea is brilliant and definitely doable.” They all wanted to be part of it. With such feedback, everything was going according to plan.

Yet a month later, not even one investor had invested. We had planned to raise $5million dollars, initially tranche at $1.6m. That would take care of our needs. But, wait a minute; $5m is a lot of money. We knew this, but one had to look at the idea, it was the best idea ever. “Look at the returns”. “Look at what you will make out of this,” we argued. In any case, we had a benefactor who had already pledged $1m. We pitched to Russians, Americans, Africans and Europeans, individuals, family trusts and anyone with money. We knocked on so many doors and sold many a pitch.

It came to naught, and it was at that moment that it suddenly dawned on me. I had left my job, that cushy safe haven I once had. In my estimates I had thought, “Surely with my experience and exposure I can do more and become more?” I had overestimated. Here I was without a job, managing overseas expenses and living in a country no investor wanted to invest in. I had my first nervous breakdown.

None of the promises had come through and the initial benefactor who had been meeting all our expenses and had pledged $1m, suddenly pulled out. It was too risky, in his estimation. I remember thinking about what I would tell the team. After my nervous breakdown I reconciled with the fact that I had failed and it was time to reconsider everything. I even drafted a letter to a former boss, whom I hated so much; but I had heard he was looking for someone and I jotted down why I should be in consideration.

I got to the office with a heavy heart, ready to disband. As I got in, before I could say anything the guys spoke. “How much money to you have?” a question greeted me. “Huh?” I answered. “How much money do you have saved up and or in other investments?” the question came again. I reckon I have about $$$ in savings and another $$ in stock market investment but the market is down and it won’t make sense to liquidate

The guys had a plan.

“We have looked at all our budgets and expenses; we have studied the business plan again and have revised everything. We did not get the money we required, but we can bootstrap and start rolling out the project and get some income”. This I heard before I could even sit down. My mind was racing faster than the E type in a Le Mans circuit. I was now pacing across the room. I could not sit down.

Breathe, breathe. I must breathe, calm my nerves and hold my chest, just in case my heart leaps out.

With the little that we had, we made a plan. That day I learnt my first entrepreneurial lesson: Bootstrapping. Coincidentally, around about the same time a friend sent an email about a former Mckinsey partner who had gone back to India and stayed in one room with just a mattress and laptop. It was there that he built his first company.

My temporary abode with my mother became my permanent abode. I liquidated everything. I soon understood my erstwhile folly. One cannot ask other people to risk their money in one’s idea when they themselves are not willing to risk their own money. However, little it is. Secondly, by keeping an investment on the stock market it is an admission that other people are better managers of your money than yourself. If you are not an entrepreneur, that’s quite understandable, but quite ridiculous if you are starting a start-up.

And so the train moved, we launched and started moving. Three months later – which for a start-up is an eternity – we were bankrupt!

This time I did not have a nervous breakdown. It was much worse. Bankruptcy exposed all my insecurities as a man and as a person. I started gaining weight; I simply did not care much about what I ate. I started relying on my mother for the barest minimal in terms of cash; even petrol money. I was overly indebted to friends and family and frequently overstayed my visits when I travelled. The only person who knew this was my mother. Every Wednesday night she held a prayer vigil with her friends.

My mood swings were wild and unpredictable. The joys I had, I found in our office. There I learnt another important lesson in entrepreneurship: It’s a love affair. One must love it enough to die for it. It is a visceral ideal that requires steadfast confliction to see things through. It is not about a brilliant idea or brilliant qualifications. It was obvious we did not have money – no salaries were being paid out. But everyday people came to work and every day we held our own vigil.

We made it past another three months with the help of friends and family who chipped in. God alludes to the principal that if birds never go without food, surely mankind, God’s prized love, shall be taken care of. Indeed, we were taken care of. From as little as the lunch lady who started supplying food to us at concessionary rates and on credit (yes it was a $1 a plate, delivered to the office), to random letters of encouragement.

We were still looking for money at this time and never gave up knocking on doors. The promises were many, just as many as the disappointments. I questioned myself greatly and thought perhaps I had overestimated the idea and my capability. I was highly insecure.

What kept us going was the belief that surely we cannot die. I remember vividly a friend’s mother, who had heard about us, coming into town and sending word to meet me. She sat me down, and in the vernacular told me to remain strong. She quoted bible verses and spoke of Gideon, the valiant and courageous man. She intimated how this was not about the money or how far it would go, but about life, about survival. “At your weakest, your insecurities are like uncovered wounds for all to see,” she said. “Some will help, while others will take the opportunity to poke and inflict even greater harm. Remain strong. The spirit is strong.”

Thus it became about survival. If we survive a day, we have survived an eternity. Breathe, Breathe, inhale and breathe.

Yet, in those moments came the most brilliant ideas. Lessons in entrepreneurship. Because we had stepped out and were visible, our courage led us to people in the same industry across the world. Inspired by our courage and our business idea they agreed to partner with us and provide all the capex needs of our business. But, we would need to meet our recurrent expenditures (Their little way of keeping us hungry). That was great, but unfortunately we had no liquidity. It did not bother us one bit, but what would we tell all our creditors? Some understood and some did not.

Slowly we started making progress and contracted for projects beyond the borders. The morning fog started clearing.

This morning I woke up and did not have the recurring nightmare of creditors running with an axe after me. I thought of the monthly tummy runs, the cycle that usually starts on the 25^th of each month. My brain and body has not fully comprehended the change. My limbs are weak and the heavy burden though lifted has left an overweening, throbbing and piercing headache.

Yet again, I must breathe, breathe and breathe. I must stay hungry. Stay focused. Never get tired.