The Spark That Lit the Fire

Kojo couldn’t sleep that night. He kept hearing Ama’s voice in his head.

“…an app for local dishes from home kitchens…”

He scribbled ideas into a notebook. What if people like Auntie Tina could register their kitchens, list daily meals, and customers could place orders for pick-up or delivery? What if jobless youth could become delivery riders? What if the whole thing helped promote local cuisine while empowering small entrepreneurs?

Kojo called it “ChopServe.”

He didn’t have coding skills, or money, or even a smartphone good enough to run an app. But he had fire. And that was something.

He texted Ama the next morning. “I can’t stop thinking about what you said yesterday. Would you like to meet again? I have an idea.”

They met at a café this time. Kojo poured out his vision. Ama listened, wide-eyed, then slowly nodded.

“You’re crazy,” she said.

“Thank you,” Kojo replied, smiling.

“But I like crazy. Let’s build this.”

From that moment, a partnership was born. They mapped out the app’s user flow on tissue papers and napkins. Ama offered to design the UI for free. Kojo would handle vendor sourcing and logistics planning.

Their days were filled with meetings, research, and learning. Their nights were full of long calls, laughter, and growing affection.

But building a dream from scratch is no fairy tale.

They started by interviewing people—food vendors, customers, and even street food lovers. Kojo visited different joints around Accra, talking to women who cooked from their homes and sold to neighbors. He asked questions like, “What if more people knew about your food?” or “Would you be willing to take online orders?” Most laughed. Others raised eyebrows. But a few—just a few—leaned in and asked, “How?”

Ama, meanwhile, spent her nights designing mock screens and clickable demos. She joined coding forums, sought advice on Reddit, and followed YouTube tutorials to build a prototype. She was burning both ends of the candle.

One evening, Kojo and Ama sat on the balcony of her apartment, sipping sobolo and staring at the stars.

“I’ve never worked this hard in my life,” Ama said, her eyes red from too much screen time.

Kojo chuckled. “I’ve never believed this hard in something.”

They were both exhausted, but the fire inside them was brighter than ever.

They launched a private beta version of ChopServe using WhatsApp and Google Forms. Customers could view daily menus from selected vendors and place orders through links. It wasn’t sleek, but it worked.

In two weeks, they had 36 orders. Word of mouth spread.

Kojo convinced three more vendors to join. One of them, a single mother named Akosua, said she had been praying for something like this to help support her kids. “If you’re serious about this, I’m in,” she told him.

Each time someone placed an order, Kojo celebrated like it was a million-dollar deal. He made every delivery himself on his old bicycle. He learned the hard way about missing change, spilled soup, and the wrath of hungry customers. But every mistake was a lesson. Every complaint was data.