I hate graduations…
I hate graduations, I hate birthdays, and I hate Thanksgiving. I hate all these special occasions because they only serve to remind me of how alone I am. They remind me of the ghosts of celebrations past. Forgotten birthdays and accomplishments never acknowledged.
My parents got divorced when I was 9. With my much older siblings already out of house, I was the child who fell through the cracks. Mine was a childhood in constant survival mode. We were so poor that there was barely room for anything else. No birthdays, no special celebrations, no fuss. I don’t blame my parents at all, they made the best choice they had out of very bad ones. And to be fair, I didn’t care about any of this until recently. In fact, I didn’t celebrate my birthday until my 21st. But now I care.
I’m graduating from Wharton, and on the eve of one of my biggest accomplishments all I can think of is that I wish someone would make a fuss. I want the big party, with cake, rice, balloons, and friends and family gathered to celebrate my accomplishment. I want to dance, laugh, and talk about how unlikely this journey was with people who know. For one minute in my life, I want time to stand still as if saying “Congratulations Temitope, what you’ve achieved is incredible”. Everybody’s family and friends will be there, but once again it’ll be just me, by myself. I know no one will be there to make a fuss, so I’ve decided to do it for myself!
I’ve been talking to my Therapist about this feeling, and she said “Why don’t you do it? If no one will take time to celebrate you, why don’t you celebrate yourself?”. So that’s what I decided to do. The next few paragraphs will be a little self-indulgent, I hope you forgive me, it’s a big day and I have so many reasons to celebrate.
I’m celebrating because mine was the unlikeliest of journey to Wharton. I was born and grew up in extreme poverty. People like to talk about “The Africa they don’t show you”, I grew up in the Africa that they do show you. Most of my childhood friends from my neighborhood didn’t get to finish high school talk less of going to college or getting an Ivy league master’s degree. Not because they weren’t smart or hardworking, the odds were just stacked against us.
As the child who fell through the cracks, I had to practically raise myself from age 9. Chose my own Highschool and started 2 months after my peers because they forgot to register me. No one checked my homework or checked to see that I was actually going to school, yet I finished top of my class every semester.
At 14, I decided I was done with high school, so I took my exams early, and passed with flying colors. I then decided I wanted to come to America to study Aerospace engineering. Self-taught myself the SATs, and wrote and read my own essays. I saved all the money I had to go to the Cyber cafe every day to fill out applications, and to ride the bus all the way to Lagos Island to mail documents. Rode the rollercoaster of rejections until I finally got accepted.
At 15, I took a job selling life insurance door to door so I could raise some money for my tuition and travel. I was a painfully shy kid, yet every day I would wake up, put on my grossly oversized suit, and go to the rich neighborhoods and corporate offices to sell insurance. Each knock on the door felt like torture. Each rejection felt like a part of me died. But I persevered, because it was either that or stay in Nigeria, and staying was not an option.
At 16, I boarded a plane and came to America by myself. The first time I or anyone in my family had ever travelled out of the country. I had very little money in my pocket and no idea where I was going, but I knew what I was running from. Made it through college wearing hand me downs from friends and eating lots and lots of ramen. There were many hungry nights, and days I forced myself to sleep so I wouldn’t think about how hungry I was. It was really hard, but I did it.
At 20, I graduated from Oklahoma State University with my degree and started my first job. It took many more years before the cycle of poverty was broken. I had to sell my blood plasma for the first few months in Tulsa in order to make ends meet. Only got 50 dollars for it, but it felt like a million dollars.
A few years later, I decided to apply for an MBA knowing that my mediocre GPA from a state school would make it difficult to get into a top school. I knew I had to kill the GMAT, so I studied as hard as I could, and I killed it. Got into Wharton.
Last year, I fought extreme depression and thoughts of suicide, but I never gave up on myself. It was hard, and it still is on most days, but I keep fighting and pushing through day by day.
Tomorrow, I’m graduating from Wharton, one of the top business schools in the world with my MBA. I shouldn’t be here today but somehow, I am. I worked hard yes, but I also got very lucky. I’ll never forget that.
I’m making a fuss today for all those moments in my life when I never got to. I’m celebrating for everyone like me who has felt alone in their moments of celebration, especially during this pandemic. I’m celebrating for everyone who never got to celebrate their victories big or small. I’m celebrating because it’s been a long hard road, but I made it, against incredible odds. I’m celebrating because even if no one will, it doesn’t matter because I will.
Thanks for indulging me and for celebrating with me by reading this. Cheers!
