This Is for the Students — The Broke Ones, the Brave Ones, and the Still-Trying Ones

This Is for the Students — The Broke Ones, the Brave Ones, and the Still-Trying Ones

Hey you.

Yes, you — the South African student. Or the permanent resident. Or the passport holder. Or even the student halfway across the world who somehow ended up here on my blog. This one is for you.

Now, let’s talk. Like really talk.

I’ve got something to say — not just for South Africans, but especially for students in South Africa.

And also not just for South African citizens — but permanent residents too. You see, permanent residents can pretty much do everything citizens can do in this country. We can open bank accounts, apply to school, register for accommodation, cry over application fees — the whole package. We just can’t vote. So if you thought we were out here chilling, think again.

Let me tell you my story real quick:

I got accepted into a really good school last year.

Like… a really good one.

The kind that makes you feel like your dreams are walking closer.

But guess what?

I didn’t go. 

Wanna know why?

Money.

That one five-letter word that can either make your dreams feel possible… or feel like they were playing hide-and-seek and forgot to come back.

So yeah — I was stuck. I am stuck. But I’m not staying stuck.

I’m going for public college now.

I’m doing it. I’ve got no choice. And listen, it’s not the end of the world.

In fact — to everyone who’s also “ending up” in a public college — breathe. You’re not a failure. You’re not behind. You’re not cursed. You’re just taking a different road. And different doesn’t mean doomed.

Public colleges in South Africa? Honestly? They have SO many things that can help you.

Financial aid, bursaries, help with accommodation, textbooks — literally everything except maybe emotional support when load shedding hits during exam prep. (We suffer together.)

And this is why I say:

South Africa, with all its drama and politics and potholes and everything — is still a privilege to live in.

Yeah, I said it.

I’ve heard people — especially some foreigners — say there are no opportunities here. And I get it. I’m a legal permanent resident myself, and I’ve seen both the beauty and the struggle.

But sometimes, it’s not just about the system.

It’s about the mindset.

You can’t come from another country with the same mindset that kept you stuck there, and expect it to magically work here. If you’re from, say, Uganda or Congo (I’m Congolese myself, so I’m speaking with love), and you bring that same tired, defeated, “there’s-nothing-here” attitude — it won’t get you far.

You have to adapt. You have to learn. You have to push.

I know so many Congolese people — legal ones, too — who still feel like South Africa has nothing for them. And I get it. The struggle is real. But at the same time…

There are opportunities.

You just have to do things the right way. Legally. Ethically. Patiently.

(And yeah, that last one hurts sometimes.)

But listen — whether you’re a student in Mzansi or in Morocco or in Mars (okay maybe not Mars), the reality is this:

If you’re feeling like your dreams are slipping because of money, or papers, or fear — please don’t give up.

Don’t leave yourself like that.

Don’t stay that way.

You’re still young. You’re still breathing. You’re still here.

That means you can still do something.

Apply again. Ask again. Try again.

Even if you’ve heard "no" fifty times, keep looking for the yes that’ll change everything.

Right now, I’m praying that this public college journey of mine? It works. I pray I don’t regret it. I pray it leads to something beautiful.

And I pray the same thing for you — wherever you are.

South African, Congolese, Zimbabwean, Ghanaian, Indian, American, wherever.

We’re students. We’re fighters.

We cry. We stress. We procrastinate. (Admit it.)

But we don’t give up.

So, if you’ve got nothing else left but hope — hold on to that. Sometimes, that’s the thing that carries you through.

This post is for all of us who are still trying, still dreaming, still broke but blessed, and still believing that something good can come out of this mess.

We will make it.

Discarded but Chosen: The Wild, Wobbly Ride of My First Job Interview

Discarded but Chosen: The Wild, Wobbly Ride of My First Job Interview

Let me tell you about the day I felt like both a winner and a joke, all in one breath. It started with a dream so simple: to get a job. Not just any job, but my first job ever. No experience, just vibes and hope. And a CV that said "Hi, I'm trying." 

Disgraced me !

So, I applied. I applied to jobs everywhere. I mean everywhere — all around the world, even though I was physically in South Africa. I was desperate, okay? Sometimes you don’t aim local; you aim global and just pray someone clicks your email. But as fate would have it, my email? Yeah… discarded.

I said DISCARDED. Like trash. Like spam mail. Like I was some kind of email virus. And what’s worse? The owner himself told me that. Told me it was his admin worker who did it, just threw my hopes away with one click. That word hit me hard. My chest? Finished. My pride? Collapsed.

But THEN… something happened. Something divine, maybe. Because the owner — the man himself — stumbled upon my discarded email. And he looked at it. Actually looked. I don’t know what changed his mind, but boom, I was called for an interview. A discarded girl, revived!

The day of the interview? Chaos. I had no idea what to wear, how to act, how to breathe. I just wanted to look presentable — no snot in the nose, no crumbs on the shirt, decent enough to not be mistaken for someone who got lost. And funny enough, I did get lost. Classic me. But I met a kind stranger who helped me find the place. Shoutout to that anonymous angel!

I got there 3 HOURS early. That’s not punctual — that’s panic on steroids. When I finally knocked on the door (like someone selling Herbalife), a white man opened it, and my anxiety did a full tap dance in my chest. He was calm, kind, not what I expected.

The interview started and immediately I felt exposed. He asked, "What do you know about me?" and my brain said, “We’re not doing this.” I knew NOTHING. I was blank. I couldn’t even make something up. I just smiled awkwardly, already knowing this was the beginning of the end.

Then he asked about my life. And what did I say? "My life is not that interesting." Imagine. An opportunity to sell myself, and I said my life was mid. I wasn’t lying — I had no experience. But sometimes, you’ve got to romanticize your life just a bit, and I failed at that.

The man tried to make it better by saying, "Life is a gift." That helped… until he asked me what I think I should earn. And this is where I fumbled the bag hard. I said, with my full chest, "R5,000 or more."

Pause. Let me explain. I didn’t mean to be boujee. I wasn’t being greedy. I was just manifesting. But with zero experience? ZERO?! The man laughed — not in a mocking way, but in that way that says, "Sweetheart, no." He said, "With no experience, you cannot expect that." And I said, "Okay, sir." Inside? I was folding like cheap laundry.

The actual pay was R28 per hour. Let that marinate. From five thousand to twenty-eight rand per hour. I was hurt, but still trying to be grateful because the truth is: I needed that job.

Then came the bombshell: over 1,000 people had applied for the position. He was shocked. I was shocked. I was among the chosen few… from a thousand! And I had NO experience. NONE. ZILCH. That was a small win — a little hope nugget.

After the interview, we spoke nicely. He thanked me. I thanked him. And I went home — heavy, but not hopeless.

Now here’s the part where I get wise:

To all the unemployed students, gap year hopefuls, and Grade 8 to 12 dreamers out there — listen. Your parents might say, "Don’t work yet, focus on school," but experience is gold. Without it, doors won’t open easily unless you have connections. Learnerships, apprenticeships, internships — grab them. Even if it's one day of volunteering. Do it.

And PLEASE — don’t be like me. Before your interview, RESEARCH the owner. Know the business. Memorize key facts. If I had just done that, maybe I would’ve walked out with a job offer. Instead, I walked out with a moral lesson and 50kg of humble pie.

So what’s the moral of this messy, beautiful journey? Sometimes being discarded doesn’t mean you’re worthless. Sometimes being overlooked doesn’t mean you're unseen. And sometimes, even the most unqualified person can be noticed. If not for their experience, then maybe for their courage to show up.

And baby, I showed up.

Moral of the Story: Prepare. Show up. Be honest. Be humble. And if life discards you — let it. Just wait for the part where it finds you again.

Male Bestie? Or Emotional Boyfriend Without the Title? Let’s Talk Before You Cry at Her Wedding Like Enioluwa

Male Bestie? Or Emotional Boyfriend Without the Title? Let’s Talk Before You Cry at Her Wedding Like Enioluwa

Let’s not lie to ourselves.

Let’s not deceive our future children.

Let’s talk about the ticking emotional time bomb that is the “male bestie” and “female bestie” friendship.

Because one thing about African Twitter, Facebook, and the streets of Instagram— if someone is crying at a wedding and it’s not the bride or the groom’s mom, everyone’s gonna talk. And that’s exactly what happened when Priscilla Ojo, 24, finally got married—and her best friend, Enioluwa Adeoluwa, 25, was spotted visibly emotional, wiping tears as she walked down the aisle.

You see that? That right there? That’s what we need to unpack.

But Wait—Who Are These People?

Let’s give the unaware ones some context before they embarrass themselves at the next brunch table convo.

Priscilla Ajoke Ojo:

Daughter of Nollywood legend Iyabo Ojo, Priscilla is more than just “some celeb’s kid.” She’s an influencer, entrepreneur, and digital fashion girlie with a massive online following. She’s been known for her slay, her silence, and her sweet-girl energy that keeps people guessing.

Enioluwa Adeoluwa:

Known as “the Lipgloss Boy,” Enioluwa is a media personality, digital content creator, skincare king, and style icon. He’s unapologetically expressive, artsy, and has used his platform to push confidence and boldness among Gen Z and beyond. He’s also openly gay.

So, on paper, no drama. No confusion. No risk, right?

WRONG.

So Why Did Enioluwa Cry?

Good question.

A better question: Why do so many male besties cry when their female besties get married?

Now, don’t get me wrong. We love emotions. Crying is healthy. But if you’re sobbing like your entire heart just got gentrified, people are going to wonder. And the internet did wonder. Some said it was “beautiful friendship,” others said, “That man was in love, whether he admits it or not.”

And here’s where it gets juicy.

Can Male and Female Besties Really Stay Just Friends Forever?

Let me say this loud and clear:

If a guy is your bestie and y’all are traveling together, wearing matching pajamas, buying each other luxury birthday gifts, posting heart emojis, calling each other ‘soulmate’—SOMETHING IS LOADING.

Sometimes it’s love.

Sometimes it’s a slow heartbreak.

Sometimes it’s just plain confusion.

And the emotional consequences? Oh, they’re real:

Unspoken feelings

Jealousy when one starts dating

That awkward tension that hits during “I do”

Friendship breakups that hurt worse than romantic ones

You’re out here thinking you’re just besties. Meanwhile, one of you is crying in the club—silently praying the wedding gets postponed. 

YIKES 😬 

Even If He’s Gay?

Yup. Let’s talk about it.

Emotional bonds does not ask for orientation first. You can be gay, straight, or a crazy complicated combination of both and still catch feelings—or feel some deep attachment that doesn’t make sense on paper. And sometimes it’s not about romantic love. Sometimes it’s grief. Grief that your “person” is no longer yours. The soft life, the vacays, the sleepovers, the “I got you no matter what” vibes? Over. Just like that.

So, What’s the Lesson Here?

Be honest.

With yourself. With your “bestie.” With the people watching and whispering.

Because this is how situationships are born. This is how you get heartbroken without dating. This is how you end up crying at her wedding in a matching suit you picked out yourself.

And me? I don’t want that.

I want to meet my real man like that. Let’s be best friends, yes—but best friends with direction. With purpose. With clarity. I’m not here to rehearse for someone else’s husband. 

YOU READ THAT RIGHT!

Final Words?

If your “bestie” texts you more than your man, wipes your tears, buys you gifts, knows your love language…

…that’s not just friendship. That’s a relationship teaser. And somebody’s heart is going to pay the price.

So ask yourself—are you best friends? Or are you just scared to admit what’s really going on?

Disclaimer:

All pictures are used for documented purposes only!