Vanessa had always been a bright child. She did well at school, and when she completed secondary education, her parents did what many successful parents dream of doing. They sent her to study in Canada.
It was not cheap. There were university fees. Rent. Air tickets. Insurance. Winter clothes. Living expenses. And the occasional telephone call that began: “Daddy…”
Her father would laugh whenever he told the story. But he never complained.
“We are giving our daughter the best possible start in life,” he would say.
Vanessa completed her first degree and continued to a master’s degree. The graduation photographs were magnificent. Vanessa in her gown. Vanessa with her parents. Vanessa holding her master’s degree. Vanessa standing outside the university.
The pictures travelled through several family WhatsApp groups. Congratulations poured in. Her father was immensely proud.
Eventually, Vanessa returned to Uganda. She was intelligent. Articulate. Well travelled. Confident. Her English occasionally even acquired a Canadian accent when she became excited.
Everything appeared to be in place.
That was three years ago.
Vanessa is now thirty.
One Saturday afternoon, Uncle Rwamiti was visiting the family when Vanessa’s father asked him to walk with him around the compound.
They talked about politics. They discussed the price of land. They complained about Kampala traffic.
Then Vanessa’s father lowered his voice.
“Rwamiti, there is something I don’t normally discuss with people.”
Rwamiti waited.
“I am beginning to worry about Vanessa.”
“What has happened?”
“That is the problem. Nothing has happened.”
Rwamiti looked at him.
“She is a good girl. Very good girl. She doesn’t give us trouble. She has applied for jobs. She has tried a few things. She talks about starting a business. Sometimes she says she might go back to Canada.”
He hesitated.
“Now she is thinking about another qualification.”
Rwamiti stopped walking.
“Another qualification?”
“Yes. Something in strategic management. She says it could open more doors.”
Rwamiti scratched his head.
“How old is Vanessa now?”
“Thirty.”
He said it quietly.
Then came the sentence that seemed to have been sitting inside him for months.
“We gave her every opportunity, Rwamiti. Good schools. Canada. Undergraduate degree. Master’s degree. Everything.”
He looked towards the house.
“I just cannot see her life moving.”
Rwamiti said nothing.
Sometimes friendship requires silence before wisdom.
Later that afternoon, he found Vanessa on the veranda with her laptop.
“What are you doing?”
“Researching.”
“Researching what?”
“My next move.”
Rwamiti pulled up a chair.
“What is the next move?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’m considering several options.”
“Such as?”
“I could do consultancy. I’ve also thought about setting up something in digital services. There’s an NGO idea I’ve been developing. And I’m looking at another course.”
“What course?”
“A postgraduate qualification in strategic management.”
“Why?”
Vanessa closed the laptop slightly.
“It could open more doors.”
Rwamiti nodded.
Then he asked:
“Which door have you already knocked on that refused to open because you didn’t have that qualification?”
Vanessa looked at him.
Silence.
Rwamiti continued.
“Last month, did anybody pay you for something?”
“No.”
“Did you offer anybody something they refused to pay for?”
“No.”
“Did you visit a business to understand a problem?”
“No.”
“Did you try to sell anything?”
“No.”
“Did you spend a day with somebody doing work you think you might enjoy?”
“No.”
“Did you test your NGO idea with the people you think need it?”
“Not yet.”
Rwamiti leaned back.
“My daughter, you are very busy.”
Vanessa smiled.
“Thank you.”
“It was not a compliment.”
She burst out laughing.
“What do you mean?”
“You are busy thinking.”
“What is wrong with thinking?”
“Nothing. I recommend it occasionally.”
She laughed again.
“But you have been trying to think your way into certainty before allowing the world to answer you.”
Vanessa frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
Rwamiti pointed at the laptop.
“Inside that machine, every idea can remain beautiful.”
He pointed towards the gate.
“Outside that gate, customers can say no.”
Vanessa smiled.
“Employers can ignore you. Shopkeepers can tell you your idea makes no sense. People can tell you they already have a better solution. Somebody can tell you your price is ridiculous.”
“That doesn’t sound very encouraging.”
“It is wonderful!”
Vanessa laughed.
“Why?”
“Because now you know something you did not know yesterday.”
Rwamiti leaned forward.
“My daughter, perhaps your next move is too big.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are trying to decide your career. Your business. Your country. Your next qualification. Your life.”
He shook his head.
“That is too much work for one Saturday afternoon.”
“So what should I do?”
“For the next thirty days, we are not deciding your life.”
“We?”
“I have unfortunately become involved.”
Vanessa laughed.
“We are going to conduct three small experiments.”
“What kind of experiments?”
“First, identify three directions that genuinely interest you.”
“And then?”
“Leave the house.”
Vanessa laughed.
“I leave the house!”
“Not to Acacia Mall.”
She laughed even louder.
“I mean enter the places where those possibilities actually live.”
If Vanessa was interested in digital services, she would visit businesses and ask what digital problems they actually struggled with.
If she was interested in consulting, she would speak to people already buying consultancy services.
If she was interested in the NGO idea, she would spend time with the people whose problem she claimed she wanted to solve.
No company registration.
No office.
No logo.
No business cards.
No fifty-page business plan.
And certainly no large cheque from Daddy.
Just questions. Observation. Conversations. A small offer. A small test. Perhaps even a small sale.
Vanessa looked doubtful.
“And after thirty days I’ll know what I should do with my life?”
Rwamiti laughed.
“No.”
“Then what is the point?”
“You will know something much more useful.”
“What?”
“What to test next.”
Vanessa became quiet.
Then she asked the question many intelligent people fear asking.
“What if all three experiments fail?”
Rwamiti smiled.
“Excellent.”
“Excellent?”
“My daughter, after three years of thinking, you will finally have discovered three things that do not work.”
He stood up.
“That is called progress.”
Later, Vanessa’s father accompanied Rwamiti to his car.
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing revolutionary.”
“Should I finance one of these businesses she is considering?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you have no evidence yet.”
Her father looked puzzled.
“You financed her education for many years,” Rwamiti said.
“Yes.”
“Perhaps the next stage requires a different kind of support.”
“What kind?”
Rwamiti opened the car door.
“Stop financing certainty. Start financing experiments.”
If Vanessa needed transport to interview potential customers, support it. If she needed a modest amount to build a prototype, consider it. If she needed to attend an industry event where she could meet real practitioners, perhaps support that.
But don’t hand her fifty million shillings because she has produced an impressive PowerPoint presentation entitled VANESSA GLOBAL SOLUTIONS LTD.
Her father laughed.
“Let bigger money follow evidence,” Rwamiti said.
“What about the strategic management course?”
Rwamiti shrugged.
“Perhaps she will eventually need it.”
He climbed into the car.
“But first I would like to meet the door that refuses to open because she doesn’t have it.”
As he drove away, Vanessa’s father stood at the gate laughing.
For three years the family had been asking one enormous question:
What should Vanessa do with her life?
Perhaps that question was simply too big.
A better question was waiting:
What small thing can Vanessa test in the real world this month?
Because sometimes the future does not reveal itself while you are sitting at home thinking about it.

SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO WALK OUTSIDE AND BUMP INTO IT.

Dr Petero Wamala, DBA
Making sense of change through ethical storytelling.
PeterosPaths.org | +256 772 988640 | mbunifueastafrica@gmail.com