For five years, I stayed home, waiting for the chance to begin my journey into the university. A time filled with doubt, learning, and bold decisions. Alone, but not completely. God’s grace walked every step with me.
Science was never truly mine. I didn’t choose it; my father did. A respected medical doctor, he saw anything outside it as a one-way ticket to mediocrity. “Liability courses,” he'd call them. But my heart leaned towards accounting, numbers and financial precision. Still, I ended up memorizing atoms, laws of motion, and chemical formulas that added little to my life.
The only joy I remember was during chemistry practicals. Titration particularly. Something about swirling solutions and watching colors change felt like art. But beyond those fleeting moments, science felt like a cage.
By the time I gained admission, I was disillusioned. Mass Communication wasn’t passion—it was convenience. I thought of going into photojournalism or becoming an OAP. But when lectures began, my enthusiasm evaporated faster than acetone in a lab.
During the long holiday, I stumbled on Flawsome, a Nigerian Showmax series. Dolapo, or “Miss D” as her assistant Sarah called her, stood out. Played by the stunning Enado Odigie, she was everything I didn’t know I wanted to be—ambitious, brilliant, and a powerhouse PR expert, walking through glass offices like she built them (because she freaking did). Her tact and commanding presence ignited a spark. For the first time, I saw a version of myself I wanted to grow into.
The spark Dolapo ignited became a flame in my second year when I took Principles of Public Relations. Mr. Mwansat, my PR lecturer, taught with so much fire that made even the dullest student sit up. It was infectious, so much that I stopped doubting myself. For the first time, I wasn’t just enduring school, I was inspired by it.
But the defining moment that solidified it all was in my third year. I was assigned to the PR Office for a feature story. I laughed when I saw it. “This must be fate,” I whispered. And it was.
There I was, seated before Mr. Abdullahi Abdullahi, the Senior Deputy Registrar, Information and Publications, University of Jos. The room was calm and cool, like it had swallowed years of stories and polished them into press releases. A faint scent of paper and cologne lingered. The ticking wall clock was louder than usual.
Sweat soaked my crisp blue shirt beneath my black suit. My red tie suddenly felt tighter around my neck, my recorder trembled in my hand but Mr. Abdullahi welcomed me with calm warmth, answering each question like I was a colleague—not just a student.
And in that moment, something clicked. With my notepad in hand, questions flowing, and nerves fading, I felt it—belonging.
I started attuning myself to the unspoken rhythms of PR—punctuality, presence, preparation. I had always been late: to class, to church, to hangouts. But in PR, punctuality is credibility. I began preparing differently, showing up early, dressing the part—not just to impress, but because I finally belonged in the part I was playing.
When I submitted the feature, Mr. Jimme, my lecturer, read it and said it was “the best feature ever.” It wasn’t just praise. It was confirmation.
For years, I thought belonging was about being accepted. But it’s not. It’s standing out for the right reasons. It's about finding a rhythm that matches your own. It’s stepping into a space and watching everything inside you finally exhale.
PR didn’t just become a career path. It became home.
Now, when I think of “belonging,” I think of PR classes that light me up. Of Mr. Mwansat’s voice breaking down strategies like spells. Of Mr. Abdullahi’s kind smile. Of Sarah saying, “Yes, Miss D,” with pride.
I don’t just plan to graduate—I plan to lead, excel, and shape narratives and reputations with purpose. I plan, knowing that image is power.
I think of me—finally, becoming Miss D.
