Eric W. Larson Memorial STEM Scholarship

In my child-like mind, poverty didn't have a name; it wasn't something substantial or oppressive. Consequently, the three year old I was in Nigeria as a Nigerian-American wasn't aware of the word poverty. Lost in the exhilarating thrill of finding each other, my friends and I, behind the weary curtain that sagged unevenly where its thin material had frayed and pulled from years of being drawn open and shut in the relentless game of hide and seek, we were blissfully unaware of the differences that would later shape our realities. The subconscious comparisons of who had what were non-existent- just the boundless energy of children who didn’t yet know what they lacked. Growing up, the lines between the innocence of a child and reality blurred. The carefree days slowly met their ends and the small things, I began to notice. School was my first contact against the veiled truth I was yet to grasp, where a quiet whisper of understanding lingered just beyond my reach as I met the realization that while I waited to be given a laptop from the school cabinet, not everyone had to. Lunchtimes became another stark reminder of what we didn’t have as for most it was just another meal. However, lunch came with a certainty as it was provided for by the school but dinner wasn't met with the same certainty. I remember the ‘winters’ we often referred to as the rainy season, for there was no snow but the wind carried a biting chill that seeped into my body with every breath and when the rains came, they merely fell- they poured relentlessly. I knew because the rains were met with a bucket right under the roof, so much so that my siblings and I took turns to empty them when it rained through the night because no one wanted to wear damp shoes to school the next day. It wasn’t just the bitter chill that made it unbearable, but the knowledge that the heating came at an exorbitant price and my mother worked two jobs already. Amidst the struggle, school became my safe haven, a place where the hardships of home faded into the background, and my thoughts were captivated by the words on a page rather than wandering with despair about . Curiosity became my anchor, fuelling me through days that were otherwise filled with quiet hunger and cold nights. School was the place where I could dream beyond my circumstances, where my imagination emanated from books that told tales of facts and fiction. I found solace in learning because it offered a world far removed from the realities I faced, where each word carried a whisper from distant minds which offered a glimpse of ideas and memories that inspired new thoughts and perspectives. Soon enough, the conversations I held were of topics beyond the confines of daily life but bloomed into topics rich with ideas and prospects of the future. I wasn’t rich in clothes or in material comforts, but I was rich in knowledge—and that was my dignity, something no one could take away from me. What I lacked in resources and materials, I made up for in determination like a flame that refuses to be extinguished-rising early and pushing through the doubt and obstacles. I had to work harder, longer, and with more grit because I knew that was my only way out. The curiosity and steady unyielding persistence that kept me going became my source of certainty. Research, in particular, fascinated me, opening doors to possibilities I had never considered. It became a powerful tool for my mind to explore, a way to stretch the horizons of my insight. One area that particularly captured my attention was plant metabolite profiling. The idea that plants could be used to improve patient treatment in medicine and pharmacology piqued my curiosity. I became deeply intrigued by how plant metabolites—natural compounds produced by plants that have bioactive properties including antimicrobial, anti-inflammatory, anticancer and antioxidant properties—could offer a new approach to medicine. They were less toxic than synthetic drugs, and the potential to reduce bacterial resistance was revolutionary. The idea that introducing new types of antimicrobial drugs containing plant metabolites could decrease the selection pressure on bacteria to develop resistance opened up a whole new perspective for me. In future, I hope to be part of the incredible change that integrates non-toxic metabolites into patient-care. This passion led me to write a paper on the subject, which ultimately won me the Crest Gold Award from the British Science Association. It was a moment that felt surreal—a Nigerian-American child from a poor background receiving recognition on a platform I had once thought was seemingly unattainable. But in that moment, I realized that the limitations of my upbringing were never truly barriers. They were stepping stones that taught me resilience, perseverance, and the potential of a curious mind. Poverty shaped my early years, but it didn’t define who I am. It taught me the value of hard work and even more so the importance of knowledge. I wasn’t raised with wealth or the traditions inspired by it, but I found wealth in the things that mattered to me—curiosity, learning, and a relentless drive to succeed. As I continue to grow, I carry these lessons with me, knowing that the struggles of my past have given me a foundation greatly superior to any that material possessions could.