Innocent Ssaabwe

Recently, I received a response to a proposal I had passionately worked on. The message started warmly: “While we admire your ambition to help farmers grow more, it looks like your existing org, SunSow Agro , is already working in this space and doing quite well. We aren't quite sure why you want to start something new, rather than scale your existing work serving farmers…” I paused after reading that. Not because I was discouraged (though I felt a sting at first), but because this was more than a rejection — it was a mirror. A mirror reflecting the questions I hadn’t fully asked myself. When Progress Feels Like Starting Over In our personal and professional lives, we often feel the urge to begin something new — a new business, a new chapter, a new goal. Sometimes it’s rooted in innovation. Other times, it's driven by restlessness or the illusion that new equals better. But this rejection reminded me of a deeper truth: sometimes the answers we seek aren't in w...

  “The best way to predict the future is to create it.” – Peter Drucker There comes a time in life—and in business—when the only way to move forward is to let go. We all carry something from our past: mistakes, regrets, missed opportunities, or even identities we once clung to. These can act like anchors—heavy and unyielding—slowing us down just when we need to move the fastest. Yet, growth, both personal and professional, demands that we travel light. In business, just like in life, holding on to what no longer serves us—outdated strategies, failed ventures, or the fear of past mistakes repeating themselves—can cloud our vision. I've seen this in my own entrepreneurial journey. There were projects I held onto for far too long because of the time and energy I had already invested. But the truth is, no amount of regret can rewrite the past. What we can do is reframe it—to learn, to grow, and to step into new possibilities. So, ask yourself: how much of your energy is spent ...

  It’s perhaps the toughest question you can be asked—especially when you’re (still) in the trenches. It rarely comes from a place of genuine concern. More often than not, it feels like a subtle weighing scale: To see if you now qualify for alumni hangouts. To check if you’re finally “corporate” enough to join their investment clubs. Or if they can start adding you to wedding committees and sending pledge cards. It’s rarely about you . It’s about where you stand in the unspoken race of life. So, what are you up to these days? How do you even respond? Do you tell them you’re dodging the landlord’s calls and texts? That you walk 1 5 kilometers into town to hand-deliver your 100th job application—because the cyber café guy has started charging you on credit? That you’re applying for a master's scholarship—though God knows what you're hoping to master at this point? That you’ve gone days without food, and your name is in the credit book at the...

  There’s a truth I’ve come to accept, one that’s reshaped how I approach learning, problem-solving, and even decision-making: inspiration is perishable . If you don’t act on it the moment it strikes, you risk losing it forever. We often wait for the "right time" to do something—whether it's starting a project, reading a book, or solving a problem that’s been bugging us. But here’s what I’ve realized: the right time is the moment curiosity sparks . That’s the moment the mind is alive, open, and ready to absorb, explore, and create. If you wait, that flame might flicker out. When something piques my curiosity, I dive in immediately. I don’t wait for the perfect schedule slot. I open a tab, ask ChatGPT, download a book, or scribble ideas on paper—whatever helps me capture and explore that thought. Because I know that if I wait until tomorrow, or next week, or until I've "got more time," I might not care about it anymore. And the opportunity to learn deeply...