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Sunday, 13 May 2018


The Mobola Gospel 


I met with the African Students In Detroit community, it is exactly what I needed, it is a mixture of Africans from every pole, I met a Nigerian too, an Igbo guy, his name is Chima, he was in his final year at the time, he was studying Medicine, fair, athletic and hairy nigger, he was a proud member of the beard gang, his well shaped and nourished beards with his usual lowcut gave him a look to kill for. He was every lady's delight, not just for looks but also his wonderful academic resume. For a minute, I thought we were going to be something, he gave me so much attention and poured into me a lot of orientation, we spent a lot of time together, those times were opened my since-blind eyes. "Pursue fiercely academic success and watch things turn around for you," he said very candidly on different occasions.

I blended with the system over time, the ASID woke me up in very many ways by painting clearly certain realities, the sleeping mechanism of war within rose in strength, I built a level of confidence that surprised everyone, I began to forget I was still a teenager, I took the bull by the horn especially when Chima made me understand that I was going to be the only Nigerian left, I needed to fill the enormous void he left, Chima was a straight A student, arcane in the knowledge of medicine and just about every other thing. I figured he would not date me even for the fun of it when he showed me the pic of his wife and three years old son back in Nigeria. I set a goal for myself to make Mobolaji one of the most pronounced names in the faculty; and yes! For a good course.

I fought tooth and nail to get good grades, I left the lecturers no choice than to respect, Accounting is a male-dominated and competitive field, my exponential success raised eyebrows because I was breaking all odds, raising the bars and showing prowess. I had to be more than good, I had to be exceptional, the community I belonged is filled with scholars breaking existing records, it became a fight for due recognition. Being a foreign teenager of the minority category as the order of the American ideology abound; making straight A(s) broke grounds, my name spread like wild fire, I did not allow that they calle me Eunice (my ego went out of the roof, I made sure they called the name Mobolaji if they must talk to me), professors began to befriend me, I won various competitions and scholarships, I began to make it into School newspaper columns, it began to make all the sense, I began to see the American dream clearly, the oxygen was refined and the young girl was becoming a fearless woman. All these good happenings were also bedeviled by some darker instincts and toxic racist sentiments, I was deprived of certain things, marginalized along many borders but I did not let it dim my light, I am a believer in numbers and you know they do not lie. I enjoyed every joy my achievement elicited, it is a state of euphoria that words cannot capture.

I kept it up for and as expected bagged my first class from the university, barely nineteen, I was one of the youngest graduands and the only young first class degree holder, "A Black Foreign Student Bag First Class In Accounting," was the headline of the school most read newspaper with my name flying like rumour of war. I did not like the headline, it reeked of discrimination but it was the best way to describe the feat I made breaking all barriers, My ASID friends, my family (my father absent), teachers from my nascent days and other well-wishers witnessed my celebration, we had a great one, I made it to the book of the ASID greats. I shook several hands, got several accolades and assurance of a bright professional life as many senior lecturers promise to give me their recommendations. Sadly, the majority of these gestures are from the black community and very few success-loving white folks, the racial factor was there.

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