The Chronicles of Impact Africa Network

I’m pissed off after my journey at Impact Africa Network (IAN).

I joined IAN full of hope and optimism about the future. I saw the many possibilities and took up the opportunity with open arms. I was happy — even just working on something amazing like “Changing the African Narrative” felt like enough. However, the signs of toxic culture and moral decay were present, but I ignored them. I shut them out because they interfered with my passion, morale, and work output. No high performer wants to hear people complain about how bad their boss is or how the culture is fear-based. I just wanted to get shit done. So I turned my head toward the vision and mission of the company, despite the founder’s glaring shortcomings.

I had a few run-ins with Mark — the kind that any experienced professional would have found deeply disrespectful, like yelling, cussing, throwing tantrums, and insults. But I was just a fresh graduate. I didn’t know any better. I even convinced myself this was how workplaces were. So I pushed through and got the job done. And I did it well, turning a far-fetched tipping platform idea into a company growing at 5,500% in 2024, making $4,500 in MRR when I left.

When I started working on Shukran, most people thought it would fail. They believed it was just another one of those U.S.-imported ideas Mark thought would work here. Many dismissed it — “Why focus on a product that solves a problem for the rich minority who eat at fancy restaurants and have extra change to tip?” I thought the same thing, honestly. However, my dad was an avid tipper, and I had seen him tip a number of times, so I gave it a shot. I had an opportunity, and I wasn’t going to waste it. I went all in — reading books, building relationships with customers, listening to podcasts. I’d write notes at midnight, burning through episodes between 12 AM and 2 AM to figure out this game. I lived and breathed Shukran.

Even my mum started calling me Mr. Shukran. She’d ask, “Are you still Shukraning?” I always was. Always thinking about it. Always working. I put aside other ideas, storing them for “someday.” I told myself I’d come back to them once Shukran succeeded. I believed I was building a billion-dollar company that could employ 1,000 people. I didn’t know how I’d do it, but I trusted the process.

In our search for product-market fit, I began to witness the rot. Not just in how fellows were treated, but in the whispers. The Fundraising Lead left after alleged rape by Mark during a U.S. trip. Everyone seemed to know, and people were disgusted. Around the same time, some fellows demanded a raise. They’d taken pay cuts during the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, trusting Mark when funding was low. But it became clear IAN was doing better — and they wanted fair compensation.

Mark wasn’t having it. The more they pushed, the harsher he became. Fear multiplied tenfold. Teams began cooking numbers in weekly and quarterly reviews just to survive. I chose honesty — and paid for it with brutal accusations. Apparently, I wasn’t working hard enough. No one told Mark that you can’t rush product-market fit. It takes 18 to 36 months on average. Shukran got there in 19. But how would he know, he never built a startup in all his 15 years in Silicon Valley. But those 19 months were hell. He was hell-bent on teaching these little kids a lesson on how not to challenge the man on the hill. Many smart and resourceful professionals and fellows left the organisation during this period.

I worked late, usually until 11 PM or even 2 AM. I’d call a boda (motorcycle ride) every night, go home, crash, wake up late and repeat. I got sick often. I was sleep-deprived and under immense pressure — both from Mark and from leading a team too afraid to try new things for fear of being shouted at. They resorted to telling Mark what he wanted to hear and not what was really happening. They would also do this to me as team lead because everyone believed I was on Mark's side. They would even call me mini-Mark.

Ironically, Mark was our biggest user — our only user at times. We built for him, and that narrowed our thinking. We targeted restaurants he frequented — Haru, Cultiva, Artcaffe. But these restaurants didn’t care much about staff tips or a tipping solution. Waiters didn’t either, as they preferred cash or direct M-PESA to receive their tips. Privacy wasn’t their issue. They’d entertain stalkers if it meant repeat tips.

We were building a product for one man — a man who thought tipping made him a saviour.

Mark always had that thing — seeing himself as the helper of lost souls. The Silicon Valley prophet returned to redeem the continent. At first, I believed him. But the longer I worked, the more I saw. And once you see, you can’t unsee.

But he was wrong. Eventually, even he couldn’t ignore what was happening in the ecosystem. Startups like Twiga and LipaLater were taking off. Founders outside IAN with actual traction were rising. Mark pivoted. Suddenly, we weren’t the first wave — they were. He started a fund and aligned with the "big boys." The project of empowering fellows faded. He wanted in on real success now.

But the ecosystem marked him eventually. Experienced founders saw through the ego. Many of his investments failed. He became toxic — even asking founders to return investment money, violating their agreements. People distanced themselves.

That’s when he started calling IAN the OG Gen-Z movement, immediately after the Gen Z protests over the Finance Bill 2024. But let’s be honest — he wasn’t leading anything. He was clinging to relevance. From visionary change-maker to wannabe VC. From aspiring movement-builder to failed fund manager. From mentor to predator.

Yes, predator.

Let’s talk about the sexual misconduct — because it wasn’t just one incident. Women at IAN have spoken, privately and publicly. Tweets, Glassdoor, whispers in hallways. You don’t sleep with 5+ women at your workplace and expect no drama. You don’t hit on married employees and expect your company to thrive. You don’t bring wild honey back home and expect not to get stung. Control. Your. Dick.

Another reason why I left was because of the hypocrisy, which took me far too long to see and even longer to admit.

When I joined, I genuinely believed Mark was a noble person with good intentions for young people on our continent. But when I left, I saw him as no different from the founders of NGOs that claim to end poverty in Kibera — noble on the outside, but built on exploitation. His words masked a sinister business model: telling emotional stories of struggling young Africans to high-net-worth individuals in Silicon Valley, securing donor money, giving fellows small stipends, and pocketing the rest.

Once I saw it, I couldn’t unsee it.

It was in the small things. The bounce in his step wearing expensive sneakers. The Porsche Cayenne parked in the middle of the lot. The daily Artcaffe lunches. The dinners at restaurants where he was a regular. The trips to Naivasha, Nanyuki, Zanzibar, the U.S. That’s a lot of comfort for someone “sacrificing” to change the African Narrative. Clearly, it was a hardship allowance — compensation for a few meetings shouting at fellows (aka “alignment”), fireside chats, and convincing rich Americans to send more money. He’d then spend his time dreaming up new ways to multiply his new-found capital.

All the while, he preached that money wasn’t something we should worry about — as he lived large and paid his team peanuts to slave away for him.
Talk about preaching water and drinking wine.

To be honest, it’s a solid plan — and he’s made good money from it.
In terms of capitalism? 10 out of 10.
In terms of changing the African Narrative? 3 out of 10.

Let me explain.

He found a narrative that worked for him — founder-market fit. Born and raised in Kenya, he got a scholarship to the U.S. in search of opportunity, landed in Silicon Valley during the dot-com boom, worked at a few startups (though he built nothing of his own). After hitting a racial ceiling, he came back to Kenya — only to find the ecosystem dominated by white founders. That pissed him off. He believed he should be the one to lead Africa’s startup wave.

So, he started a fund. He tried to invest in founders, but few showed up — perhaps because they didn’t trust him.

Then he pivoted. Instead of betting on experienced, skeptical founders, he decided to manufacture his own from a pool of young, idealistic graduates — easier to mold, easier to control. But young people are hard to crack. Years of bad schooling and limited exposure meant they lacked experience and critical thinking. So, he started an NGO to raise non-dilutive capital to “train” them and incubate startups.

Under his "guidance" and “leadership,” these startups would launch. He’d then bring in aligned professionals to scale them. That was his play: leverage the digital transformation narrative, build a factory of startups, and ride the wave to personal fortune.

It looks brilliant on paper.

But, as we know, the devil is in the details — and these devils live in a man’s heart.

Eventually, those devils took over. He became the very thing he claimed to fight:
The corrupt African politician. The exploitative boss. The megalomaniac masquerading as a visionary.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even good at it.

He didn’t realise that greed today dries up the taps tomorrow.
He didn’t realise that partnerships, even corrupt ones, require sharing, not ruling.
He didn’t realise that Africans don’t take insults lightly. They might be quiet, but silence often hides a scheming mind — plotting its exit, or its vengeance.

He hasn’t — and won’t — learn any of these lessons.
Because he values ego over truth, and control over collaboration.
He values “alignment” on his terms over partnership.

If this is bad, the realisation that came next broke the camel's back for me.

Four years. I gave everything to IAN and Shukran. I ignored the toxicity, believed in the mission, and worked toward a decade-long vision. I rejected big jobs. I led teams. I sacrificed family time. But when it came to equity, I had nothing. Just 10%, or 5% after full dilution. Vesting over 7 years. Not even on the board. Not even a co-founder on paper.

Just a fucking employee!

And when I asked about it, I got scolded. Told it was “at his discretion” to give me equity in the business. That he could unsay what he once said. That I should “trust” he’d “take care” of me. That I was not even a classic founder and should be grateful to get any stake in the business. Listen to the meeting yourself. If you think Mark is a noble leader, it will burst your bubble.
Listen here

For context, Shukran was incubated at IAN from July 2021. It received investment from FHV in October 2022 of $150K. It then received an additional $50K in funding from FHV again in November 2023. IAN has incubated over 10+ startups which have benefited from the supposed $1M in investment. Only 3 companies exist today, with Shukran being the most successful. The only reason is because I put in the work when others would have given up. However, the cap table is diabolical:

IAN – Supposed $1M investment where Mark is the founder (overstated and spread across 10+ startups) – 10%
FHV – Actual $175K investment where Mark is Managing Partner – 15%
Mathenge – No investment, 3+ years led Shukran to PMF, earning $700/month net – 10% over 7 years
Mark – $25K investment, part-time involvement and fundraising – 20%
Growth Studio Ventures – Shell company for "anti-dilution", no investment, fully owned by Mark – 45%

I showed potential investors this structure and they were all shocked. Even my family members were not willing to put a simple shilling into the business. They were pissed off. For someone spending their waking hours building a company and carrying the vision, getting only 10% over a 7-year period at pre-seed level is simply absurd. The argument for this structure is that Growth Studio Ventures is an anti-dilution mechanism to ensure that if new investors come in, they will receive shares from GSV and not from the company, this ensures the founders shares are not diluted by issuing new stock from the treasury or create new ones. However, from the experts I talked to, this was just bullshit. Dilution is not an issue, there are standards for how equity is a business is given out at each round, between 10% and 20%. The real issue is secondaries. From Mark's view, if a new investor comes in to invest in Shukran, GSV would allegedly give away a portion of its shares like 5% to the investors. However, it would not do this out of the kindness of its heart, it would do this by selling that 5% at the valuation at the time to the investor. Since Mark is the only person on the board, he can make such a decision unchallenged, getting a portion of a funding round into GSV's bank account of which is the sole-owner.

I must admit, when signing those documents, I had no visibility into the shareholding structure of the business, nor did I do my due diligence. I should have been more critical about the shareholding structure in November 2023. I would have then decided if it was worth my time and the rejected opportunities to take such a skewed deal.

Lesson: You cannot trust people fully like some saviour who claims to have your best interests at heart — lest they turn on you three years later and give you a harsh reality check, blaming you for trusting their so-called goodwill. It’s just business in the end. Thank God I’ve learned this early in life.

That’s when I knew: I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t give 7 more years of my life to someone who didn’t see what I brought to the table. I had no power, no ownership, and no respect. That is not how companies are built. Founders need autonomy, respect, and equity. If you don’t give them that, you’ve already lost them.

I realised I had been played from day one. No lies indeed — just a play on my ignorance. A perfect fool. I had built something incredible, but I had nothing to show for it. I was an innovator — treated like a servant. A creator — without ownership.

This is a cautionary tale. About following founders who parade as saviours. About organisations that ride on noble pursuits but run like cults. About ego disguised as vision. About the cost of silence. But it’s also a story of awakening.

I learnt what it means to be an entrepreneur — in a world where people are always looking out for themselves. I learnt that even good intentions can hide greed. That words mean nothing without aligned incentives and proper paperwork. That power, if unchecked, corrupts. If a man comes to preach salvation, you must ask him if he is Jesus Christ. Because he obviously not, you must ask him what’s in it for me and what you are getting out of this. If he only preaches that one must have faith and trust in him — ask him to kindly fuck off. I am done with prophets. We have too many in Kenya. The world would be better off without them.

But I also learnt this: if you give people a fair deal, a compelling vision, and room to grow — they will go to war with you. If you treat them with respect and generosity, they will ride or die for you. Humans are tribal. Lead your tribe right, and they’ll carry you through hell and back.

This is life. This is the game.

I have also learnt the gift of opportunity. Despite the harsh realities of life, one can still draw important lessons from it. One can still walk through the fire and transform into something greater. That a man’s mindset is not just his strength but his redemption in dark times. That even if a great man loses all his wealth, networks, and fame, he can build it back up again — with extra. For the work of his hands, the knowledge in his mind, and his very character cannot be taken from him. They live innately in his being, built through his experience, his preparation, and ultimately manifest as luck — through the guiding hand of fate, or what some call the divine.

I am grateful for the opportunity and I am also grateful for my own resilience and perseverance through it despite many opportunities I could have chosen otherwise.

It’s funny how life works. When I joined IAN, I wrote in my journal that I would spend 3 to 4 years there to learn how to be an entrepreneur. I joined on 21st Feb 2021. I left on 27th March 2025. Sometimes God does answer prayers — just not immediately, or in the manner we prefer. But He does. I bought into the vision along the way, but He didn’t. He knew this wasn’t my fate. That something else lay beyond it. I know not what it may be — but let’s find out.

I’ve learned immutable truths.

And now I’m awake.