Money and Banking with Prof. Masanjala: that was my favorite class in undergrad.
Out of all the courses in my Economics Bachelor’s Degree, this was where I thrived. M&B wasn’t just a subject I studied; it quickly became a passion. Every lecture felt like unlocking the secrets of the world. We learned about the evolution of money, how it transformed from primitive barter systems to modern financial markets, and the power it wields in every aspect of life. I spent a lot of hours buried in textbooks and research papers in the UNIMA library, with one goal in mind: to thrive. And I did. This was one of the few economics courses I excelled in, and I wore that distinction proudly.
Prof. Masanjala was detailed in his lectures: starting from the barter system, the invention of commodity money, and the significance of gold and silver as standards of value. We moved on to paper currency, the establishment of central banks, and eventually, the digital forms of money we use today. But beyond understanding its forms, what fascinated me most was the concept of trust. Trust is the backbone of money—it is what makes a slip of paper or a digital transaction valuable. And that idea stayed with me long after the exams were over.
The History of Money: Trust, Value, and Power
Money didn’t start with coins, bills, or bank accounts. It began as bartered goods—livestock, grain, and tools exchanged between people. But bartering had its limits. It required a double coincidence of wants, meaning both parties had to have exactly what the other desired at the same time. This inefficiency led to the creation of commodity money, where items like gold, silver, or shells became universally accepted as a medium of exchange. These items held intrinsic value, making them easier to trade.
As societies evolved, commodity money gave way to coins, stamped with seals of power to guarantee authenticity and value. This marked a turning point—money was no longer just a commodity; it became a symbol of trust in governing institutions. By the time paper currency emerged, backed by reserves of precious metals, trust had become even more critical. The value of a note depended on a promise—a guarantee that it could be exchanged for something tangible.
Then came the Gold Standard, a system where currencies were tied to a fixed amount of gold, creating stability in global trade. But that, too, had its limits, and after World War II, most countries shifted to fiat money—currency backed not by gold but by the government’s declaration of its value. This was the birth of modern money as we know it, where central banks control supply, and value is maintained through economic policies and trust in financial institutions.
Back to Class: Connecting Theory to Ambition
As I sat through those lectures, it wasn’t just about understanding history; it was about understanding power. I knew that money wasn’t just a tool for transactions—it was a tool for control. The way it flowed, the way it created and destroyed wealth, fascinated me. I dreamed of one day working in spaces where I could see this power firsthand. But at the time, it was just a dream, an abstract thought that felt far from my reality.
Finance Class: A Tough Love Lesson
Last year when I began my MBA (years from when I was first fascinated with money), finance hit me with a reality check. My first-semester finance course was difficult, stretching me beyond my comfort zone. I found myself wrestling with concepts like discounted cash flows, net present value, and the intricacies of investment decisions.
But, as challenging as it was, it became a significant turning point. I wasn’t just learning about money; I was learning how to apply financial knowledge in real-world scenarios. That course cemented my understanding of finance—adding a practical layer to the foundational knowledge I had built during my undergrad years. By the end of the semester, I had grown not only in my technical skills but also in my confidence to navigate complex financial landscapes.
Dream Meets Reality: In New York
My dream became a reality when I moved to New York City, the epicenter of global finance. I was working as a public officer with the United Nations, and while my salary was quite modest, I found myself immersed in a world where money wasn’t just an idea—it was a lifestyle. I spent most of my evenings and weekends dining at Michelin-star restaurants, indulging in $600 dinners, as I was dating young men who worked on Wall Street. They lived and breathed finance, trading millions—making more in a week than I did in months with the click of a button. They weren’t just managing money; they were trading it as though it were a product. And… they did not have much time for a personal life… a dinner with a fabulous woman once a week, and some excellent conversation over questionably priced steaks to burn off some steam. Dating is a dream in New York, and we may all need some therapy after the fact.
I remember one of the young men I had dated having to leave an event (a speaking engagement I had) while we were still networking, because there was a deal that had opened, and he had to quickly return to the office to close it. These young men worked around the clock, and efficiently so. When you hear of the city that never sleeps, you think of the parties and the wonderful nights, but the people… the workers… they never sleep.
The theories I had studied in class came alive, but not in the way I had imagined.
I learned how money moved in ways that weren’t always visible to the average person. Derivatives, hedge funds, private equity—these were instruments designed to create more money out of existing money. It wasn’t about producing goods or services; it was about producing value from value itself. And as I navigated this world, I felt both awe and disillusionment. Awe at how powerful and sophisticated these systems were, and disillusionment at how detached they were from the real economy. Money had become the product, and those who understood how to trade it were at the top of the food chain.
My Disillusionment: Questioning What We’re Really Trading
My few years in New York forced me to ask questions I hadn’t considered before. If money is the product, what are we really creating? Are we building value, or are we just perpetuating systems of speculation? The young men I dated didn’t seem to care. To them, money was a game, and they had learned the rules well enough to win. But for me, the stakes felt different. I thought about the economies back home, where money wasn’t something you traded—it was something you needed to survive.
This disillusionment made me resent the system just a little bit, but it also made me rethink my role in it. Once I’ve fully explored education, agriculture, tech, and gaming, perhaps I will look toward venture capital. Perhaps one day, I will establish a V.C. firm, creating and multiplying wealth by investing in meaningful ventures. Or perhaps I won’t. For now, I’m focused on understanding the deeper truths about value, trust, and what it means to trade in the most lucrative product the world has ever known.
I’m enjoying the process of learning, questioning, and building—because in the end, the most valuable thing I get to gain is clarity about the world, and my place in it.
With persisent curiosity,
Ntha
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