The Unlikely Rise of Chijioke

Chijioke Nwachukwu wasn’t that Chijioke Nwachukwu. This Chijioke was a 34-year-old man-child who still lived with his parents in their cramped suburban home in Lagos, working part-time at a tech store in the "What’s New in Tech" section. He was, in fact, the least likely candidate to become a tech guru. But he had one thing going for him: an unbelievable belief in his own potential.

From the moment Chijioke first saw a laptop—when he was about 13 years old and accidentally fried his first computer by putting a bowl of Jollof rice on top of it—he knew he was destined for something big. Unfortunately, he had no idea what that "big" was, but he knew it involved a lot of cables, long Wi-Fi passwords, and the kind of mysterious terminology that made people say things like, “Oh, you know tech, huh?”

Over the years, Chijioke's "tech journey" had been a series of catastrophic failures. For instance, he once tried to fix his own laptop by “upgrading” the hard drive with a toaster oven and a hammer, convinced it would “speed up the process.” Spoiler alert: it didn’t. The laptop was never the same. Or there was the time he tried to sell “customized” smartphones to his friends by putting random app icons on their screens, claiming that he was "curating personalized experiences." They all just deleted them.

Despite these setbacks, Chijioke never once questioned his dream of becoming a tech guru. Why? Because he believed in the power of persistence. And, okay, maybe he was also a little too in love with the idea of wearing funky T-shirts with cryptic tech slogans, like “Byte Me” and “I’ve Got 99 Problems But a Glitch Ain’t One.”

One fateful day, Chijioke came across a tech blog that claimed anyone could become a "thought leader" in the industry with just 10,000 Twitter followers and one viral video. Chijioke’s eyes sparkled with possibility. "I have Twitter," he thought. "I also have a phone, and with just a little editing, I could totally make this happen."

And so, the “Chijioke Nwachukwu Tech Guru” account was born. His first tweet was: “The future of tech is in the cloud. Or in your pocket. Or maybe both. Stay tuned for the next big thing.” He didn’t have a clue what it meant, but it sounded right. He had no followers. But he had faith. Faith that one day, someone—someone—would see his brilliance and recognize that his series of poorly edited GIFs and cryptic tweets about "the evolution of the internet of things" was the future of tech.

It wasn’t long before Chijioke decided to up his game. He began filming YouTube videos under the self-given title “The Tech Guru.” His content, however, was... questionable. His first video was titled “Top 5 Ways to Charge Your Phone Faster (Without a Charger!).” In this groundbreaking piece of content, Chijioke passionately explained how, if you think hard enough about your phone charging, you could "manifest" more battery life. His viewers were, unsurprisingly, underwhelmed.

He followed this up with a video called “AI Will Change Everything (But Not for You, Unless You Follow Me).” In the video, he wore an ill-fitting suit jacket, sat in front of a laptop, and gestured grandly to nothing in particular. He had no actual experience with artificial intelligence, but he was convinced that by saying "neural networks" and "machine learning" repeatedly, people would start taking him seriously. They didn’t.

Still, Chijioke refused to quit. He set up a Patreon account, offering “exclusive tech insights” for ₦2,000 a month. His “insights” consisted mostly of answering questions like, “Why doesn’t my Wi-Fi work?” with responses like, “Try unplugging the router. If that doesn’t work, maybe try praying.” He had 15 patrons, which, if you think about it, is a remarkable feat for someone whose tech knowledge was, at best, questionable.

Then, something miraculous happened. Chijioke’s big break came in the form of a tweet from the tech guru of the moment—Bertil Vanderpump, the Silicon Valley millionaire and creator of a highly successful app that, as far as Chijioke could tell, was just an app that told you when to drink water. Bertil, who had just seen Chijioke’s 36th video titled “Why I Think TikTok Is Actually a Secret Government Project,” retweeted Chijioke’s post with the words: “Bold opinion. Respect.”

It was as if a lightning bolt had struck. Chijioke’s Twitter exploded. In an hour, he gained 500 followers. Within the day, it was 5,000. He was gaining traction. People were starting to recognize him as a “visionary” in the tech space. Chijioke’s confidence skyrocketed.

But just as Chijioke was about to announce his first paid tech conference, reality came crashing in.

A guy named “Chuka” (who had actually worked in tech and had a far better understanding of how things worked than Chijioke) sent Chijioke an email. It was blunt: “Hey, Chijioke, I see you’ve got a growing following. Just wanted to clarify something. I’ve been in the tech field for 10 years, and honestly, most of the stuff you’re talking about is… wrong. Like, *really* wrong.”

Chijioke read the email. He blinked. “Wrong? What does he mean ‘wrong’?” he muttered to himself. “I’m a visionary, damn it!”

But the nagging doubt wouldn’t go away. Chijioke began watching videos from actual tech experts. And there it was—the harsh truth. He had no idea what he was talking about. None. Zero.

The following week, Chijioke posted a very emotional video titled “I’ve Been Lying to You, and I’m Sorry.” In it, he admitted he had no formal training in tech, no real expertise, and had maybe exaggerated his ability to "predict the future of cloud computing" based on a Google search he did two hours before filming. He thanked his followers for their support and promised he would stop giving "thoughtful tech advice" from now on.

But the miracle didn’t stop there.

Chijioke’s audience didn’t abandon him. In fact, they rallied behind him, even more loyal than before. They appreciated his honesty, his vulnerability. And you know what? They loved the fact that he never gave up. They had fun watching his journey, laughing at his mistakes, and realizing that maybe they didn’t need to take tech so seriously either.

In the end, Chijioke didn't become the next Steve Jobs. But he became something far more valuable: the most lovable, self-taught, completely unqualified tech guru the internet had ever known. He’d failed, sure. But he had built something more important than knowledge—he’d built a community. And that was his real success.

Chijioke Nwachukwu, the tech guru, was here to stay.

And he didn’t even need a charger to do it.