Glovo CEO: How choosing discomfort built my career

Everyone except her father said she was making a mistake.

For 12 years after that, she was a banker. Equity Bank at 18, straight out of high school. Standard Chartered as a management trainee. McKinsey doing deals across the continent — mergers, acquisitions. Then, in 2021, in Ethiopia, on a project, she had a moment: What if I changed? What would happen?

She wanted the most uncomfortable situation possible. Not fintech (for they'd still be talking about deposits and loans.) She wanted the farthest thing from banking she could find. She joined Swvl, the app-based bus service running routes across Nairobi.

From banking to public service vehicles. Five months later, Swvl exited the market. She stayed home for five months, refusing to go back, asking herself what she actually wanted: An organisation where her decisions would make an immediate, measurable impact.

In October 2022, she joined Glovo Kenya, knowing absolutely nothing about e-commerce or food delivery. She asked a lot of questions. She still does. Kenya is now Glovo’s fastest-growing market across 22 countries.

Is there anything interesting in your childhood?

Yes. I think my earliest memory, the one I tell anyone who cares to listen, is that I learned to read before I went to school. I was four years old. Maybe five. I hadn’t stepped into a classroom yet, and I was already piecing together three-letter words. Cat. Bat. Cut. Small words, big thrill. I’m the firstborn.

My parents had me young; my mum was 22, my dad around 23 or 24, and they hadn’t gone to college yet. So while I was little, they were in school themselves.

They were part of that generation where if you finished Form Six in the late ’80s, you automatically joined TSC [Teachers Service Commission] because there was a teacher shortage. They went straight into teaching, but they wanted more.

So they worked during the day, attended classes in the evening, and studied at night.  We didn’t have a nanny. So when they sat down to revise, they gave me “homework” to keep me busy. I’d write numbers from 1 to 100. ABCD. Over and over. When I got bored, they pushed me forward. Harder words. New combinations. They kept advancing the material because I kept finishing it.

I only did one year in nursery school before moving to Class One. My mum stayed in school for years; I think even by 2012, she was still pursuing another qualification. At some point, we had to say, “Okay, Mum, you’ve done enough.” But that hunger for learning, it was contagious. I caught it. I still read obsessively. My team laughs because almost any question they ask me, I respond with, “Have you read this book?” I’ll say. I’m already on my fourth book this year.

Fiction or non-fiction?

I think it’s a combination of different things, but lately it’s mostly been non-fiction. The closest thing to fiction I’ve read this year, though it’s not fiction, is The Art of War, a famous book, like a military manual.

It was written about 1,500 , maybe even 2,500 years ago in China. Back then, China wasn’t what we know today. It was made up of villages and territories that were constantly fighting and conquering each other.

The author was a military general leading an army, and he writes very practically about strategy: when to attack, when not to attack. For example, he says don’t attack an army that is going back home, because they will fight with everything they have just to get home. And I remember thinking, wow, they had already thought about that back then. And it’s fascinating to see that people were thinking that way thousands of years ago.

Do you employ the Art of War in corporate life?

[Laughs] I do. I think one of the biggest lessons I took from it was, don’t go into war if you’re not sure you’re going to win. Applies in business.

Don’t start something if, from a strength perspective — capabilities, team, talent — you’re not ready. Especially if it’s something tough. If you’re not confident you can follow through, then don’t go into it. Make sure your army is ready first.

Is there a particular book you find yourself anchoring on frequently?

No. Because I’ve read so much. I honestly can’t even keep track of all the books I’ve read. But recently, I’ve been reading a lot about coaches; football coaches, NFL coaches, basketball coaches. Two of the books I’ve read this year stood out.

One is by a coach called Wooden, where he writes about his observations both on and off the pitch. The other one, I can’t remember the author, is about staying “above the line.” Basically, what behaviours keep people above the line: no blaming, no complaining, no defending yourself. That’s the main message, but I take many lessons from it

Where did you grow up?

In Mombasa. We moved there when I was about three, and I stayed until I was 18 or 19, only coming to Nairobi for university. I went to public primary school, then Aga Khan for high school.

Mombasa wasn’t known for academics — that just wasn’t its reputation — and for some of my classmates, even going to high school was a big deal.

In 2006, I was the top girl in the country in KCSE. At the time, even getting an ‘A’ from a Mombasa school was notable, so for a brief moment, I was everywhere, TV, newspapers. I come from a family of teachers. Discipline at home was serious. Day school, no bus, public transport. Out of the house at 6am, school by 7am. Back home by six in the evening. One hour of TV. Then study again. Dinner. News. Lights out by 9:30pm.

At the time, I thought they were too strict. But looking back, knowing the environment, knowing I never even stepped into a disco all through school, I realise that discipline carried me.

So you’ve continued on that path…

I’ve carried that discipline into my own home. I have two daughters. My eldest is up at 5:15am — swimming Monday to Wednesday, football Thursday and Friday.

If I’m dropping her, we’re out the door by 5:15am. By 5:30am everyone is awake — doors banging, breakfast, movement everywhere. It’s a frenzy, but we love that rhythm. The younger one is two and already insisting on school.

In January, we took her just to see; they said she was too young. She stayed half a day, and the teachers changed their minds. She walked in as she belonged.

So yes, I’m very structured. Very.

When did you experience the first failure that jolted you?

I think it was more of a redirection than a failure. You know how it is in an Asian school [where she was], everyone expects you to be an engineer or a doctor.

So I applied to medical school and got into the University of Nairobi. And I failed. I left medical school and joined business school. But it wasn’t a disaster — it was just me realising that this wasn’t who I was. I didn’t enjoy it. I struggled to keep up. Hospitals weren’t for me.

By the time we started clinical rotations at Kenyatta National Hospital around the third or fourth month, I just couldn’t handle it. I remember visiting one ward — this wasn’t part of school, but we went to see the father of a friend who was unwell. I almost fainted. The nurses told me, “Get out! You want to give us more work?” That’s when it hit me: I would never make a good doctor.

What drove you to medicine?

We were expected to be doctors. I went to Aga Khan Academy in Mombasa, and the careers everyone spoke about were dentistry, engineering, and medicine. That was the air you breathed.

The culture, the messaging, the peers — all of it quietly insisted this was the right path. You didn’t question it. You didn’t doubt it. So I applied to medical school. I got in. I was genuinely happy. It felt like everything had aligned. We started in September or October 2008. By January 2009, I had quit.

Everyone , except my dad, said leaving medicine for business school was a mistake. You’ll just sell loans. Walk Nairobi until your shoes wear out. Why waste your life? I was scared. Even at business school, people looked at me like I’d misplaced my sanity. “Why are you here? Everyone wants to be a doctor. Are you crazy?”

But my dad said, “No. This is the right decision for you.” I think he saw himself in me. He had been a teacher before switching into business and doing well. When I first chose medicine, he didn’t speak to me for weeks. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” he said. “I know you won’t enjoy it.” Three months in, I knew he was right. I couldn’t continue, so I left. I switched to business school.

What did you struggle with last year?

Last year was very personal for me. I struggled a lot with my weight. The whole year, actually. I had a baby two and a half years ago — that was part of it. But honestly, that’s an excuse. Because the moment I truly decided to work on it, I could.

The bigger issue was that I fell outside my house and fractured my leg. After that, I stopped moving. I didn’t want to strain myself. I didn’t want to exert myself. It became a car, office, and home. Lift instead of stairs. No lifting anything. No activity. And I really struggled.

If I had to name one massive personal challenge from that period, that was it. The discipline it took — working at Glovo, signing new restaurants every day with amazing, juicy burgers, and saying no? You have no idea.

Which period of your life have you been the happiest and the saddest?

I’ve had many happy moments. Of course, I was happy when I became the top student in the country, but my parents humbled me very quickly. “We expected that.” So even that joy was short-lived.

Now, what makes me consistently happy is different. I came from outside the tech industry, outside e-commerce, outside food delivery, and today, Kenya is the fastest-growing market in Glovo globally, against all odds, against much larger, more established markets. And it’s been consistent for two or three years now.

That gives me a lot of joy. You have no idea. Leading the fastest-growing business across 22 markets, that makes me very happy.

The saddest moment was in 2023. I lost my dad. [Pause] My daughter was born on September 2. He passed on the 13th, 11 days later. Losing my dad…. [Pause]

What are you resetting in your life right now? What furniture are you moving around?

I’m always moving, always adjusting. Have I reset anything big? Not really. It’s been more of a continuous recalibration. Lately, I’ve been trying to be present, to enjoy the now instead of obsessing over whether I’ll succeed at this or that.

A few years ago, I would lose sleep over it. Growing up with high expectations, with life’s puzzles seemingly mapped out, you carry this quiet sense of being behind. At any given moment, there’s something you think you’re late for. Losing my dad changed that.

I’d lost people before, mostly grandparents who had lived full lives. But losing someone that central, that formative, shifts the lens. Enjoy today. There will always be expectations, from others, from yourself, but the lesson is simple: Be here now.  

Take leave now. Don’t make reckless decisions, yes. But make one good decision today. And then another. And another. Spend time with family. These days, every April, August, and December, I’m in Mombasa with my extended family for at least two weeks. I call more. I text more. I show up.

I’ve also made peace with changing my mind. As a leader, you have to. You make a decision in January, and by February, the ground has shifted. Adaptation isn’t weakness; it’s survival. Even at home, it plays out.

My daughter wants one thing, I want another. I’d decided: swimming three days, football two. Before that, I was convinced she should do one thing all week. But you adjust. You respond to what’s in front of you. That’s life.

→[email protected]

Follow ourWhatsApp channel for the latest business and markets updates.