WE WERE ASKED TO GET A DEGREE BUT NOBODY TOLD US THERE WOULD BE NO JOB AFTER GETTING A DEGREE

Growing up, I had one answer for everyone who asked me, “What do you want to be?”
A doctor. A real medical doctor.
I pictured myself in a white coat. Saving lives. Making my parents proud. But then there was mathematics. And blood. Math stood in the way like a wall I couldn’t climb. And the sight of blood? It turned my stomach. It scared me right out of that white coat before I even wore it.
So I ran. If I couldn’t heal bodies, I would fight for people. I decided to be a lawyer. I wanted the prestigious wig. I wanted to stand in court, argue, and win. I wanted to be the voice for someone who had none. Then JAMB came. 174.
I still remember staring at that number on my phone screen. It didn’t look real. That night, dad didn’t shout. He didn’t even get angry. He just looked tired. He said, “I can’t watch you waste my money. Or waste another year under this roof.” And just like that, that dream died too. I took whatever admission I could get. I found myself in a lecture hall for Criminology and Security Studies. At first, I hated it. It wasn’t doctor. It wasn’t lawyer. It wasn’t me. But with time, something changed. I started reading. I started understanding. I grew to love it. The law, the justice, the why behind crime. Now I’m done. Degree in hand.
So here I am today.
Degree in one hand. CV in the other. And fire in my chest.
What a country.
No job.
No interviews.
Just thousands of graduates like me walking around with CVs in our hands, and nowhere to take them. It was not supposed to end like this. After school, I told myself “degree in hand, job is next.”
But months turned to a year.
I’ve applied to jobs I was overqualified for. I’ve applied to jobs I was underqualified for. “Sorry, we’ve moved on with other candidates.” Come back next month.” “Do you have 5 years experience?” For an entry level role. I’ve sold things. I’ve done small gigs. I’ve sat at night calculating transport money vs food money. Some days I don’t even check my email because I’m scared of another “we regret to inform you.”
People ask, “So what are you doing now?”
And I smile and say “I’m figuring it out.”
But inside, I’m tired.
I think about the little girl who wanted to be a doctor. I think about the teenager who wanted to be a lawyer. Both of them are gone.
But the fire didn’t die.
It just changed courses, like I did.
And even with empty pockets and a full CV, I’m still here.
Still writing. Still hoping. Still fightin