Built on Trust: The $500 Copper Wire Journey to a Billion
Sài Gòn, 1986: The Dawn of Opportunity
The year was 1986. The war had ended over a decade earlier, but Vietnam was still struggling under the weight of a U.S. trade embargo. Yet, hope flickered on the horizon as the government lifted restrictions on private businesses. For the first time, people had the freedom to create, to build, to dream. And in the heart of Sài Gòn, amid the chaos and uncertainty, an unlikely business was about to be born.
At the time, electricity was erratic. Some hours, the voltage was 110V, other times it surged to 220V. Most households only had 110V appliances, and the unpredictability led to disaster—transformers exploded, leaving behind nothing but charred copper coils.
My cousin’s husband, Mr. Hải, an electrical engineer at the Sài Gòn Lamp Factory, saw potential where others saw waste. “We can still use the copper,” he told us. “We just need to extract it and sell it by the kilo.”
Turning Scraps into Survival
In May 1987, just after my mother passed away, my cousin, Cẩm Tú, and I took our first step into business. With only $500 to our name, we rented a tiny 1m x 1m booth at Nhật Tảo metal market. Our work was grueling—we pried open the destroyed transformers with our bare hands, salvaging the copper inside. By the end of the first month, our fingers were raw and bloody, but we had made our first sales.
Finding the Weakness of the Giants
Nhật Tảo was dominated by Chinese merchants, and we were the first Vietnamese family to enter the trade. They had the advantage—connections, experience, and lower prices. But I soon noticed something: they were cutting corners. Instead of selling a full kilogram, they shortchanged their customers, offering only 970 grams.
“This is their weakness,” I whispered to my cousin. “We will beat them by being honest.”
Building Trust, Gram by Gram
Instead of selling 1 kg, we gave our customers 1,050 grams—at the same price. Our buyers quickly took notice. “Everyone knows they don’t give full kilos,” they admitted, “but we have no other choice.” Now, they did.
Our business grew, not because we had more money, but because we had something priceless—trust.
The Hunger That Drove Us
Every morning at 5 AM, we left for the market. Our only food for the day was a handful of rice, a bottle of water, some salt, sugar, and sesame. I pedaled the five-kilometer journey while my cousin sat behind me.
At 3 PM each day, a woman selling bún bò, Vietnam’s beloved noodle soup, would set up her cart near our booth. The rich, fragrant broth filled the air, making our empty stomachs ache. We never spoke about it, but we both thought the same thing: If we buy that bowl of noodles, we lose part of our capital. And so, we never did.
From Bloodied Hands to a Billion-Dollar Empire
Decades passed. I left Vietnam, but the business we built remained. Today, Nuso Pte stands as Vietnam’s leading copper wire distributor, with annual revenue surpassing one billion dollars. But the real success isn’t in the numbers—it’s in the foundation of trust we built, gram by gram, year by year.
Recently, I asked my cousin if she ever bought a bowl of bún bò from that woman. She shook her head. “I never did,” she said. “We were too busy saving for the future.”
A Lesson in Business and Life
Success isn’t just about capital or strategy—it’s about sacrifice, integrity, and trust. The choices we made, the struggles we endured, the hunger we felt—they shaped the empire we built.
And to this day, when I smell bún bò, I don’t just think of hunger. I think of resilience. Of sacrifice. Of a dream that turned into a legacy.
