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The Entrepreneur They Never Saw Coming... On the restless streets of Accra, where life moved to the beat of trotro horns and shouts of market women, he emerged, a boy with a tray, not a title. The wooden platform, worn smooth by sweat and sun, rested firmly on his shoulder like a crown of purpose. He was not just another hawker fighting for coins. He was an entrepreneur in motion, barefoot sometimes, sun-baked, and full of unshakable intent. “PK! Tetra blade! Yes, Rub!” His voice danced in the chaos, rhythmic and deliberate, each word sharp as the blade he sold. It wasn’t random noise; it was branding. It wasn’t begging, it was business. He moved with the energy of someone who knew that no one was coming to save him, and so he would save himself, one sale at a time. In those moments, dodging taxis, charming commuters, reading faces like ledgers, he was learning what no classroom could teach. He learned the art of timing, the science of attention, the psychology of persuasion, and the quiet honor of earning. He was mastering entrepreneurship in its rawest form—without capital, without connections, only grit. Every rejection strengthened his skin; every sale deepened his belief. And while the world saw a boy shouting brand names in traffic, what they missed was this: a future tycoon was being formed in that furnace of hustle. What began with a tray would one day become an empire. But even empires must crawl before they rise. #Ken2028