Life, akin to the rhythmic pulse on an EKG monitor, conducts itself as a sometimes cruel maestro. One moment, the beat is steady, familiar, and the next, I find myself helplessly staring as it stutters, throwing me into a symphony of uncertainty. Today, the doctor delivered news that echoes like a haunting melody — a 13% chance of survival over the next six months, a chance to rewrite the final chapter.
Yet, even as hope flickers in the shadows, the scars of the past remain vivid. Over the last three weeks, I've witnessed my world crumble, drowning in incredible debt. Daily, I think of those who have loved me and those I have loved, but my thoughts linger most on the people who trusted me with their cargo and hard-earned cash, possibly ruined by my actions. If I were to depart, I'd be free, but they would bear the burden of suffering because of me — the memories of betrayal, the weight of unintended consequences, the ghosts of lives bruised by the very industry we once embraced. These paint a stark picture on the canvas of my soul.
It is this stark reality that propels me to write this letter of promise, encapsulating the next six months, perhaps all I have. This is my defiant whisper, a vow to go where I have not gone before, to learn and fix the damage I caused others, ensuring it never happens again. Before I depart, I will make trading fuel buying and selling faster, safer, and better. It's a promise to atone, to rewrite the narrative, to build a future where progress and responsibility dance hand-in-hand.
Tagora isn't merely Brenda and me hunched over screens, fueled by instant coffee and the fire in our eyes. It includes you, my friend — the one who saw the shadows in my ambition and the flicker of hope in my despair. It's the countless others who believe in the power of redemption, who understand that even the darkest night can give birth to a radiant dawn. Kuda, dropping off the machine I'm writing on, inspires me to learn, to know everything about writing technology solutions and solve this.
The next chapter won't be easy. We'll face doubts, stumbles, and moments when the weight of the past threatens to pull us back. But remember, we're not alone. We have each other — a tapestry woven from shared dreams, unwavering support, and the unyielding belief that even in the bleakest hospital room, a revolution can be born.
I talk to myself a lot; this letter is my anchor, a lifeline to sanity. Let's design a future where algorithms dance with sustainability, where smart sensors sniff out waste with surgical precision, and machine learning unlocks a world where progress doesn't leave scars on the land. Russell Herbert's visit inspired me; I'll ask him to EO the company once it's ready, ensuring the technology lasts.
This endeavor is about more than building a company; it's about building a legacy — a legacy of atonement, of hope, of proving that even when the world throws its worst at you, you can rise, reinvent, and rewrite your own story. I envision ring-fencing payments, vetting buyers and sellers against middlemen; surely, there must be a way to match customers better with sellers. Drivers can't run amok; these people steal.
For the past five years, I've innovated and reinvented the oil and gas space in Zimbabwe; now, I must change the world. It's day one, and there will be false starts; the Apple Store will be our hard climb. But I promise you one thing — a relentless pursuit. ZK's daily email echoes in my mind, "Never surrender, never give up, ever, never ever" by Winston Churchill. If you see me in pain, if you hear me cry, don't worry — pain is nothing; I've been through worse. Stay focused.
I've identified my co-founder, the white boy Matt; I trust him to secure the funds to keep it going. Let's grab our pickaxes of innovation, our shovels of resilience, and together, carve a path towards a brighter future.
With a heart overflowing with gratitude and a fire that burns brighter than ever,
Lumumba, Head Bowed
Founder, A Company to Solve Oil and Gas Tech Problems