By: Torsaa Emmauel Oryiman

I had always dreamed of studying at one of the most prestigious universities in Nigeria, Ahmadu Bello University Zaria, University of Nigeria Nsukka, University of Ibadan, and others. I spent sleepless nights researching schools with the highest number of professors in my desired course, envisioning my future at one of these esteemed institutions. But fate had other plans.

On the fateful morning, I was supposed to register for JAMB, my uncle, who had never taken much interest in my education before, suddenly called out my name:

“Emmanuel! Emmanuel!”

Luckily, I was already awake, eager to head to the registration centre early to secure my spot. I rushed out, still groggy, without greeting him. He immediately instructed me to get a pen and paper. Confused but obedient, I quickly did as he asked. He then dictated a list of institutions: Usmanu Danfodiyo University Sokoto, Nasarawa State University Keffi, Federal Polytechnic Bida, Niger State, and College of Education Akwanga, Nasarawa State.

After writing everything down, he took the paper, checked what I had written, and then handed it back to me.

“Take this to whoever is registering JAMB for you,” he ordered.

I was stunned. My heart sank.

I had already planned my future. I had spent countless hours choosing universities that aligned with my ambitions. And here he was, dictating my choices as if my dreams didn’t matter. I wanted to protest, but I knew I had no say in the matter. Even though my father would be paying my school fees, he deeply respected his brother’s opinions. I felt powerless, afraid to go against their wishes.

With a heavy heart, I took the paper to the registration centre and followed my uncle’s instructions.

Days later, after sitting for the JAMB examination, people kept urging me to check my admission status on JAMB CAPS. I ignored them. Deep down, I prayed that I wouldn’t get admitted, so I could have another chance to apply to my dream university. But eventually, one persistent person checked for me and sent me a message:

“Congratulations, bro! Your admission is confirmed. Start preparing.”

My heart sank. I was furious.

JAMB had offered me admission, even before the institution officially did. Without delay, my father called.

“I’ve sent money to your uncle’s account. Go collect your acceptance letter.”

It all felt like a nightmare. I had no connection in Sokoto, no friends, no place to stay. My father, despite his eagerness for me to further my education, didn’t have enough money for hotel accommodation. My uncle, who had pushed me into this situation, had no solution for my predicament.

With no choice, I packed my bags and left Abuja. The journey to Sokoto was long and exhausting. By the time I arrived, it was already past midnight. I had nowhere to go, so I sat outside, alone in the cold, waiting for morning. The night was terrifying; I felt exposed and vulnerable. The distant howls of stray dogs, the occasional passing of strangers, and the eerie silence in between sent shivers down my spine. I had never felt so alone in my life. I questioned everything, was tjhis truly my destiny? Had I made a mistake obeying my uncle’s wishes?

By sheer luck, I found a student who took pity on me. After explaining my situation, he allowed me to stay with him for a few days until I completed my registration. I spent an entire week with him, making friends, especially with students in my faculty who were already in their second year. I knew that when I finally resumed properly, accommodation wouldn’t be as much of an issue. These friends became my support system, my family away from home, and their kindness reminded me that I was not entirely alone in this strange land.

Eventually, I returned home, prepared, and resumed for what I called “the real journey.” But my challenges were far from over.

This time, my biggest fear wasn’t accommodation, it was the discouragement I received from my senior colleagues.

“Here, passing all courses in a session is nearly impossible,” they told me. “The lecturers are merciless when marking scripts. If you don’t have a ‘godfather’ to push your grades, you might as well forget about graduating with a good class degree.”

One of them pulled me aside one day and said, “Look, my brother, in this present Nigeria, graduating with first class is a scam. Even if you get it, you might still be jobless. But if you have someone to help you, even with a third class, you’ll land a well-paying job so, have fun, this is university.” He further asked me “How can a fish live in water and never drink water, in other words to say, how can a young guy like me stays in a university without partaking of the activities on campus? Because I wasn’t interested in attending parties on campus.

I refused to listen. I knew where I was coming from. My father, a man who toiled endlessly under the scorching sun. My mother, a full-time housewife who sacrificed everything for her children. They had given up so much just to see me through school, I could not let their sacrifices go in vain. I made up my mind to work harder than ever.

Despite the discouragement, I committed myself to my studies. I read diligently, spent late nights in the library, and pushed myself beyond my limits. The nights of hunger, the exhaustion, the tears of frustration, I endured it all. There were nights I cried myself to sleep, wondering if I was strong enough to carry on. But I had no choice. I had to succeed, for myself and for my parents.

I remember the nights when I had nothing to eat, yet I forced myself to read because I knew failure was not an option. I recall falling asleep in the library, waking up with my books scattered, drool on my notes, but determination burning in my heart. I had to make something of myself. I had to prove that even without connections, I could rise.

And today, I stand proud, a satisfied graduate of Usmanu Danfodiyo University, Sokoto.

To all undergraduates, never make the mistake of believing that CGPAs and class of degrees don’t matter. They do. In today’s Nigeria, “connections” might help, but a good degree remains a powerful advantage. I know many people who secured amazing jobs and scholarships without knowing anyone influential. If you come from an average Nigerian home, where money and connections are scarce, your best bet is to graduate with a strong class degree.

Do it for yourself. Do it for your parents, who have sacrificed so much for you. Do it for the dreams you carry in your heart.

Looking back now, I am filled with gratitude. Though it wasn’t the institution I dreamed of, though the journey was tough, though I faced endless hurdles, I persevered. And in the end, it was all worth it.

To every graduate who has worked hard and achieved an outstanding result, a big congratulations. May our certificates open doors of great opportunities. May all our sleepless nights, struggles, and sacrifices be rewarded. May our parents live longer than river Nile to ripe the fruit of their labour. Amen and Amen.

###

Torsaa Emmauel Oryiman is a passionate writer who explores themes of perseverance, self-discovery, and the triumph of the human spirit. Drawing inspiration from real-life struggles and societal expectations, he crafts stories that speak to the heart. When not writing, he enjoys reading, mentoring young students, and reflecting on life’s many lessons.