In 1982, I landed in the United States with a head full of dreams about hitting it big and giving my family a better life. Those ambitions stuck with me through college and into my career, even as I carried the weight of being the only one bringing in money for my family. Work frustrations and personal struggles, like being passed over for promotions, my reports being credited to others, and outright discrimination, pushed me to find a way out. Real estate became my answer, a path to build wealth while managing my job and raising five kids.
I tried other ways to make extra cash first. Late-night TV ads suckered me into assembling jewelry and crafts for merchants. After work and helping the kids with homework, I’d sit up piecing together trinkets, only to have many sent back for not meeting the picky standards. I got better and made a little money, but it was a grind, nights and weekends for pocket change. It wasn’t going to make me rich.
So, I started a side gig, HKM Associates, doing planning and design work outside my city job to avoid any ethical conflicts. I filed the required disclosure forms every year, making sure my work stayed outside Riverside’s boundaries. I handed out business cards at conferences, but a part-time hustle couldn’t compete with full-time pros. The clients were there, but I didn’t have the hours to chase them properly.
Then I stumbled across real estate through late-night infomercials, like Carlton Sheets’ pitches about building wealth with no money down. Some of his ideas sounded shady, but they got me curious. I grabbed his free materials, skipped the paid courses, and started digging deeper. By 1997, my family had grown—five kids, including a stepdaughter, crammed into a four-bedroom house. They fought over bathrooms, and college costs were looming. I needed a real plan.
I signed up for evening and weekend real estate classes at UC Riverside and Riverside Community College. Marshall Reddick’s sessions were a goldmine—practical advice from a guy who’d gone from a regular job to real estate success. He broke down how to buy properties, manage rentals, and even flip foreclosures. His story hit home; I saw myself pulling off the same move.
Being a Black immigrant from Uganda made me stand out in those classes—usually the only one there, getting sideways looks. Some folks, even other Ugandans, thought real estate was for rich white people, not someone like me. But I kept showing up, hitting local investment clubs in Riverside, Corona, and Rancho Cucamonga. Hearing regular people, with day jobs like mine, share their wins gave me the guts to keep going.
I settled on a buy-and-hold strategy, starting with single-family homes. In 2003, I bought a bigger house for my family, turning our old four-bedroom place from 1992 into a rental. Those bigger homes were hot with renters because young families wanted the space. I refinanced the old house to cover the down payment and closing costs for the new one, making sure the rent would cover the mortgage and then some.
The new house was a six-bedroom, five-and-a-half-bath custom build in a new subdivision. I tweaked the floor plan to give each kid their bathroom. I saved cash by doing the landscaping myself, putting in the irrigation system during vacation days. It was tough, but it cut costs by thousands.
I hired a property manager to deal with tenants, rent collection, and repairs. With a full-time job and kids to raise, I didn’t have time to play landlord. The manager knew the laws and kept things running smoothly. The rental found tenants fast—a family from LA looking for space. The rent covered the mortgage, repairs, and even built a reserve fund. I didn’t have to touch my paycheck.
By 2014, real estate had changed everything. The rental income, plus tax breaks for investors, gave me stability. The sting of workplace slights, including training people who got promoted over me, my work claimed by others, faded. On October 9, 2014, I walked away from my city job, free to focus on my properties.
Co-workers had plenty to say when I started. They called real estate a scam, said I’d get fleeced, especially as an immigrant. When the properties turned a profit, their tune changed to jealousy. Some even hinted I’d done something shady to afford them, ignoring that real estate deals are public record. My city job projects went through public reviews, and bribes weren’t an option. Their doubts were just sour grapes; I’d proved them wrong.
Real estate wasn’t just about money. It gave me control, something my job never did. I could drive by my properties and feel proud, unlike my co-workers who only processed plans for others’ buildings. I learned from developers I met at work, picking their brains about their businesses. Their pride in their investments pushed me to keep going.
My main goal was wealth, but I also wanted enough income to ditch my job and cover my kids’ college costs. Real estate delivered. It wasn’t risk-free, nothing is, but the classes and clubs gave me the tools to manage those risks. For immigrants and minorities, it’s a real shot at breaking through. From a broke dreamer in ’82 to a landlord with freedom, I built something solid, step by step, proving the doubters wrong.
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