Before it is obviously working

A young man opens a shoe repair kiosk in a corner of a car park in Ruwi. A hand-painted board, one stool, a box of heels and soles. For the first weeks almost nobody stops.

Later, if it works, there will be a queue. People will mention him to each other, and bringing him your shoes will feel like being in on something good. Being one of many is pleasant. It costs nothing and risks nothing, because the question of whether he will last has already been answered.

There is another pleasure people chase, which is being the one who tips it. The final push, the customer who turned it from struggling to busy. It feels important, and it usually arrives once the outcome was nearly settled anyway.

The person who matters most is neither of those. It is the one who brings a pair of shoes in the second week, when the board is still new and the stool is still empty. When it might all be packed away by the end of the month. When paying him feels faintly like money that could be wasted, and when nobody will ever know you were early.

That moment is uncomfortable, and that is exactly why it counts. He does not need a crowd yet. He needs one person who will turn up before turning up looks sensible.

Most of us wait for proof before we join in. The few who arrive while it is still lonely are the reason anything new lasts long enough to be proved.