I started my life in a small village in Masaka, Uganda, where my mother’s voice carried wisdom through Luganda sayings. She called me Eriman, never Herman, and often told me, “Akugoba yakuwa ekubo.” It means when someone’s chasing you, their shouts show you how to escape. By listening to their cries, you figure out where they’re trying to trap you and choose a different path, west instead of east, north instead of south. That lesson, born in the dusty hills of my childhood, stuck with me as I moved from a simple village life to a desk in Seattle City Hall, serving in a land far from home.
My parents’ words built my strength. They taught me to hear the “chasers”, those who doubt or mock you, and use their words to find a new way forward. In Masaka, life was modest but tough. My family, tied to royal blood, lived simply, and I carried that heritage with pride. But when I came to the United States, people often saw me through a narrow lens. As a Black man from Africa, I faced low expectations. Some offered advice they had no business giving, while others dismissed my goals as too big. Those moments, sharp as they were, lit a fire in me.
The jeers about my humble start pushed me harder. Every snide remark, every hint that I couldn’t achieve something great, made me dig deep. I found a spark inside, a drive to show them they were wrong. When folks laughed at my investment plans or warned I’d crash and burn, I didn’t back down. Their doubts became my reason to keep going, to aim higher than I might have otherwise. I wanted to prove that no start is too small, no ambition too wild.
In America, I ran into what some call saviorism. People, knowing little about my plans, felt the need to tell me how to live or invest. They ignored the strategies that brought me financial success, as if someone like me couldn’t possibly figure it out. Brushing off their advice wasn’t simple; it sometimes earned me labels like “foolish” or “doomed.” But I trusted my gut, sidestepping their traps like my mother taught me, and charted my course to financial freedom.
My method of creating something long-term was investing. Money did not begin with me, but through good decisions and lessons well learned, I was able to increase it. I threw myself into studying investments, knowing every move had risks. I leaned on experts, tax advisors, lawyers, land use specialists, contractors, because winning meant knowing when to ask for help. My approach wasn’t about mastering every detail but about making smart decisions with the right guidance. Through stumbles and successes, I found strategies that worked, turning a modest beginning into real wealth.
This story isn’t just about the wins. It’s about the missteps, the fears, and the hard truths I faced. I missed chances that could’ve shifted my path, but each mistake taught me something. I learned that society’s biases, though heavy, don’t write your ending. The cost of pursuing education and career in the state and local government was heavy, but it was worth it. My royal roots gave me pride, but my choices built my future.
To anyone walking a rough road, let my life be a light. The negativity of others can push you forward if you use it to prove them wrong. Too many people waste time tearing others down when they could lift themselves. Their jabs might feel good to them, but they show their limits, not yours. My work, my investments, my service, my journey, stand as evidence you can create something from nothing.
Your starting point doesn’t decide your destination. My parents’ saying still rings true: when the chasers yell, listen, then switch your path. I have gone west when somebody thought I had gone east, north when somebody thought south. This way I have created my kind of breakable mold of a life; first from a village in Masaka, to a desk in Seattle, where I work, invest, and stand up tall.
Read more in my book From Modest Beginnings to Financial Freedom.
