The greener pasture? Well !, it's not so green. Every other Nigerian, like me and my family, We have been taught to see America as a place next to heaven. So we, ‘Japa’. My parents were willing to do anything to give their children a better opportunity to succeed and be better members of society. In my family's case, once we applied for the visa and got it, we had to sell off what we owned to get here. I was so excited for this chapter of my life. I thought it was like an Icarly show. However, that was not the case when I arrived in July 2018. My parents were going to start from the ground up again. We had to move to the ‘Hood Of Dallas’. I was appalled by the crackheads, the janky roads, and the visible wired poles. Seeing the place where I was going to spend my first year in America was shocking to me. The first words I uttered were, "Why does this place look like Nigeria?" Although I was shocked, I was still excited to be going to school, to have my locker, to be in the school play, and to quit wearing uniforms to school. However, I was met with another shock because, again, the school in real-life America was not the same as in TV America. Instead, I was met with the label of being black—not only black but African. Making friends at first was difficult because now I was just seen as the smart African girl with a funny accent and not just Dasola. I went from a being very outgoing and sociable person to someone telling me to repeat myself when having a conversation because they couldn't understand my accent. Eventually, I found my community of fellow Nigerians who had the same experience and helped me navigate this new world as an immigrant in America. Over time, I learned to adapt and make friends outside my Nigerian bubble. This task of finding new friendships and connections calls for me to be open-minded. I learn to speak in my normal cadence and accent, regardless of who thinks it sounds funny. I started raising my hand in class to answer questions, and going to the cafeteria instead of asking a teacher if I could stay in class for lunch. I started to adapt to this new lifestyle; things and people didn't seem hostile anymore. Since embarking on this journey of adaptation, I have come to appreciate the values instilled in me by my parents. The values of drive, perseverance, community, respect, and academia have been very instrumental in facing the challenges thrown at me as an immigrant. Being away from home has also made me very curious about my culture and background. My Nigerian identity became my memory of home and a bonding factor with other immigrants. I would say I have learned more about being Yoruba outside of Nigeria than being in Nigeria. This is all thanks to the resources I am provided with, like a free laptop from school and a 24/7 internet connection. Furthermore, my experiences as an immigrant have inspired me to pursue a career path focused on mental health. For as long as I can remember, I have always wanted to be a doctor, but growing up in Nigeria, I did not know there is a diverse set of medical professions. My experience in America drew me closer to my passion for mental health. My journey as a Nigerian immigrant has been filled with self-discovery, taking advantage of new opportunities, and knowing my roots.

Why does the brain function the way it does? Why are some people considered geniuses? Why does my best friend's grandma, Mama Gold, not recognize me anymore? What does our brain do while we sleep? Why do we see ‘mad' people on the streets? all intriguing questions that have led me on a journey of self-discovery. I have come to realize that these questions share a common denominator—the brain. My interest in studying the brain intensified during my junior year anatomy class, which further fueled my desire to pursue a career as a neuropsychologist or neurologist. A future goal of mine is to become a neuropsychologist or neurologist and possibly establish a mental health facility in my country of origin, Nigeria. Growing up, I witnessed the scarcity of mental health services in my community. Topics like depression, suicide, and anxiety aren't taken seriously or seen as something people use to get attention. Parents tend to hide their autistic, down syndrome, and neurodivergent children due to the stigma that they would get from the community. Establishing my mental health facility would help eradicate these factors in my community and promote mental health education. In addition to my love for mental health and brain knowledge, I also have an undying love for music. My friends and people around me would describe me as someone with a very diverse taste in music. I was introduced to my first heavy metal playlist by an article produced by True Africa and written by Rafeeat Aliyu. I stumbled upon it during the COVID-19 pandemic. I was assigned a free-write project in my English class, and I decided to write about different music genres in Africa. I was surprised when I saw that there was a huge community of heavy metal listeners in Nigeria and Africa. The pandemic was a very depressive era for me because I was never used to being inside all day, every day. The writer in the article talked about heavy metal being spirit-lifting music. Without a doubt, I started listening to heavy metal music. I did my research, and I fell in love with multiple African heavy metal bands. My favorite is ‘1 Last Autograph’. I love the band because they metalize popular Afrobeat songs, and it sounds so mesmerizing. Metal music cured my pandemic boredom and also connected me with another part of my community that I was not aware existed. The feeling of jumping in a circle in my room is very heartwarming and nostalgic. Heavy metal takes you back to being a kid. Furthermore, going to Prairie View A&M University in the fall to study psychology has taken me a step closer to attaining my goals. Being able to attend this institution comes with the responsibility of paying for the school's tuition or the cost of attendance. My financial aid award, fortunately, covers almost 40 percent of the cost. I and my family, have to bear the remainder of this cost. My parents are willing to pay around four percent of the cost, while the rest will be paid with loans and outside scholarships that I have applied to. Winning this scholarship would alleviate the burden of student loans, particularly as a first-generation immigrant. Government-subsidized or federal loans are not viable options for me, as I must resort to private institutions with higher interest rates and no federal subsidy or forgiveness. Consequently, upon graduation, I would be burdened with a significant loan and accumulated interest. Receiving scholarships like this one would not only reduce my student debt but also enable me to wholeheartedly focus on my educational pursuits. Moreover, it would afford me the ability to meet adulthood necessities without compromising between student loan payments and essential expenses. My unwavering passion for metal music and mental health drives me to broaden my understanding of the world and establish meaningful connections within my community. These interests fuel my desire to make a positive impact and provide assistance to those in need.

"When my brother and I visited our auntie, our favorite pastime was listening to the components of an OMO YORUBA or Yoruba child. As she shared folktales and rhymes, I was particularly captivated by Yoruba rhymes about stealing. In my innocence, I believed that everyone agreed on a fundamental moral principle: stealing is wrong. This virtue was taught at school, at friends' houses, and at church, reinforcing my belief. However, my perspective was challenged on a sweltering afternoon when my mom and I ventured to an outdoor market to gather items for my brother's birthday party. As we approached, my mom tightly grasped my wrist, frustrating me, but I understood it was for my safety. Navigating through the bustling crowd, we reached our first destination—the dilapidated kiosk resembling a Nigerian version of a candy aisle at Costco. For a moment, my adolescent mind wandered into a Candyland of possibilities. "Mommy, can I have that sweet?" I begged eagerly. She replied, "A wa sibi bayi fun e," meaning, "We didn't come here for you." Undeterred, I continued my attempts to persuade her to get me the candy I desired. However, our conversation was persistently interrupted by a distant uproar, distinct from the sounds of customers haggling with vendors, market gossip, or children playing. The noise seethed with anger and grew louder as it approached. Soon, the crowd's chants became clearer: "Ole! Emu! Thieve!" (Catch him! Catch him!). My desire for candy abruptly vanished, and I glanced around to witness a transformation in everyone's facial expressions. Disgust and annoyance were etched on their faces, except for my mother's, which displayed pity and sorrow. Eager to understand, I crouched down and peered through the crowd, catching a glimpse of a man being mercilessly beaten—an act of raw jungle justice. Weeks later, while watching the news with my family, a report emerged about a politician caught in a corruption scandal. Observing my mother's eyes, I sensed the same flashbacks flooding her thoughts. In the ensuing days, people discussed the politician, but their expressions lacked the same intensity as those witnessed at the market, despite both individuals committing the same crime. Confusion engulfed me as I questioned why people didn't share the same disdain for the politician as they did for the thief in the market. Some even seemed to admire the politician for their cunning. It was at that moment that I realized the fallacy of my earlier assumption—sometimes, it is not solely the act of the crime that matters in society but rather the social status of the perpetrator. Superficially, many may espouse similar values, but the punishment for the same offense hinges on the perpetrator's social rank. In these two cases, one man held considerable influence in society, while the other was a social outcast. I yearned for more empathy towards the man who stole from the market. Though he committed a crime, he should have been treated with humanity, and handed over to the police, or perhaps a compassionate individual could have stepped forward to help him repay his debt. Naturally, I believe in holding individuals accountable for their actions, regardless of their status. However, I recognize that mitigating circumstances, such as the need to survive, can influence why some people resort to theft. One of my future aspirations is to alleviate these factors by assisting individuals in finding constructive and productive ways to navigate seemingly hopeless circumstances. I plan to accomplish this by working closely with people individually, guiding them toward steps of independence."