My Side of The Story

I grew up in a small rural village in Shurugwi where life was simple, but hard. We didn’t have much—no electricity, no internet, no computers. My grandmother raised me while my parents worked far from home. One day, her old phone broke. She walked several miles under the sun to our small township (Cha3) repairman, only to be told the repair would cost more than she could afford. She came back tired, silent, and defeated. Watching her suffer like that made something in me snap. I hated the feeling of helplessness. I knew then that I had to learn how things worked, so I could fix them—not just for her, but for others like us.

We couldn't afford computers growing up. I used to sneak into school lab, during sports times, whenever I could. I would stare at the screen as if it was magic. My breakthrough came when my older brother, who was in college at the time, gave me his used laptop. It was slow, broken in places, and missing keys—but to me, it was everything. I stayed up late, sometimes under candlelight when power went out, learning to use it. That laptop became my escape and my teacher. The computer lab teacher once gave me a book about CMD, after seeing my interest in computers and i studied more than any other book, special thanks to Mr Mandebvu.

At first, I didn’t even know what programming was. I just wanted to understand how computers worked. I started reading old PDFs, watching offline tutorials, and copying code blindly. I didn’t have internet access at home, so I downloaded pages at school and read them later. Java, PHP, Ruby, Perl—they looked like a foreign language. I remember crying once when a program refused to run after days of trying kkk. But somehow, I kept going. Each bug I fixed made me feel stronger. It wasn’t just about computers anymore—it was about taking back control of my life.

My computer was constantly attacked by viruses. Pop-ups, slowdowns, crashes—I couldn’t afford antivirus software, and I didn’t know anyone who could help. So I decided to help myself. I began researching malware, how it spreads, how to block it. My intentions were good—at first. I just wanted to defend myself. But the rabbit hole went deep.

What began as self-defense became something darker. I found underground forums and chats where people talked openly about bypassing systems and stealing data. They didn’t seem like villains—they were just like me, angry, poor, curious. I started experimenting. I built fake login pages, sent phishing messages, and created scripts to harvest data. I targeted strangers. Neighbors. Even people I respected. I once used a fake message app to steal pretending there were from Ecocash, i'm sorry Ecocash. I felt powerful, finally in control—but also hollow. I wasn’t proud, but I couldn’t stop. It was like an addiction.

When I discovered Kali Linux, I felt like I had unlocked a new level of power. It was a hacker’s toolkit, and I devoured everything it offered. I cracked Wi-Fi networks, tested exploits, and wrote small custom viruses. I even tried to hack WhatsApp accounts. My motives weren’t just curiosity anymore. I was angry at the world. Angry at poverty. Angry at being invisible. Hacking became my rebellion against a system that had given me nothing. But I was still lost.

College was like stepping into a new world. For the first time, I was around people who were *building* things—apps, websites, tools—not breaking them. I remember seeing someone debug a program that helped disabled children learn to read. That hit me hard. I thought, 'What am I doing with my skills?' Slowly, I started coding again. This time, not for power, but for purpose. I built things. I contributed to open source. And I felt that spark of hope again.

I started seeing younger kids in my village who reminded me of myself. Smart. Curious. But without guidance, some were drifting toward the same dark places I had been. That haunted me. So I thought, 'What if I could stop them from falling?' That’s when I started dreaming about a project called Thinking Minds—an initiative to bring tech education to underprivileged kids, churches, and rural communities. I wanted them to see that there was another path—one of building, not breaking.

I’ve learned that computers are just tools. They can be used to hurt or to heal. To steal or to serve. I chose to use them to help others—because no one ever showed me that path until much later. I want to be that person for someone else. That’s my mission now. Not revenge. Not ego. Just impact.