Read Time: 3 minutes

Happy Sunday 👋🏾,

As many of you know, I was in Nigeria back in June, to run our first summit in Lagos, featuring Google for Education.

Grateful, it turned out better than I could have ever imagined.

But the part that stayed with me wasn't the success.

It was the number.

A thousand people applied.

We had 120 places.

That's 980 teachers we had to turn away.

980 people who wanted to attend this summit, but we had to turn them down.

It didn't sit right with me then. It still doesn't now.

While we were out there, we also ran a VIP day at Google's offices.

A room full of senior educators and leaders, including the former Education Minister for the state.

We showed them what Google for Education and Gemini could really do for teachers and young people in Nigeria.

She was blown away.

Then she looked at me and asked, "So how do we start? How do we make this work for our students and with our infrastructure?"

I could have given her the polished answer. The nice PR lines. The version that sounds like I've got it all figured out.

I didn't.

I told her the truth.

"I don't know yet. A lot of it comes down to infrastructure. But I want to be part of the solution. And it's going to take everyone in this room too."

I meant it. I still don't have all the answers.

But I couldn't walk out of that room and just go back to normal.

On the flight home, two things sat on my chest the whole way.

Her question. And those 980 people.

And then a harder one crept in. One I asked myself:

Did the summit actually change anything?

Or am I that guy? The one who flies in, runs a nice event, gets the photos, and disappears for a year. Then flies back and does it all again.

I didn't like the sound of that version.

Back in London, everyone asked how it went. "Great," I said. "A success."

And it was. But that feeling wouldn't stop burning. Could I do more? Should I?

I sat with it for weeks. I couldn't shake it.

So I've stopped asking the question, and started responding to it.

We're opening Happy2Host Africa.

An office in Nigeria. Launching in October.

And I'll be honest with you. I'm scared.

Not nervous. Scared.

A whole office, on a whole other continent. My health to manage. Me, stretched between Lagos and London.

There's a voice that lists every reason this could go wrong. It's loud. Some nights it's the loudest thing in the room.

But here's what I've come to understand about fear.

You feel it every single time you do something you've never done before.

The new job. The first day. Standing up to speak when your voice is shaking. Becoming a dad. Starting the business in the first place.

The fear was there for all of it.

It never once meant stop. I felt it because they mattered.

So I've stopped waiting for the fear to leave before I move.

And I've stopped waiting to feel certain before I act.

Back in that room, when I told the minister I didn't have the answers but I wanted to be part of the solution, that was me choosing to move before I was ready.

That's what faith looks like for me. Not being sure it'll work. Doing it anyway, and trusting I'm not walking it alone.

I could stay in London. Run things across Europe. Keep it safe and comfortable.

But safe was never the point.

I want teachers and young people across Nigeria, and then across Africa, to get their hands on these tools. Because out there, one thing was clear. Most of them had no idea these tools even existed for them, never mind how to get the best out of them.

That's the gap. And I can't unsee it now.

My mum and dad were brought up in Nigeria.

So doing this, in the place they came from, carries a weight I won't try to put into words.

Where you start is not where you finish.

I'm not finished.

I'm just getting started!

Quote of the Week

Have a great week!

If someone forwarded this to you, Subscribe here.