When you go from being the top of the class in secondary school to someone who can barely look at their results.

This is a story I’ve carried for years—quietly, sometimes with shame, sometimes with disbelief. But mostly, I carry it with grace now. Because I’ve lived through it, and I know I’m not the only one.

In secondary school, I was that student—the one teachers pointed to with pride, the one who had a future so bright it practically glowed. I didn’t expect that things would go any other way. Success felt like a given. It felt like the only possible outcome.

Then I got to university. And everything fell apart.

I failed. Not in the casual, “oh, I didn’t do well this semester” kind of way. No, I failed in a way that scarred me. A way that left me staring at my transcript like it didn’t belong to me. A way that made a lecturer look me in the eye and say, “You are a failure, and your presence irritates me. Leave my office.”

I’ll never forget that.

Not just the words, but the silence that followed. The way it stuck to my skin.

The way it echoed in my head during every exam, every application, every decision for years.

But the thing is life kept moving.

Somehow, so did I.

I decided to try again. I enrolled in a Postgraduate Diploma in Biotechnology. Honestly, I didn’t expect much. I had convinced myself that the ability to succeed academically had left me permanently.

Then the results came.

3.92—I passed.

Not just passed—I excelled.

I cried when I saw my grades. Because for the first time in a long time, I realised: maybe that part of me wasn’t dead.

Still, I doubted myself. “It’s just a PGD,” I said. “Maybe it doesn’t count.” Now, here’s where I got a little reckless.

Instead of choosing Health Promotion and Prevention, which aligned perfectly with my professional background in communications and health advocacy, I chose Epidemiology. Why? Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to prove I was tough. Maybe I thought I had something to prove.

It was brutal.

But I did it anyway because I didn’t think I had it in me.

And since then, life has spun in the most unexpected ways.

I’ve worked on global projects. I’ve gone into advocacy, research, science communication. I’ve been invited into rooms where my contributions matter. And more than once, I’ve heard something like this after I deliver:

“Oh wow, I didn’t know you were this intelligent.”

And I never know how to respond to that.

It’s like they expect so little of me. They meet me and assume I won’t amount to anything. And when I do, they act surprised—as if I owe them that shock.

In September 2024, I started a job in a completely different field. Zero background. Zero knowledge. But I gave myself a challenge:

“What if public health ceased to exist, can you still function? Can you thrive in a space where you’re starting from scratch?”

And so I did. I applied my skills as a communicator. I adapted, I learned fast. Three months in, I asked my manager for feedback. And their words still stay with me.

“Honestly, we didn’t expect this much from you. You’ve blown us away with the quality of your work.”

That moment was healing. Not because I needed their validation, but because it reminded me that I am more than the labels. More than the transcript. More than the box I once failed to fit into.

People see me and think I’ve always had it together, they ask me how I do everything I do at once, my mantra has always been Philippians 4:19.

They don’t know about that lecturer.

They don’t know about the tears.

They don’t know how often I feared I’d never be proud of myself again.

And you know what I think helped me heal the most?

My parents never called me a failure.

Maybe they were disappointed, maybe they vented behind closed doors. But to my face, they never treated me like I was finished. Being the first child, the pressure was real—but somehow, their quiet love saved me. And my younger sisters? They soared. Graduated with honours. 4.5 GPAs. And I couldn’t be prouder.

Because I’ve learned that our journeys don’t have to look the same.

Some of us fall in the middle of the race and get up with scraped knees. But we get up.

Some of us take detours and still arrive at beautiful places.

To the one who once believed in themselves but lost that belief, this is for you.

If you’ve ever been underestimated—by others, or by yourself—please know: you are not alone. And you are not stuck.

If you’re stuck in regret over how you fumbled your first degree, if you’re scared that one academic failure means you’ll never amount to anything, please know this isn’t the end of your story.

You’re allowed to bloom later.

You’re allowed to be brilliant and doubted at the same time.

You’re allowed to build a new path from pieces you once thought were worthless.

I’ve cried over grades. I’ve questioned my worth. I’ve stumbled through failure.

But I’ve also shown up, over and over again, in places I wasn’t “meant” to succeed and I did anyway.

You are becoming.

And becoming takes time.

your best chapters might still be ahead of you.

—

Written by someone who failed once, and thought that was it.

But it wasn’t.

Let me say what no one is saying.

Some people earned their first class. They studied hard, understood deeply, and it showed. That's real. I'm not taking anything from them.

But let's not pretend the system is perfect.

Some people crammed their way through and can't apply a single thing in the real world. Some people had money for extra lessons and tutorials that others couldn't afford. Some people had stable homes while others were surviving.

And on the other side—

Some people have learning disabilities and process information differently. Exam conditions weren't designed for them. That's not stupidity. That's a system that refused to accommodate them.

Some people understood the course deeply but couldn't reproduce it on paper the way the marking scheme demanded. That's not a lack of knowledge. That's a mismatch.

Some people were dealing with things during university that no transcript will ever show—health, family, survival. They weren't lazy. They were carrying weight.

So no, I'm not saying everyone who did well cheated or crammed. I'm saying not everyone who did poorly was incompetent. And we need to stop acting like grades tell the full story—because they don't.

Nigeria's educational system hasn't been updated in decades. Curriculums are outdated. Teaching methods are stuck in the past. The world is moving toward skills, critical thinking, and problem-solving.

So when someone with a 2.2 celebrates, let them. When someone with a third class says they're doing better than their classmates, don't be so quick to call it a lie. You don't know what they carried. You don't know how the system failed them. And you don't know what they've built since.

Grades measure one thing—how well you performed in a specific environment under specific conditions. They don't measure adaptability. Creativity. Emotional intelligence. The ability to learn on the job.

Today is International Day of Education. And I think we need to have an honest conversation about what our education system actually measures—and what it misses completely.

Happy International Day of Education!

You showed up.

When I started that TikTok series, I didn’t know who was watching. I just knew someone out there needed what I once needed, a roadmap. Not pity. Not “just believe in yourself.” Just clear, honest information on what to do next.

Then you started commenting. Sharing. Joining this waitlist. Sending DMs at midnight asking questions I remembered asking myself years ago.

You turned a 30-day challenge into a community. And you made this guide necessary.

Today, “Beyond the Grade” is live

DOWNLOAD THE FREE GUIDE HERE]

What’s inside:

• Mindset: how to stop letting shame make your decisions

• 3 pathways (academia, industry or both): Nigerian universities, what CGPA to aim for, how to choose

• International options: UK, Europe, and beyond. Universities that accept third class and what they actually want to see

• 20+ scholarships: organised with what each one looks for

• CV fixes: how to structure it so your grade isn’t the headline

• LinkedIn strategy: the profile changes that take 30 minutes but shift how people find you

• 90-day action plan: week by week, whether you want a job, a degree, or both

• A self reflection guide: clarity is important before moving forward.

• 5 AI prompts: copy, paste, and get personalised guidance without paying anyone for a consultation

This isn’t a teaser. It’s not a lead-in to a ₦50k course. It’s the whole thing.

What I need you to do:

1. Download it. Link is above.

2. Open it today. Not tomorrow. Not “when I have time.” Today.

3. Pick one section. Read it. Take one action this week.

4. Leave a review on Selar. After you download, you’ll see the option to leave a review. Take 30 seconds and do it. Tell me what stood out. Tell me what helped. Your review helps the next person trust that this is real, because we both know the internet is full of empty promises. Your words will convince someone else to take the step you just took.

5. Send it to one person. Someone who’s been hiding their result. Someone who thinks it’s over. Someone who needs to know the doors aren’t closed.

This isn’t the end.

I’m going live soon to answer your questions, go deeper on some sections, and share parts of my journey I haven’t shared publicly. If you want in, stay subscribed, I’ll announce it here first.

But today , go get the guide.

[DOWNLOAD “BEYOND THE GRADE”—FREE]

A third class is a detour, not a dead end.

Now move COUZ!!.

—

with love,

Your internet Cousin

N’zallah

P.S. If this guide helps you, reply to this email and tell me. I read everything. And your story might encourage someone else who’s still on the fence.

Three weeks ago, I started a TikTok challenge to find and support third-class graduates. I thought maybe 200 people would care enough to join the waitlist for a guide I was building.

Over 1,000+ signed up.

My website has been down for months. Server issues I haven’t been able to fix. My Mailchimp is on the free plan, which means I’m limited in what I can send you, how often, and how many of you I can actually reach. Everything that could go wrong technically has gone wrong.

But I refuse to let that stop this.

Subscribe now

Why I'm Here Now

I’m moving everything to Substack because I cannot hold this guide one more day. You’ve been waiting. Some of you have been carrying the weight of a third-class degree for years, believing doors are closed that aren’t actually closed. I’m not going to make you wait longer because my website is broken.

So here we are. New home. Same mission.

Beyond the Grade drops tomorrow.

What This Guide Is

It’s everything I wish someone had handed me when I graduated with a third class and thought my life was over.

• Pathways to consider

• Nigerian universities that offer PGD programmes (verified, not rumours)

• International universities that will consider you with work experience

• Scholarships that look beyond your classification

• How to write a CV that doesn’t let your degree speak for you

• The actual steps—not motivation, not “believe in yourself,” but what to do on Monday morning

I transformed a third-class degree into multiple advanced degrees and an international career across four continents. Not because I’m special. Because I found the information and did the work. This guide is me handing you that information so you don’t spend years searching like I did.

Why It’s Free

People keep asking me to do paid consultations. I keep saying no.

Because when I answer one person’s question publicly, hundreds of people with the same question benefit. Because the information that changes lives shouldn’t be locked behind a paywall. Because I remember what it felt like to be stuck, clueless and desperate for someone to just tell me what to do next.

This guide is free. It will stay free.

What Happens Now

Subscribe here. Tomorrow, you get the guide.

If you’re already on my Mailchimp list, I’ll do my best to reach you there too—but Substack is now the most reliable way to make sure you don’t miss anything.

If you’re new here: I graduated with a third class. I was told my story was over. It wasn’t. A third class is a detour, not a dead end. And I’m going to show you the roads nobody told you existed.

See you tomorrow.

N´zallah,

Your Internet Cousin.