I was going into the prison yard when my dad called me on the phone. Instinctively I picked up the call and responded “Daddy, I’m in prison. I’ll call you back”.  I didn’t think it through before I said that. I had dropped my phone at the prison entrance as we weren’t allowed to go in with phones. Coming out, I had more than 20 missed calls on my phone from my dad. I called back and asked “Daddy, what happened?” and he responds “What are you doing in prison?”.

When my daughter was born, we didn’t have a normal naming ceremony. You know the kind with happy faces and congratulatory stares. There were sad faces and gloom in the air. We all knew there was a problem right after delivery. I looked over after her delivery and saw that the doctors were hitting and stimulating her, trying to get my daughter back to life. Moyin didn’t cry when she was born.

My parents kept trying to have a boy but ended up with seven girls. I am the last of the pack of seven (now six). I am fond of saying I come from a “girl’s hostel”. Back then, people would meet my parents and feel they don't have children because they have only girls. Growing up this way comes with its battles.

You could see the concern on their faces.. My family was used to seeing artists by the roadside, trying to sell portraits of celebrities and politicians to passers-by. I had taken an interest in art, and they were afraid for my future. “Artists find it hard to “make it” in Nigeria, you may want to consider being an architect. At least you will still get to draw if you want to.” They just wanted me to turn out fine.

My daughter Beulah was born with a congenital limb deformity. In the first few years after we had her, I was devastated. She was to be amputated at 27 months old, and I cried every day non-stop for those 27 months. I had too many questions; why is this happening to me? What is going on here? Who did I offend?

I can remember, my mom would trek long distances to fetch clean water for me and my eight siblings. This wasn't our reality alone, it was for a lot of people in the community. My community had a lot of impoverished families. We had no access to basic health services and quality education. Growing up here meant your life wouldn't amount to much. Most families accepted this fate, but not my dad.

I loved watching my dad dress in his robe, and a wig on his head. As a child, he was my first introduction to what a lawyer looked like and what the justice system was. I grew up to dislike any form of partiality and unfairness. It never sat down well with me. In class, it was almost certain I would speak up if I didn’t like something or like how you treat another person. I would always stand up for them. I had an intimidating stature and I always used it to my advantage. I had a little secret; I couldn’t fight anybody if it came to it, but they didn’t need to know that.

Alhaja gave me the name Abimbola which means born with riches.

“I come from a bloodline of very strong, selfless women”.

I have worn many hats in the course of my life, but this one describes me the most. My great-grandmother lived for it, my grandmother (Alhaja) lived for it, and my mom also.

My mom, however, asked me one day “David, do you know you are a missionary?” I said, “No, I am not a missionary, I am a changemaker”. Then she retorts, “What do you do as a change-maker?” Being eager to disprove her assertion, I respond “As a change-maker, I reach out to people in rural communities and give them access to digital literacy”. I sensed she was satisfied with my answer and I had gotten my point across. She then asks a final question, “What does your dad do as a missionary?” I respond “he reaches out to people in rural communities and preaches the gospel of Christ”. I got her point. I am indeed a missionary.

My journey into the world of mental health is a deeply personal one, filled with experiences that have shaped my passion for helping others navigate the complexities of their own mind.

Many years ago, my father came to Kaduna as an Almajiri child. The odds were stacked against him, there was no way he wouldn't live all his life on the streets. Unlike many of his peers, he was able to ultimately craft a life for himself and start a family. This story is not about my father, but of the ancient system of the Almajiri.

How my love for games and computers has made my life an adventure.

Anytime I thought about my dreams, I would say to myself “Man, I don’t have that kind of money, who’s going to help me”. I was always thinking that help had to come from the outside, I didn’t realize that every single thing I needed was trapped on the inside of me and all I needed to do was to begin to take steps. One step after another, the dots would soon begin to connect for me.

If I build a model that can predict the rate of unemployment in Nigeria, and recommend interventions to bridge the gap, for instance between now and 2030, what would it mean for policymakers?

My name is Hammed Kayode Alabi, and I have lived my life dedicated to serving the people in my environment, helping to provide them a chance at a better life and changing their circumstances through education, and community development. I believe that change happens when one empowered individual is inspired to empower other people. The people, like you and I, who will change the continent of Africa are the people that live in it, and it will happen through our own resources.

“Medicine has had its highs and its lows, but no matter the difficulties I have faced, there has never been a moment of doubt that I’m in the profession for me”

“If empowering a lot of women is what I am able to do in my lifetime, I would have lived a happy and satisfying life”.

“Mummy Mo!” is what some friends and people in my community call me. In Nigeria and (I assume) in other places in Africa too, there is a tendency for people to venerate you. I didn't want to become a “Mother Theresa” or a “Mommy G.O” or someone who had all that authority, I wanted my community to see me as equal, to check everything I said, but the name just stuck. With the people in my community, we had to declare that “Mommy Mo!” was just a moniker, nothing more.

I am pro-leave Nigeria and there are reasons why.  A friend asked me if I think leaving Nigeria is necessary, and my response to her was; “See, I don’t even know how to tell you, I don’t know how to describe it, but when I tell you that if you can, please leave”. 

My name is Rose and this is largely the story of my educational journey. My journey is one of continuous learning; understanding life through my eyes and expanding my knowledge through the eyes of others, both in and out of school. I hope you find reading about my journey as exciting as I felt telling it.