When it rained, with my very clean school uniform, I would walk into the pool of rainwater outside our front yard. Sometimes I would throw my grandma with stones. This was all in protest not to go to school.
Such tendencies made sure I went through Sub A to standard 1 by the whip, grade 1 to 3 as it known today. The rod wasn’t spared. The child didn’t perish. S/O to Kwanamoloto Primary School.
The year 1993: I was 6 or 7 years old. I still wet my bed and I stayed with ‘mma’, my grandma.
I saved up money to buy vegetable seeds: carrots, cabbage and spinach. With passion and hard work I nursed my little farm. We didn’t have running water, most of the houses didn’t. Actually none of the houses in the area did.
Every (or most) morning after noticing that I had wet my bed, it would be a reminder to water my garden. I did.
When my garden had ripe fresh produce, neighbours came to ask for my veggies. My grandma, she is sweet, she gave them a bit. They were poor. To come to think about it, we were poor as well – mud houses and stuff. I did not know we were poor.
A bit for everyone was all of my produce. I didn’t make any cent off my first business. Grandma killed it.
Who knows, maybe I could have been the 1st rich and young black something.
The year 1997/8, like a true m*^&&* I came back and started a farming business again, this time at my house (parents’ house). It wasn’t long enough till my mother killed it in the same fashion her mother did to my first. Mxm!!
I guess she got it from her mother!
Many years later, I also killed a lot of businesses.
I give credit to grandma and her daughter (momma) for not only infecting me with the spirit of killing businesses. But also never discouraging me from doing anything I wanted to do in life, and actually allowing such space. They gave me the money to buy those seeds.
I appreciate it. I am able to persist and move forward after a dead venture.
I thought it would be fun writing this post, I couldn’t figure the moral of it. It is just a reminder of my love for entrepreneurship.