I didn’t rehearse.

Not because I didn’t want to. But because the week before we walked into Moringa School to pitch Roundi for the very first time, there was no space to breathe. Client projects had consumed every hour. Deadlines stacked, deliverables bled into the early hours of the morning, and by the night before the pitch, I was still working. Not preparing. Not reviewing slides. *Working.*

I finally closed my laptop at 12:30am.

There was no quiet moment. No mental walkthrough. No time to sit with the weight of what was coming the next day. And the next morning, I would be standing in front of roughly 21 people: investors, partners, fellow founders, pitching something we had poured months of our lives into.

Photo Credits: Moringa School

It Almost Wasn’t Me Up There

The original plan was for Imelda to pitch while I supported from the side. Then, right up until the last minute, we flipped it. I’d pitch. Imelda would handle the product demo.

No extended rehearsal. No time to recalibrate. Just a decision, and then go.

I arrived early hoping to steal a few quiet minutes. That didn’t happen either. There were NDAs to review. The deck still needed finishing touches. The room was buzzing with other startups, event organisers, funding companies, and the stillness I was looking for simply wasn’t there.

What I found instead were conversations.

Real, substantive exchanges with the stakeholders and partners present at the event. And something unexpected started happening in those conversations. Clarity. Not from a quiet room and a rehearsal script, but from dialogue. From being asked questions in real time and having to answer them. From listening to what people cared about and finding the language to meet them there.

It wasn’t the preparation I’d planned. But it was preparation.

The Pitch Itself

Then the moment came.

We walked up in front of the audience and started. My body was tired. My mind was still catching up. And right in the middle of the presentation, the internet stopped cooperating.

Connectivity issues. The kind of disruption that can unravel a pitch, and a pitcher, if you let it.

We didn’t let it.

We adapted. We pivoted. We used what we had and kept going. The product still got showcased. The message still landed. And when it was all over, we stood there, exhausted, relieved, quietly proud, having done something we had never done before.

The Part That Actually Moved Me

When the results were announced, Roundi was named a top 3 finalist.

Then best startup overall.

Out of approximately 20 competing startups.

I won’t pretend I wasn’t moved by that. Because in that moment, it wasn’t just about winning a pitch competition. It was about something deeper. The validation of months of hard work, late nights, difficult decisions, and relentless building. All of that effort, which sometimes feels invisible when you’re deep inside it, became *visible* in that room. People could see it. The quality of the product spoke for itself.

And then there was Anto. He’d shown up to cheer us on, and seeing him there in that room meant more than I expected. We’d built Roundi together. He knew what had gone into it, every late decision, every pivot, every moment of doubt. Having him there, cheering us on as the results came in, gave us a boost that’s hard to put into words. That kind of support lands differently when it comes from someone who’s been in the trenches with you.

Looking around at the other startups, you could sense the difference. Not to diminish anyone else’s journey. Every founder in that room was brave for showing up. But there’s a difference between an idea and a built product. Between a concept and a brand. Roundi had been built seriously, and that seriousness showed.

After the Dust Settled

The win didn’t mean the day was over.

There were more conversations with partners and fellow founders, the kind that only happen after something real has been shared in a room together. Then photos. A lot of photos. Pressers. The kind of formalities that feel slightly surreal when you’ve just been running on adrenaline and very little sleep.

By the time Anto treated us to a late Ethiopian lunch, I was exhausted and starving in equal measure. But sitting there, eating together, letting the day finally settle, I remember thinking: this made my heart full.

Not just the winning. All of it. The chaos, the conversations, the internet failing mid-pitch, Anto showing up, the photos, the food. The whole imperfect, unrehearsed, human experience of doing something for the first time and having it work out.

That’s the part no slide deck captures.

Imelda, Anto and I 🤟🏾

Yummy Ingera 😋

What the Chaos Revealed

Winning felt good. What I’ll carry forward more than the result are the things the experience forced into focus.

Doing it is the only real preparation. No amount of planning fully prepares you for the live experience. The gaps in your thinking only reveal themselves when you’re in front of real people, answering real questions, in real time. We had worked on our problem statement, our audience, our messaging but it took actually pitching to understand what still needed sharpening.

Imperfect action beats perfect inaction. I wasn’t ready. The deck wasn’t perfect. The internet failed us. And we still won. There is enormous power in showing up anyway. In refusing to let imperfect conditions become a reason not to try.

Conversations are a form of preparation. The clarity I found that morning didn’t come from a quiet room. It came from talking to people. From being challenged. From listening. Sometimes the best way to understand what you’re building is to explain it to someone who has never heard of it before.

Hard work compounds visibly. The months of effort we had put into Roundi didn’t disappear when we walked into that room. It showed up. It spoke for us even when the words weren’t perfect and the internet was failing. The work you do in private becomes visible in public. Never underestimate that.

This Was a Stepping Stone

Not a summit.

There are still gaps to close. In how we articulate the problem we’re solving. In how we communicate who Roundi is for. In how we tell our story to different audiences with different contexts and different levels of patience.

And the best way to close those gaps is to keep pitching. To keep putting ourselves in rooms full of strangers and letting the real-time feedback sharpen us.

Every pitch is a mirror. It shows you what’s working and what isn’t. It forces you to get clearer, more precise, more compelling. And the more you do it, the better you get, not just at pitching, but at understanding the very thing you’re building.

So if you’re a founder sitting on something real, something you’ve built seriously, waiting for the perfect moment to show it to the world: stop waiting.

Step into the room. Do it imperfectly. Let the experience teach you what no amount of preparation alone ever could.

The pitch won’t be perfect.

Do it anyway.

Roundi is being built for the future of African product businesses. One pitch at a time.

One Pitch at a Time

Last Friday wasn’t polished. It was real.

You walked into that room under‑rested, under‑rehearsed, and still carrying the weight of a week that had nothing to do with pitch prep. The plan had already changed once — you stepping in as the main pitcher, Imelda taking the demo — and there was no time to romanticise it. It was simply: you’re up now.

And then the internet cut out.

Most people remember the highlight reel: top 3 finalist, then best startup overall out of ~20. But the real story sits in the parts that don’t fit on a slide:

• The late‑night client work that meant you showed up tired but still showed up.
• The quiet decision to switch roles with Imelda and just trust each other to figure it out.
• The pre‑pitch chaos that turned into unexpected preparation through conversations instead of solitude.
• The moment the connection failed and you kept going anyway — adapting, holding the room, letting the story carry more weight than the tech.
• Imelda anchoring the demo, making sure Roundi still showed up even when the tools didn’t.
• Anto in the audience, not just as a friend, but as someone who’s carried the weight of Roundi with you from the beginning.

What landed in that room wasn’t just a deck. It was months of:

• Building a real product for African product businesses.
• Caring about the details when no one was watching.
• Doing the unglamorous work of positioning, messaging, and brand — so that when the moment came, people could feel the difference.

The recognition — best startup overall — wasn’t an accident. It was the public echo of private work.

The Lessons You Pulled Out

• You only really prepare by doing it. The gaps in the story didn’t fully reveal themselves until real people asked real questions in real time.
• Imperfect conditions are not a reason to wait. You weren’t fully ready. The internet failed. You still placed. The bias to show up anyway is an advantage.
• Talking to people is preparation. The clarity came from dialogue, not from isolation. Every conversation sharpened how you understand and explain Roundi.
• Private work compounds in public. The seriousness with which you’ve been building Roundi showed up in that room. People could sense the depth behind the pitch.

What This Moment Really Was

Not a summit. A proof point.

A signal that:

• The problem you’re solving is resonating.
• The way you tell the story works — and can now be refined.
• The team dynamic (you, Imelda, Anto) is a real asset, not just behind the scenes but in the room.

From here, the work is:

• Sharpening how you articulate the problem.
• Tailoring the story to different audiences.
• Getting even clearer on who Roundi is for.
• Putting yourselves in more rooms where feedback can do its work.

Because every pitch is both a test and a teacher.

And for Roundi — built for the future of African product businesses — this was one of those early, messy, unforgettable days that you’ll look back on and say: that’s when it started to really become real.

One Chaotic Friday, One Big Signal

Last Friday wasn’t polished. It was proof.

You went into your first Roundi pitch:

• Sleep-deprived
• Under‑rehearsed
• Mid‑client‑deadline
• With a last‑minute role swap on who was pitching vs. demoing

And still walked out best startup overall.

What Actually Happened (Under the Hood)

Prep looked messy on the surface.

The week was swallowed by client work. Slides weren’t being obsessively tweaked at 11pm; actual work was. You closed your laptop at 12:30am knowing you’d be pitching in front of investors and partners with no real rehearsal.

Roles flipped at the last minute.

Imelda was meant to pitch, you were meant to support. Then you swapped. No long recalibration, no practice run. Just a decision and go.

You didn’t get the calm you were looking for.

Instead of quiet, you walked into NDAs, last‑minute deck edits, and a buzzing room. But in that noise you found something better than stillness: clarity through conversation. Partners asked sharp questions, founders shared their own scars, and your own story sharpened in real time.

The pitch broke… and still worked.

Mid‑pitch, the internet dropped. The exact moment you’d want everything to be smooth, it wasn’t. But you adapted. You kept the energy up. Imelda held the demo together. The story still landed. The room still got it.

The result was bigger than the title.

Top 3. Then best startup overall out of ~20. What hit wasn’t the trophy; it was the validation that months of quiet, serious building were visible to people who’d never seen Roundi before. The work you did in private showed up in public.

• And Anto was there.

Not as a random supporter, but as someone who’s been in the trenches with you. Seeing him cheer when the results came in wasn’t just emotional; it was grounding. It reminded you that this isn’t just a product story, it’s a people story.

• The aftermath was a blur of proof.

Conversations with partners and founders, photos, press, adrenaline. Then finally: Ethiopian food with Anto and Imelda, exhaustion settling in, and that quiet, full‑heart realization: we wouldn’t trade this for anything.

The Lessons You Earned (Not Theoretical)

1. You only really prepare by doing it.

Decks, messaging, positioning — all necessary. But the real gaps only surfaced when real people asked real questions in real time. The pitch itself became part of the product‑building process.

2. Imperfect conditions are not a reason to wait.

You were not “ready”. The internet failed. You still won. The signal: showing up beats showing up perfectly.

3. Talking to people is preparation.

The clarity you were chasing in a quiet room showed up in conversations instead. Explaining Roundi to people who’d never heard of it forced you to tighten the story in ways solo rehearsal never could.

4. The work you do in private shows up in public.

The months of:

• Caring about details
• Building a real brand, not just a pitch
• Treating Roundi as a serious product, not a slide deck

…all compounded. People in that room could feel the difference.

What This Means For Roundi

This wasn’t a summit. It was a signal.

You now know you need to sharpen:

• How you articulate the problem
• How you tailor the story to different audiences
• How you define and communicate exactly who Roundi is for

And you already know the way to do that isn’t to hide and polish — it’s to keep getting into rooms, keep pitching, keep letting feedback do its work.

Every pitch is now:

• User research
• Brand building
• Story sharpening
• Confidence compounding

You’re building Roundi for the future of African product businesses — and now you’ve seen that, even on a chaotic, unrehearsed Friday with broken internet, the vision still lands.

One pitch at a time is working. Keep going.