If you can dream it, you CAN.

I was ten years old when I became obsessed with the idea of getting a good education, but the seed of the obsession itself was sown when I was just eight. I lived with my maternal uncle at that time, his wife (Aunty) and their three children. Uncle and his wife had requested to foster me until I was about 18 years old.

Shortly after my arrival, a woman visiting the family remarked to Aunty that I seemed to be a ‘remarkably bright’ child. She’d turned to me and asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. ’A doctor!’ I responded with the bright-eyed enthusiasm of a child.

I was standing beside my uncle’s wife at the time. And so I smiled up at her, expecting to be patted on the head and told that I was a clever little girl for knowing what I wanted to be at such a tender age. I didn’t get the praise. Instead, for reasons I could not comprehend, Aunty’s face had tightened with displeasure.

After the visitor left, Aunty called me to her side. ‘What did you say you wanted to be when you grew up again?’ ‘A doctor!’ I replied with the same enthusiasm as before.

Once again, my uncle’s wife was angered by my unabashed answer. Twisting her mouth disdainfully, she had looked at me from head to toe and then back to my head again. ‘You? A doctor? You certainly have big ideas for such an insignificant little girl.’

From then on, throughout the five years she and Uncle fostered me, Aunty’s anger grew and focused on me like a living, breathing thing. Nothing I did was right. Instead, she did all she could to make me believe that I was stupid — including calling me useless, worthless and insignificant whenever she was displeased with me, which was every day. Years later, when I was done with primary schooling and was awarded a free secondary school scholarship (because of my ‘high scores and ability to work hard and stay focused’), my uncle’s wife refused my use of the opportunity. Her reason? I wasn’t good enough to attend such a school, and certainly not ahead of her eldest child — who was much younger than me and therefore not yet ready to enter secondary school.

In the years that followed, that singular decision of Aunty was to act as burning coal under my feet as I fought to get the education for myself that I had been unjustly denied. And the reason I waged that battle that ran me ragged most of my young life? I wanted to show Aunty that I was not stupid. I wanted to show her that contrary to her belief, I was GOOD ENOUGH to aspire to be much more than she thought I was worth. I wanted to show her that I was worth it.

Why am I telling you this story?

Because stories, especially true life ones, have the power to ignite, encourage and propel us to the next level in our destiny journey. Besides, no one person has the right to make another (especially a child) feel small or insignificant like my uncle’s wife did. Everyone deserves to dream and aspire to be more— even if they were born with less. I, therefore, hope that my story will inspire and motivate someone out there to know that they are good enough: to hope, even in the face of impossible odds. I want them to know that their dreams are not less important or undeserving because they were not born with a silver spoon in their mouth. I want them to know that they certainly CAN as long as they can dream it. And no one has the right to tell them (or make them believe) otherwise.