Amani Kanu and the long road to building Africa’s next tech community

If you had asked Amani Kanu as a teenager what he wanted to become, software engineering would not have featured. Like many academically strong Nigerian students, he had his path mapped out early. He aimed to become a medical doctor, and he was confident it would work out.

It did not. Three different attempts at JAMB ended without admission. While his classmates moved on to university life, Amani stayed back, working office jobs to keep going. It was in those offices, often as the youngest staff member, that something else became obvious. Whenever phones malfunctioned or software confused people, the work landed on his desk. He fixed things without fuss, long before he considered it a skill.

“I was just doing it effortlessly,” he says. At the time, it did not feel like destiny. It felt like a necessity.

Frustration eventually pushed him towards the National Open University of Nigeria (NOUN). He chose computer science almost by default, not because he wanted to become a Software engineer, but because he wanted to get into university like his peers. Once inside, things changed. He excelled academically, became a group leader, and graduated with a second-class upper. 

Outside school, his working life revealed a pattern. In warehouses and offices, processes were manual and inefficient. Kanu began building Excel systems to track stock, salaries, debt recovery, and inventory movement. One spreadsheet turned into many, until the entire operation depended on tools he had quietly built.

That was the shift. If he could build systems this useful with Excel, why couldn’t he build real software like Excel?

Leaving Calabar and choosing uncertainty

Learning to code did not come easily. In Calabar, Kanu enrolled in multiple programming courses, but each time, he dropped out within weeks. Work, school, and training pulled him in different directions, and something always had to give. After the third attempt, he faced an uncomfortable truth. If he kept trying to fit learning into the margins of his life, he would never get good at it.

So he made a decision that still defines his story. He quit his job, packed up, and moved from Calabar to Lagos with no safety net.

“It was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever taken,” he says.

In Lagos, he trained full-time, first at NESA by Makers, then at Decagon. He finally had structure, immersion, and momentum. By the time he finished Decagon, he expected the usual outcome. Placement. A job. Stability.

Instead, Covid-19 hit, and clients pulled back from hiring. While his colleagues secured roles with salaries he could only watch from a distance, Amani waited. Three months passed without an offer. His first role paid nothing except ₦10,000 data allowance. The next paid role was  ₦90,000. He took multiple contracts to survive.

The delay was humbling, but it left a lasting lesson.

“We all have our own path,” he says. “Sometimes you pass through pain because of what you’re meant to achieve.”

Community as calling

The waiting period sharpened something else in him. Back in Calabar, Amani remembered how isolated aspiring engineers felt. There was no clear guidance, no community to test ideas, ask questions, or understand what the tech industry actually demanded. He decided to start where he could.

Five people came together at first. Evening check-ins. Progress updates. CV reviews. Accountability calls. The group grew, and soon it needed a name. Calabar Tech Community emerged almost accidentally. Today, it has over a thousand registered members and hosts regular events including The biggest Tech Conference in the city of Calabar with over 600 attendees.

Helping others did not sit alongside his career. It fused with it.

“Career is how I survive,” Amani says. “Community is my destiny.”

The same instinct followed him into the Decagon alumni ecosystem. Having been rejected multiple times by Andela earlier in his journey, he understood how disorienting tech hiring could be. Alumni groups became spaces to share roles, referrals, and support. Sometimes the community helped others land jobs. Sometimes it helped him. He has received roles without formal interviews, based purely on reputation and trust.

Over time, people began calling him the Tech Evangelist. It started as sarcasm. A church boy mentoring people into tech. The name stuck, especially when he realised that “tech evangelist” was an actual role in the industry. He had simply been doing it informally for years.

The work expanded further in 2024, when global conversations around AI accelerated. After learning about AI-driven schools abroad, Amani turned his attention back to public schools in Calabar. He began a “tech school storm”, visiting schools to introduce students to concepts far beyond Microsoft Word and Excel.

One visit stayed with him. The lab was under-equipped. The gap between what students had and what the world demanded was stark.

“When I saw their lab, I cried,” he says.

The experience pushed him to speak more openly about his own background for the first time. Growing up, he sold kerosene in the city of Calabar  to support himself. His family lived in flood-prone housing, often placing children on beds while water filled the room. Many people around him assumed privilege. Few knew the distance he had travelled in life.

Stretch, sacrifice, and the long view

Today, Amani works across local and international companies and currently serves as an African lead at MUST Company, helping his organisation understand and expand into African markets. The role stretches him constantly. Tight timelines. High expectations. Conversations with senior leaders he would not have accessed years earlier.

Despite the pressure, he values the exposure.

“I’ve met people it would have taken me years to meet on my own,” he says. “It changes how you see leadership.”

Growth, however, came with deliberate sacrifice. He cut off friendships that drained time and focus. He limited social life. He placed boundaries between himself and extended family demands, learning to filter requests through his parents instead of absorbing everything personally. None of it was accidental.

“You have to consciously give something up,” he says. “For me, it was friends and social life.”

Stability, in his view, is not a fixed destination. It is something you build in layers. Even now, he remains cautious with time, energy, and expectations. The work continues.

Looking ahead, Amani sees himself moving further into more leadership and management, helping companies enter Africa responsibly, create jobs, and invest sustainably. On the community side, his ambitions are larger. Tech Conference Calabar is only the beginning. Lagos. London. More cities. More schools reached through the Tech School Storm initiative.

When asked what achievement matters most, he does not point to titles or income.

“Helping someone get a job,” he says. “That moment never gets old.”

Amani Kanu’s career is not defined by speed or ease. It is shaped by patience, conviction, and a belief that progress means little unless it is shared. From Calabar to Lagos, from spreadsheets to software, his story continues to widen the path for those coming behind him.