Chartered accountant Anesu Daka (AD) sat down with Alpha Media Holdings chairman Trevor Ncube (TN) to discuss discusses his journey from a modest childhood in a mining town to becoming a prominent chartered accountant and educational leader.
He reflects on how early experiences with poverty and responsibility fostered a spirit of innovation, compelling him to fund his own education through various small businesses.
Driven by a deep sense of purpose and destiny, Daka eventually founded Docere Holdings and the Chartered Accountants Academy to address critical gaps in professional training.
He attributes his success in dramatically improving national pass rates to a philosophy of dedicated mentorship and treating education as a divine vocation. Below are excerpts from the interview.
TN: Greetings, welcome to In Conversation with Trevor, brought to you by Heart and Soul Broadcasting Services. Today, I am in conversation with Anesu Daka, the founder and CEO of Docere Holdings.
You are a chartered accountant in South Africa and Zimbabwe, an educator, a social entrepreneur, and a public servant. You are founder and group CEO of Docere. Something that piqued my interest: you served as a presidential commissioner of Inquiry into the conversion of pension and insurance funds from Zimbabwe dollars to US dollars. You also serve on the Public Accounts and Auditors Board.
I'm fascinated by your mission in life: to teach, to nurture, to empower others so that they achieve their greatest potential. You are 45 years old, this is what you have achieved — what goes through your mind?
AD: Thank you, Trevor. What goes through my mind is the issue of being deliberate. The power of clarity. When I work and do what I do, I have chosen a lane, and the lane has been to serve.
You talk about the presidential commission. It came about when I was doing my work in the financial services space. I saw things that were not supposed to be.
I did the research and presented it for free to the institute and to Ipec.
Sometime later, I got called for swearing-in. I was told, "You seem to know what you're doing." It was work where I could point out one, two, three things that weren't happening well.
Coming out of 2009, things were not proper. I was coming from South Africa where I saw things working differently. I said, "This may not be proper."
And I put it out as research and a presentation while I was starting CAA.
TN: Where does this story start? Where were you born? Which schools did you go to?
AD: I was born in Shurugwi, in the mine. I was the firstborn there, such that my mother in that area is called by my name – "Mai Anesu".
I was the one who did the stamping, creating fields, looking after cattle, making sure everyone was home.
When my younger siblings came, I would show them what to do. I also spent time with my father in Grade One.
He taught me to hunt for honey, mushrooms, different fruits in the forest in Shurugwi. I learned skills I still have today — how to identify things.
My father had that impact on me.
My father was a plumber. He got retrenched and couldn't afford to look after us fully.
I started contributing to the family. I would wake up, pick mushrooms in the morning, and go to the market.
I started buying pencils, pens, books for myself and even for my brother. I would also bring food.
I made a small game — a box with colours and sweets — and sat by the cafeteria at the market. People would pay to play. Most of the change stayed with me.
TN: This was not an easy life. You went without food. What did that life of struggle teach you?
AD: To be innovative. I was never hungry in my soul – only in my tummy. I could find ways.
My father would check with me if there was no bread. I ended up being able to contribute to the family.
TN: You were one of 10, but you were the one who came up with being so innovative. What made you different?
AD: I wouldn't know. But I'll point to a story from my parents later. As a young child, I had older brothers and sisters with many books in the house.
I started to read beyond my age. I read history, asked questions, read widely. Reading ignites and opens up. I started dreaming and creating visions.
When we talk about CAA, those are things I saw young. I used to call it "the school of excellence". I told my mother I would be number one and create a very big school – in grade one, grade two.
TN: What did your parents tell you? You said I should ask.
AD: When I was in my 30s, they sat me down. They said: “The day you were born, the sister-in-charge at the local hospital in Shurugwi touched your hair and said, ‘If you look after him, he will do things for you’.”
For them, it was just a statement. I later met her children and even had a call with her.
TN: What do you make of that?
AD: It talks to destiny, to purpose. Every life has a reason. I didn't choose it, but I had to find it and live it.
TN: You get the presidential scholarship to Fort Hare – the university Nelson Mandela went to, and many nationalists. You started excelling long before that. When did you get the sense that you have a sharp mind?
AD: In Grade Seven, I was excelling so much that the headmaster found a school for me far from home.
When I got there, I finished the small library by Form One. I became friends with the teachers.
If a teacher was away, they would let me lead the class. I was called to write two exams while I was in form one.
TN: But there's a place where you worked as a security guard. Talk to me about that.
AD: I was sent to stay with a granny. When she moved, a teacher took me in. I stayed at the school. When the teachers went away for holiday, I would stay behind and look after the school.
That contributed to my fees. When I went to A-level, that arrangement continued.
My school uniform was contributed by the teachers. I also started teaching people around me for a fee to raise school fees.
TN: You then worked at Ernst & Young after Fort Hare. You already started doing things differently there.
AD: Before that, a key moment: in 1996, my elder brother passed away. I became the eldest son. I was number five of 10 – a middle child, protected. When he died, I cried alone because I realised I was now the eldest. It gave me focus and responsibility.