The Gift - Dyslexia

I grew up surrounded by books; my home was like a miniature national library. My father’s collection was vast—everything from the African Writers Series to entire sets of encyclopedias and so much more. From an early age, I was determined to read every book on those shelves. But reality quickly humbled me. I couldn’t seem to absorb information the way everyone else did. At first, I thought maybe the problem was that these books were for adults, and as I grew older, I would somehow adjust. But that adjustment never came easily.

It took every ounce of determination to finish my first novel, Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe. The journey spanned 166 days—about one page per day. That first victory was hard-won, but it taught me the value of perseverance. Today, I’ve read several novels and encyclopedias at a pace I consider average—though I’m far from finishing everything in my father’s collection.

Elementary school was a different battlefield altogether. While I vividly remember experiences from those early years, that strength in memory didn’t translate into reading comprehension or academic performance. I relied heavily on the explanations and expressions of my teachers. If a teacher wasn’t engaging or clear, I struggled.

Math was another beast I wrestled with, particularly the multiplication tables. Nobody ever explained the why behind them—why 3 x 3 equals 9 or 4 x 4 equals 16. A simple concept, like adding the same number repetitively, could have made all the difference back then. It wasn’t until much later, under the guidance of my high school teacher, Mr. Osidipe, that I discovered math wasn’t the monster I had thought. His teaching style was so effective that I still remember those lessons as if they happened yesterday.

Outside the classroom, I flourished in social activities like drama and music. But there were still obstacles to overcome. When I joined the Boy Scouts, things took a frustrating turn. We were drilled on basic commands: “Turn left! Turn right!” But I discovered that I couldn’t differentiate between my left and right. The confusion was overwhelming, and the unsympathetic coordinator made it worse, dismissing me as someone who should “know better” at my age. I dropped out, feeling defeated. I had no idea back then that my struggles were connected to dyslexia. I thought I was simply bad at everything.

That belief began to shift when I joined the Boys’ Brigade at my local church. Mr. Kayode, our commandant, was a game-changer. He noticed my struggles but never dismissed me. Instead, he invested in me, providing one-on-one training and patiently guiding me until I could distinguish my left from my right. Under his mentorship, I learned a lesson that reminds me of Malcolm Gladwell’s '10,000-Hour Rule' from Outliers—the idea that mastery comes from deliberate practice. Whether it was the Beatles mastering music or Bill Gates programming computers, success came from persistence, not instant talent.

Living with dyslexia has been challenging, but it has also shaped me in unexpected ways. It’s taught me that success is not confined to academic achievement. We all have unique paths to follow, and those paths are often paved with passion and creativity. Some people thrive not in traditional classrooms but in places where they can dance, cook, design, tell stories, or create art. These are no longer just hobbies; they’ve become thriving careers.

While academic pursuits are undoubtedly valuable, the ultimate key to success lies in finding what you’re passionate about—and mastering it. For me, that journey has been as much about perseverance as discovery, filled with moments of failure, patience, and growth. Dyslexia hasn’t exempted me from success. It’s simply pointed me in a direction where creativity and determination are my greatest assets."