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What does failure mean to people, and how do they handle it? 91���� seeks to understand this by telling the stories of everyday Nigerians and their experiences with failure in different aspects of life. This is a limited weekly series.

I was looking to speak with people with a history of academic brilliance who have, at one point or another, faced failure in school when I found .

In this story, he talks about failing for the first time in his life in medical school, spending 12 years in university and why he’s no longer scared of his future.

As told to Boluwatife

Image credit: Ini Amah/X

I was a smart kid growing up.

The first time I got the first position in school was in Primary 1. I was a well-known menace in my class of 20-30 students, and my name was always on the noisemakers’ list. But even with all those distractions, I still got the first position. That was when my intelligence first dawned on me, and I became cocky.

After that, I regularly got the first position, and I took it for granted that I’d always come first. I expected it, and my parents expected it, too. The only subject I wasn’t great in was Mathematics, much to my mum’s dismay. She’s a teacher and was particular about my performance in maths.

I came first all through primary school, but my maths skills didn’t improve until Primary 5. I figured it’d make my mum happy, so I paid more attention to the subject. I studied more, and fortunately, a cousin came to stay with us around that time. He was good at maths, and he tutored me and helped with my assignments. He played a vital role in my improvement.

My first position streak ended in primary school. I attended a federal government college, and there was more competition. My first result placed me second out of about 70 students, and I thought I’d failed. I remember sulking about it when another classmate found me. He asked why I was frowning, and I said, “Because I don’t like my result.” The guy just started laughing. His own position was 20-something. What did I expect him to do if I came second and still felt bad about it?

Still, I resolved to land the first position, so I studied more than ever. I read into the night with candles — literally burned the midnight candle — but it never happened all through secondary school. I always came between the second and fourth. There was always someone better.

However, mathematics gave me a chance to shine. I got even better at it in secondary school. In JSS 3, I became one of the two students selected from my school to compete in Cowbell’s Secondary School Mathematics Competition (Junior category) in 2007/2008.

The competition is televised now, but it was a written examination then. It had two levels—the state and national levels. At the state level, schools sent at least two students to participate. The student who scored highest at the state level got to represent their state at the national level.

It took almost a month of preparation and tests before my school selected me. The school administration first selected students with good maths results, gave us extra maths teachers and put us through extra lessons. Students were dropped after each test until they got the top two — me and one other student.

I eventually came second overall at the state level. Unfortunately, I couldn’t represent my state nationally, but I got a ₦15k cash prize and a certificate.

That same year, I participated in a maths olympiad organised by the National Mathematical Centre. The olympiad was even more intense than Cowbell’s competition because the questions were more advanced than my JSS 3 level, and a negative marking system removed marks for failing an answer. I also came second overall at the state level and got a certificate.

In 2011, I wrote WAEC and had one of the best results in my school. I was in the top 10 out of 300+ students, with seven Bs and two Cs. All was set for me to pursue my dreams of studying medicine and becoming a doctor.

My medicine dream started at age 7 when I read “Gifted Hands” by Ben Carson. I wouldn’t say I had a passion for it. I just bought the Ben Carson dream and looked forward to also becoming a doctor.

I wrote JAMB first in 2011. I passed but didn’t get medicine, so I tried again in the second year. I still didn’t get medicine, but I decided to apply for supplementary admission into microbiology so I wouldn’t just stay home.

I still didn’t give up on my dream, though. I wrote JAMB again in 2013 while in my first year of microbiology and finally got medicine. It was at the same university, so I just switched departments. 

I started medical school without any expectations. I just knew I had to be serious because everyone kept saying that anyone who failed a course in the first year would be instantly withdrawn. I studied hard as usual and passed all my courses — 17 altogether.

In year two, we started learning medical courses: anatomy, physiology, biochemistry, and community health. Just four courses, but each had about three to four sub-courses. 

I enjoyed anatomy, particularly gross anatomy, but I struggled with physiology and biochemistry. The latter was worse; I just couldn’t grasp the subject. 

The thing with studying medicine is that discipline will always beat intelligence. 

There was A LOT to study, and you needed discipline to sit down and read. I understood this, and I tried. I’d study for hours, go to night class until 5:30 a.m., rest for an hour and then start preparing for an 8 a.m. class. My whole life was a reading cycle. If I wasn’t in class or reading, I was at fellowship.

I first noticed I was struggling in the second semester of year two. I was studying a lot but still wasn’t meeting the workload. I consulted friends and colleagues, and they helped me study. I managed to pass that year.

The problem started in year three. This was in 2016. Medical students take their first professional MBBS exam in the third year, and all our results from the first year up to then are averaged as part of our continuous assessment (CA) and scored over 40. The professional exam was to be scored over 60 and combined with the CA to make 100 marks. The pass mark was 50.

There was no particular pass mark for the CA, but it’s advised that you score at least 20 on your CA so you can work towards scoring 30 or more in the exam and increase your chances of passing. My CA for anatomy was 20, but it was between 14 and 15 for physiology and biochemistry. I tried my best in the exam, but I ended up failing those two subjects.

The professional MBBS exams allow students to attempt to pass thrice before being asked to leave medical school. Four months later, I made my second attempt and passed physiology. But I still failed biochemistry. That meant I had to repeat year three and resit all the exams, even those I already passed. 

My third and final attempt was in 2018. I failed all three courses. I still remember the day I saw the result—14 June 2018. My school posts the results on a noticeboard with a one-word remark beside each name: pass, resit, repeat, or withdraw. 

I’d checked the noticeboard the night before, but it wasn’t there. Another classmate checked early the following day and saw it was up. So, they snapped the results and sent them to our class WhatsApp group. The remark beside my name was “withdraw”. 

The withdrawal letter

It was tragic. The first person I told was my younger sister because we lived together in school. We both cried so much. Then, I informed my fellowship pastor. We were supposed to go somewhere together that day, so I texted him to share the news.

I didn’t know how to tell my parents. I decided to tell my uncle to help me inform my parents, but he worked offshore and wasn’t in town. I travelled home and stayed with my parents for almost a month but couldn’t say a word. It was eating me up, but I didn’t let them suspect a thing. I didn’t know how to tell them the last five years had gone down the drain.

I kept hoping that my uncle would come to our town so he’d help me. When I couldn’t bottle it any longer, I told my dad and begged him to help inform my mum. She was understandably upset. It was terrible. She lashed out, and her health even declined. All those years of school fees, pocket money and anticipation had just gone like that. She’d even started making plans for my induction. It was obvious I’d shattered her hopes.

My dad took it better. He didn’t say anything in anger and did his best to reassure me of his confidence in my academic skills. But I still felt terrible. Everything I’d ever imagined I wanted to be in life was connected to medicine, and I didn’t see any reason to live after losing that opportunity. 

It was a period of severe depression for me. I lost hope and even attempted suicide twice. I’m just grateful that God raised people to help and pray for me. Some didn’t even know why they were praying for me, but those prayers kept me alive.

When I returned to school, I started looking for other departments to join. The school administration had given me a withdrawal letter, which I could take to other departments. If they accepted me, the school would just process my transfer.

I first went to the faculty of pharmacy — I was still hoping for a big-name course — but the dean outrightly refused. I had to return to the microbiology I’d previously run away from. They accepted, and I started 200 level in the 2018/2019 session.

Even though I didn’t make it, I don’t regret the five years I spent studying medicine and surgery. The discipline and training I got in medical school helped me in microbiology. Studying was easier, and I did much better. I even had time to become active in my campus fellowship. I took my final exams in 2022 and officially graduated in 2024 with a 4.34 CGPA — the gap was due to internal delays in processing students for clearance. 

Ini’s result notification

It took me 12 years to earn a degree, but I like to see my experience as a preparation for life. I didn’t make it as a doctor, but I learned lessons I’ll never forget. It was the first time I’d ever failed anything in my life. I literally went from winning awards in school to struggling to pass. Thankfully, I didn’t drown.

My fellowship pastor told me something after I shared the news of failing medical school, and I still remember it. He said, “Okay. This thing has happened now. What will it make of you? Will it make a chicken or a beast out of you?”. I responded and said it’d make a beast out of me.

That question he asked stuck with me over the years. Through the months of depression and through other challenges, I kept telling myself I’d come out as a beast. I’m glad I’ve moved on. 

I’m not afraid of my future. I can look at tomorrow with hope and faith. The Bible says, “The path of the just is like a shining light which shines brighter and brighter unto a perfect day,” and I stand by that. I’ll never have any doubts about my tomorrow again.

NEXT READ: It Haunts Me That I Never Got to Make My Parents Proud