University wasn’t just a transition. For me, it was a declaration. The moment I stepped through the gates of the Malawi University of Science and Technology, I knew I wasn't just enrolling . I was enlisting.
People talk about campus life as a phase: classes, assignments, socializing, passing exams. But for me, it was the beginning of a campaign a campaign to take control of my narrative, my future, and my nation’s future.
Before university, I had already tasted the world beyond the classroom. Through internships, research projects, and mentorships with giants like Associate Professor Kondwani Jambo, I had seen what was possible. I had touched science with bare hands, felt the pulse of real-world problems, and tasted the thrill of contributing to something bigger than myself. I wasn’t coming to university to find purpose I brought it with me.
But purpose, as I soon discovered, can be a lonely road.
In the first few weeks, I realized that many students were brilliant in theory. They had knowledge, they had skill, but they had been conditioned to think small. To just “pass and get a job.” There was this silent pressure to fit into the mold follow the system, graduate quietly, hope for employment.
That broke me.
Because deep inside me, I carried a rage. A righteous anger against wasted potential. A refusal to let the system tame the fire in me. I had to act and I did.
I began teaching. Not in a formal classroom, but in WhatsApp groups, in empty labs, in late-night Zoom sessions. I taught R programming to scientists and classmates. I taught Linux scripting to people who had never typed a command line. I shared what I knew, not because I had to but because I couldn’t bear to see people drowning in fear when all they needed was a little light.
Then I became class representative. But I wasn’t your typical rep I wasn’t doing it for recognition or points. I did it because someone needed to listen. Someone needed to translate the silent frustrations of students into action. I listened when they said they didn’t understand a concept. I spoke up when we needed support from lecturers. I stepped in when students were falling behind, not academically but mentally, emotionally.
That’s when I knew I wasn’t just studying a course. I was building a culture. A culture of self-reliance. Of impact. Of legacy.
I wasn’t content with being a passive consumer of knowledge. I needed to create. So I built Solidity Designs Labs not just as a software company, but as a statement. A lab of innovation. A factory of ideas. A battleground for turning problems into platforms. From mobile and web applications to AI and Web3 technologies, I wanted to make sure that Africa wasn't just catching up we were leading.
I told my team: “We’re not here to code. We’re here to solve.”
And we did. We built systems. We dreamt up solutions. We learned things Google couldn’t even teach because we were learning from each other, from real life, from struggle.
But it didn’t stop there.
I began envisioning a future where every student that graduated alongside me would be employed if not by companies, then by their own ideas. I became obsessed with the idea that university should produce creators, not just job seekers. I imagined an 80% employment rate among my peers and not just employment, but fulfillment.
That vision became a fire in my bones.
So I doubled down. I started training programs. I mentored students across Malawi through the Science for All initiative. I didn’t care about applause. I cared about transformation. I wanted to make science accessible not just to the elite, but to every child in the villages, townships, and cities who thought science was out of their reach.
At night, I’d sit under a bulb powered by load-shedding schedules, laptop dim, heart full. While others scrolled through TikTok or waited for motivation, I was drafting lesson plans, emailing partners, watching lectures, and writing code. I wasn’t doing this to show off I was doing it to survive the weight of the mission that had chosen me.
I studied immunology in the day, taught bioinformatics in the evening, and coded software at night.
This is not to say I didn’t face doubt. I did.
There were days I felt like giving up. When funding was hard to find. When burnout was real. When people laughed at the idea of an African boy building tech that could change the world. When I’d pour everything into a project and get no recognition, no support.
But then I’d remember “For my mom regardless 🙅🏾♂️.”
And just like that, I’d get back up.
Because I wasn’t doing this for applause. I was doing it for the boy I once was — the one who didn’t believe he could make it. I was doing it for the students with fire in their hearts but dust in their pockets. I was doing it for a continent that deserves to lead in innovation, not beg for it.
So yes I am a student.
But I am not just studying to graduate.
I am studying to reconstruct systems.
To lead revolutions.
To heal nations.
To break curses.
To ignite a thousand more students with missions of their own.
So if you’re reading this and you’re in a lecture hall wondering if your dream matters let me tell you, it does. The world isn’t waiting for you to become perfect. It’s waiting for you to begin.
Because the world doesn’t need another degree.
It needs you.
On fire.
On purpose.
On a mission.
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