Part 1: The Rise and Fall of a Young Scholar
High school was my first battlefield. I entered with ambition, eager to prove myself. In no time, I climbed to the top of my class, competing with the best students. Success became an expectation. I sacrificed time with friends, lost myself in books, and unknowingly distanced myself from my childhood.
But what I did not realize was that being at the top is not a permanent state—it’s a position you must defend. Overconfidence crept in. I started neglecting my studies, believing I could regain my position anytime. I was wrong. My grades dropped, my discipline weakened, and the world began to show me that talent alone is not enough. Hard work must be constant. I became arrogant on my studies. I would say that without needing to practice I would remain at the top. But I was wrong. I discovered that when I changed high school and also when I went to a 10 days summer program with many other African student. It was true to me by then that I was dumb and arrogant. In fact now I know that arrogance is something like believing in your superiority when in fact you are not. I was lucky to find.
Part 2: Love, Addiction, and the Descent into Self-Sabotage
As I grew older, a new obsession replaced my academic drive—love and validation. I wanted to be admired, wanted to be desired. First love, first rejection, then heartbreak. My emotions spiraled out of control. I chased relationships, mistook infatuation for love, and became desperate for intimacy.
To escape loneliness and frustration, I stumbled upon an addiction that gripped me for years—pornography and masturbation. It became a cycle. I sought comfort in it, only to feel guilt and emptiness afterward. The same mind that once devoured books now spent hours feeding distractions. My productivity plummeted. I was drowning in my own choices, but I didn’t know how to break free.
Looking back, I now see that part of my struggle stemmed from arrogance. I assumed that excelling in school was a given, something that required no conscious effort. This complacency bred boredom—I was no longer challenged, and as a result, I became disengaged. Without meaningful intellectual stimulation, my mind wandered, seeking escape in ways I never anticipated.
With a world saturated in sexualized media—music, videos, and casual conversations—it was almost inevitable that this would seep into my life. What started as a passive indulgence soon became a crutch, a means of avoiding discomfort, stress, and confrontation. I used it as an escape from conflict, from expressing my true thoughts, from facing my own fears.
This habit didn’t just affect my focus; it chipped away at my confidence, my sense of self-respect, and my ability to engage authentically in relationships. I found myself becoming overly accommodating, avoiding difficult conversations, and suppressing my true opinions. Each time my body reacted with frustration at this self-censorship, I sought temporary relief in the very habit that was eroding my agency.
This, I realize now, is the true meaning of losing one’s freedom—not in grand external circumstances, but in the subtle ways we forfeit control over our own minds and actions. The more I surrendered to avoidance, the more I reinforced my own chains.
Part 3: A Glimpse of the World Beyond
Then came a turning point—Enko and the Yale Young African Scholars (YYAS) program. For the first time, I was surrounded by students whose intelligence humbled me. I realized that my small victories in high school meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. There were smarter, more disciplined individuals out there.
At YYAS, I saw what true ambition looked like. These students had a roadway, a vision beyond mere academic excellence. They were strategists, problem-solvers, global thinkers. This experience was both an inspiration and a harsh reality check. I needed to work harder, to think beyond my local context, to embrace the fact that I was far from the best.
But it took me time to fully accept this reality. At the moment, I refused to acknowledge it. Instead, I felt insecure—uncomfortable with the weight of my own shortcomings. And that insecurity led me deeper into the very habits that were holding me back. More social media. More porn. More avoidance.
As I realized the sheer amount of work I still had to do to compete in the world of ideas, I felt overwhelmed. The truth hit me hard—I didn’t even have what it truly took to succeed in my IB exams. I had underestimated the challenge, and now, faced with the reality of my own unpreparedness, I felt trapped.
To be honest, my final year of high school was the most depressing period of my life. I thought about running away. I even thought about ending it all. There was a deep sense of failure, a feeling that I had let myself down. And instead of confronting that pain, I numbed it with distractions—more social media, more escapism, more isolation. But that only deepened the cycle, making me feel even worse.
I suffered silently for a long time. Until one day, I decided to talk to my best friend. I told her everything—my struggles, my fears, my failures. She didn’t try to fix me. She didn’t even fully understand what I was going through. But she listened. And that silence, that space she gave me to speak, lightened my burden. That was therapy.
She didn’t condemn me; she simply helped me see things more clearly. And in practical ways, she guided me through what I had left to cover for the rest of the year—especially in calculus. Thanks to that, I made it through to the end.
Part 4: The Pain of Rejection and the Weight of Failure
I set my sights on prestigious universities, confident I would get in. I had the grades, the experience, and the drive. But rejection after rejection shattered my confidence.
For the first time, I truly questioned my worth. Was I not good enough? Did my past achievements mean nothing? The sting of rejection led me to procrastinate, to doubt myself, to escape further into distractions. Instead of working on solutions, I drowned in self-pity. The very habits that once made me successful—discipline, persistence, ambition—were now foreign to me. The bad ones, porn, unhealthy relationships, anime, and all sorts of escapism brought me to that.
Part 5: A Brush with Death
Then life reminded me of what real suffering looked like. After my International Baccalaureate (IB) exams, I fell gravely ill. What seemed like a simple fever turned into severe malaria and kidney failure. My body was shutting down, and the worst part? No one knew exactly what was wrong.
I spent weeks in hospitals, lying in rooms with patients who were fighting battles much worse than mine. Some of them were dying. I witnessed young people, full of dreams, taking their last breaths. In that moment, my academic failures seemed insignificant. At least I was still alive.
When I finally recovered, I had a new appreciation for life. I had spent so much time mourning lost opportunities, yet here I was, given another chance to build a future. After this seeing a friend die because of an illness, and another die because of an overdose, almost at the same time, I so badly wanted to live, and I was willing to live.
Part 6: The Parisian Struggle
Leaving home and moving to France was supposed to be a fresh start. But I was not prepared for what awaited me. The people who had promised to help abandoned me. The host family I trusted threw me out. I found myself homeless, jobless, and uncertain of what to do next.
I slept on the streets. I moved from one temporary shelter to another. I saw the worst of humanity—people who looked down on me, who dismissed me as just another immigrant with no future. But I also saw kindness. A stranger offering food. A student lending me a couch for the night. Help came from unexpected places.
Through it all, I learned that survival is about adaptability. No one owes you anything. If you want something, you must find a way to take it.
Part 7: Love, Fear, and the Mistakes of the Heart
Amid the chaos, I found love—or at least, what I thought was love. Maya. My friend, my confidante. I told her everything, shared my deepest fears. And before I knew it, I was in love with her.
But love mixed with fear is a dangerous thing. I feared losing her so much that I pushed too hard. I asked her to marry me—again and again. I wanted security, commitment, certainty. But she was not ready, and in the end, my fear drove her away.
Another painful lesson learned. Love cannot be forced. It must be free, mutual, natural. And above all, it must not consume you to the point of self-destruction.
Part 8: The Decision to Fight Back
There came a day when I had to make a choice: remain a victim of my circumstances, or fight back. I had lost too much time, given too much energy to self-doubt, addiction, and procrastination.
I left the past behind and started anew. I found ways to make money, started working, pushed myself to regain discipline. I began reading again, studying, developing skills. I stopped waiting for others to save me and took responsibility for my life.
Part 9: Lessons from the Journey
This journey has taught me that life is not about avoiding pain—it is about using pain to grow. Every experience, no matter how difficult, has shaped me into the person I am today. If I could speak to my past self, I would tell him this:
- Success requires sacrifice. Letting go of old habits and people is necessary to move forward.
- Fear is the real enemy. It keeps you stuck. The moment you stop fearing failure, you become unstoppable.
- Hard work beats talent. You are never the smartest person in the room. Keep learning, keep improving.
- Love should be free. If you have to force it, it’s not meant for you.
- No one owes you anything. Take charge of your own life.
- There is always a way. If you keep searching, keep pushing, help will come from unexpected places.
Epilogue: Moving Forward
I am still on this journey. I still struggle with fears, doubts, and the ghosts of my past. But now, I face them differently. I no longer let them define me.
Life is a fight, and I have chosen to keep fighting.
And maybe, just maybe, my story is just beginning.
Identity? 