From wattle and daub to first-class honours: A journey of faith and resilience

Today, with a degree in hand and my sights set on a master’s, I stand as proof that even the humblest beginnings can fuel extraordinary dreams. This journey, from the dirt floors of my childhood home to the hallways of academia, isn’t just mine. It’s a story for everyone who has been told “no” and found within themselves the strength to say “yes.” The road hasn’t been easy, and it won’t be, but I walk it with pride, knowing that every struggle, every tear, every prayer has been worth it.

I still remember the dust rising as I walked barefoot on the gravel roads with my mom, the late Cynthia Richardson Clarke Lewis and siblings to the sea to take out stones to sell. The only vacation I knew was the one going to the mountains, going around in the village with a basket on my head to sell, or sitting by the roadside in a tray selling peanuts. The journey of going to the standpipe to fetch water, the bush yam and salt with coconut oil for breakfast. The only skin lotion I knew was coconut oil  — sometimes, we were scorned because of the natural smell of it — the coal pot iron perfectly ironed my uniform, the bush teas, the abuse I witnessed men mete out to my mom after they said they loved her hurt me, making me realize that I had to break free; the rawness of each of these steps reminded me of where I was coming from and where I dreamed of going.

Those roads had no shortcuts, and neither did my life. Growing up, we had no running water, no electricity and no indoor bathroom My childhood was humble, lit by candlelight, streetlight or flambeau and filled with the quiet strength of a mother who made sacrifices I couldn’t understand then but cherish now. I faced moments of doubt in which I questioned why life seemed to have a personal vendetta against me. My journey began in hardship, but it was anchored by resilience — a resilience that would carry me through challenges I couldn’t have foreseen.

In a world that did not come with instructions, I only had my faith and the Ten Commandments to guide me. I’m not perfect; I’ve stumbled, fallen, and walked through my fair share of valleys. But God, in His infinite grace, never saw me as less than His child. Each time I strayed, He was there, reminding me that I could rise again. My faith became the foundation of a journey that would see me reach beyond what felt impossible.

Education was my beacon — a hope that glowed brightly despite the dimness around me. My early school years were a blend of anticipation and grit, fuelled by teachers who saw potential in me, who lifted me up and pushed me forward. The late Mrs. Judith Hull-Ballah, in particular, believed in me so deeply that it became hard not to believe in myself. She and my mother stood as the first pillars in my life, showing me what it meant to carry love and sacrifice with quiet strength. These women were my foundation, reminding me that even in the midst of struggle, there was always a reason to press on.

Years passed, and as my own family grew, I knew that my children were watching me, learning from the life I was building. My children were and continue to be my greatest source of strength. There were days when I wanted to give up, when the assignments piled up, and the pressure was suffocating. But their smiles, their belief in me, reminded me of why I was doing this. Every time I thought I couldn’t, they believed I could. And in those moments, I found the strength to keep pushing. My daughter, Kevisha, the first in our family to step into college after me, represents a new beginning. This journey isn’t just mine; it’s one that stretches beyond me, bridging the gap between what once felt impossible and what I hope my children will carry forward.

But there were times when life felt relentless. During my first semester at university, my son Jquan became critically ill, ending up in the intensive care unit. Those words from the doctor –“Mummy, we have done all we could do; there’s nothing more; we just have to wait and see” –shattered me. They said even airlifting him wouldn’t make a difference. That was the worst moment of my life, knowing my child was slipping away, and there was nothing I could do. Every day I sat with that agony, with naysayers surrounding me and doubts attempting to break me, but that fire within me never dimmed. Somehow, I found the strength to keep moving forward, to hold onto hope even when it seemed out of reach.

Pursuing a degree in banking and finance wasn’t easy. Every late night and every early morning was a test of will, a constant balancing act between my responsibilities as a mother of FOUR SMALL KIDS FULLY DEPENDENT ON ME and the weight of my dreams. There were moments when the only light I saw was the one I created within.

The government of St. Vincent and the Grenadines with the tuition scholarship programme, made it possible for people like me to chase our aspirations without the financial weight dragging us down. This support wasn’t just financial; it was a lifeline, a reminder that our nation believes in education as the bridge to a brighter future.

COVID-19 brought its own storms, knocking me down three times, two of which nearly took my life. Hospitals became spaces where I wrestled with fear and found courage. Through every trial, I was held up by those who refused to let me fall. My sister Poochan, my nephew, my college friend Zoe Valcin; my close friends, my children—they were the anchors that kept me grounded, the constant reminders that my journey was not just my own. Each of them made sacrifices so I could pursue this path, ensuring my children were cared for when I was too weak to do so myself.

To say this journey was one of resilience is an understatement. Every tear I cried watered my growth, each struggle etched a deeper purpose into my life. I didn’t attain this degree to separate myself from anyone; rather, it’s a testament to what can be achieved when determination meets opportunity. I did this for my children, to break free from what felt like an unbreakable cycle. Education is powerful, yes, but it is also personal — it is an inheritance that no one can take away, a legacy I hope will empower those who come after me.

And so, to anyone who finds themselves walking a path that seems impossible, remember that you have the strength within you. Don’t let the weight of today stop you from reaching for the promise of tomorrow. Education might not be everyone’s path, and that’s okay. Success is defined by purpose, by integrity, by the resilience to rise after every fall.

So today,  while I celebrate this degree, I also celebrate the struggle that brought me here.

Thank you to every teacher, every friend, every family member who stood beside me. This degree was never mine alone; it belongs to the village that raised me (Biabou) and to the dreams that lit my way.

Iesha Richardson

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