The day I arrived in Togo for university, I felt like I had stepped into another universe.
The campus was huge, buzzing with life. Students walked in groups, laughing, talking, flaunting clothes I had never seen before. Music echoed through the halls, a mix of traditional beats and modern pop.
I felt… small.
I was late by two weeks, carrying nothing but my suitcase, a few books, and the weight of past failures.
I quickly realized that this was not like Senior Secondary. There were no familiar teachers, no strict schedules, no familiar faces.
I had to survive — and quickly.
The first exams hit me like a storm.
I had D grades scattered across my transcripts, a consequence of arriving late and trying to catch up. The professors didn't care about my story. They wanted answers, solutions, results.
I spent nights buried in books, scribbling notes under dim hostel lights, fighting headaches and the occasional nostalgia for home.
But even in the struggle, there were small joys.
I remember my first trip to the beach.
It was a spontaneous plan with a few classmates. The golden sand stretched endlessly, waves crashing against the shore.
I had never seen a beach like this before. I bought a small coconut, drank it while sitting on the sand, letting the cool breeze carry away the stress of exams and D grades.
For a moment, I was free.
Friendships started forming — some quiet, some chaotic.
There was G-boy, my roommate's friend, who insisted I needed to "experience life."
"You can't just study and hide, Light," he said one night, grinning as he handed me a small club flyer.
"Clubbing isn't my life," I replied, skeptical.
"It will be," he winked.
Reluctantly, I went to my first club. The lights, the music, the energy — it was overwhelming. But I found it… exhilarating.
I danced, laughed, and for the first time in years, felt like a normal young man, not the bruised boy from B.M. Lawson.
Romance entered quietly.
In 300-level, G-boy introduced me to a girl. She was calm, poised, and different from anyone I had met.
I tried to hold her hand once — she pulled away.
I tried again — she refused again.
Instead of chasing, I let it go. She wasn't my type, or maybe she just wasn't ready for me.
Still, I watched from afar, learning, observing — because university wasn't just about grades; it was about life, love, and discovery.
And slowly, the turning point came.
I realized that my late start and scattered D grades didn't define me.
I started planning. Strategizing. Spending extra hours in the library, revisiting failed assignments, and slowly rebuilding my GPA.
From a shaky 2.69, I pushed to 3.10, then to 4.29 — proof that effort, strategy, and persistence could overcome even a disastrous beginning.
Looking back, those university days were sweet and bitter at once.
Sweet for the freedom, the first tastes of adventure, and the first glimpses of independence.
Bitter for the reminders of my struggles, the D grades, and the pressure to survive in a foreign land.
But above all, they were transformative.
By the time I left Togo, I wasn't just surviving. I was growing, learning, and discovering the fire inside me — the fire that would one day light the path to LITECHS.