Born and raised in Johannesburg, South Africa, I never really understood what it meant to be homeless. My norm was living in a two-story house with a balcony, and both a front and back yard. I didn’t see myself as privileged living in South Africa because I assumed most people lived in the same comfort that I lived in, because that's what I had been exposed to. That all changed after moving to Queens. I lived with my aunt for the first two years because my parents couldn’t enter the country due to COVID-19. When my parents finally did come, I moved out of living with my aunt into the city and started playing basketball for my new school.
Most people view Manhattan as a place only the wealthy can live in. Which is why these girls reminded me of Manhattan. Not only did their uniforms look expensive, but they were also tall, similar to skyscrapers. Regular gyms smell like sweat; this gym smelled like fresh air, which is you experience when your high up in any high rise building. Newly waxed floors, pull-out bleachers that didn't have peeling paint, plus they had people at their games cheering for them very different from my school.
It was time for tipoff. I'm sweating before the game even started, imagining every embarrassing thing I could do. My first official basketball game against the best team in the division. They won the tipoff, scored the first basket, and proceeded to go on an unstoppable scoring streak. By half time, the score was about 35-1. There's no plot twist in this story... We lost by 70. When I got home, my Nigerian parents asked me how the game was. I told them, "We lost." They then asked if I played and how much I scored. "I played the whole game and scored 0 points." I replied, then they asked, "Why?"
This became a cycle: I would have a game, test, assignment, or anything that measured my skills; I'd come home to tell my parents about it, and if I wasn't the best, they would question why I didn't do better. Even if I did all I could, if it wasn't 100%, they weren't satisfied; they'd always say, "People who score 100% don't have two heads, right? So the difference between you and them is 0." I became aware of this in other aspects of my life. People around me are consistently measuring how hard I worked based on performance.
As a student-athlete, society only believes you give your all when they see results. Freshman year my school won one game; we had practiced almost every day and even on weekends. However, the teams we played had more experience; our losses didn't reflect a lack of effort, just a gap in resources. After our final lopsided loss, you'd think I would want to quit, but in that game I scored 8 points and wasn't as tired as I normally would be. Growth.
By the end of the season I realized my diligence isn't shown by my win/loss rate, and whether I'm learning in a class isn't fixed on me being valedictorian or not. I came to the understanding that betterment should be determined by whether the me now is better than the me before. My motive changed. Talking to teachers about why I received a 90 was no longer to please my parents; it was to see what skills needed to be strengthened in order to get higher scores in the future. When asking my coach what I could do to get more playtime, it wasn't so I could tell everyone I'm a starter; it was to help me impact the team more. It was to make me confident in knowing that the athlete I am now is capable of more than the previous one was. Regardless of whether my team won or lost, I learned something. I improved.
By now I was used to the shiny waxed gym floors, packed bleachers, and cushioned benches, so during tipoff for the most important game I've ever played, I was no longer nervous. My team would have reminded you of Manhattan skyscrapers. We won the borough championship and the city championship. We lost the state championship game by one point, but it is safe to say that if I hadn't shifted my opinion on myself and measured my growth in a different way, I would have never been in the position to call myself a city champion. This story ends with a semicolon, not because it's over, but because my growth continues. Regardless of the standards society has when measuring my success, only I am capable of truly measuring my growth because only I see that the present me is better than the previous one.