While in Kunoni, I studied diligently, aced my KCPE exams and made it to Starehe Boys' Centre just as it had been my wish since Starehe was one of the best high schools in Kenya. It consistently emerged among the top schools in the '90s and well into the 2000s in KCSE exam results.
At Starehe, I successfully rose from the bottom of my class to score an 'A' in the mighty KCSE exams. Then after my high school years, I had an opportunity to pursue a diploma in information technology at Starehe Institute where I acquired the computer programming skills I had wished to develop when I was in my final year in high school in 2005.
But then in March of 2007, I experienced my first major setback. Okay, let me tell you the full story. I promise not to bore you.
When I was in Starehe Institute, I developed a desire to pursue my undergraduate degree abroad. So I turned up for a conference that had been advertised in a local daily. The conference was about studying in a Canadian university whose name I wish not to mention.
The turnout for the conference was poor. If my memory serves me well, I don't think there were more than twenty people present. After the conference speaker was through with whatever stuff he was telling us, I approached him for a conversation during which I presented to him a copy of my KCSE result slip.
And wow! He was so impressed with my KCSE results in which I had scored six 'A's and two 'A-'s that he took down my name, email address and perhaps a few other details I can't remember. Several weeks later, I received an email from the Canadian university, congratulating me for having been accepted into it to study engineering.
I can't recollect if getting admitted to the Canadian university excited me. All I remember is how I eventually gave up the desire to study at the university since I couldn't afford airfare to Canada, let alone tuition and accommodation fees.
After that unsuccessful attempt to land an opportunity to study abroad, I started hearing and reading about top American colleges that meet the full financial needs of admitted students. I told my father about them and he encouraged me to apply.
With my father's blessings, I researched more about the top American colleges. I then settled on applying to four colleges of which MIT was my first choice because it is the world's premier institute in science, technology, engineering and math.
Applying to MIT was a rigorous process. I had to fill out several forms, submit a high school transcript, write several essays, send three recommendation letters and sit for the SAT exams which cost me KSh 14,700 because I sat for the SAT 1 twice in addition to the SAT 2.
I also submitted a cassette recording of me playing the piano and a CD-copy of an educational website I had created with two of my classmates at Starehe Institute. Even though those two supplementary materials were not required, I believed they would make me stand out in the talented pool of students who were applying to MIT.
Though applying to MIT was a rigorous process, it was worth it. Unlike the Canadian university which assessed only my KCSE result slip and admitted me but couldn't support me, MIT promised to meet my full financial needs if I got admitted.
I submitted all my MIT application materials by the usual January 1st deadline. And then, the about three-month waiting period began.
Reflecting on my life so far, I have never experienced a longer period of bliss like I did in the first two-and-a-half months of 2007 when I was in my final months at Starehe Institute. My life was blissful not only because I enjoyed the subjects I was studying in the institute but also because I was full of hope that I would eventually fly to MIT for my undergraduate degree as it was my dream.
But then came the March of 2007 I have told you about. On the 16th of that March, at around 7:30 p.m. (Kenyan time), MIT released its admission decisions online. I went to one of the Starehe Institute's computer labs to check whether I had been admitted. My heart must have been pounding like a tom-tom as I logged into my MIT account. After logging in, I became sick with disappointment on reading the following letter addressed to me:
Dear Johnny,In one application form, MIT had asked me to tell them a nickname my friends liked calling me. I told them it was Johnny; that's why Marilee Jones addressed me as Johnny in the letter I have quoted above.
The Admissions Committee has completed its review of your application, and I am so sorry to tell you that we are unable to offer you admission to MIT.
Please understand that this is in no way a judgement of you as a student or as a person, since our decision has more to do with the applicant pool than anything else. Most of our applicants, who like you are among the best in the world, are not admitted because we simply do not have enough space in our entering class. This year we had almost 12,500 candidates for fewer than 1,500 offers of admission, from which will come our 1,000 freshmen. Since all of our decisions are made at one time and all available spaces have been committed, all decisions are final.
Despite what you might think, the admissions process is not an exact science. Our applicant pool is more self-selected than most, with a very high percentage of top students, virtually all of whom have distinction in demanding academic programs as well as outstanding achievements in their lives outside of the classroom. We evaluate each applicant's materials carefully and select those we judge to be the best match for our community.
I am very sorry to bring you such disappointing news when you have worked so hard. You are a terrific student, and I wish you the very best as you continue with your education.
Sincerely,
Marilee Jones.
Dean of Admissions [Massachusetts Institute of Technology].
And despite her assurance that I was a terrific student, I was considerably distressed after reading the letter which was why I had trouble getting out of bed the following morning. It was as though the schools I had attended and the exams I had taken hadn't prepared me for that first major setback in my life.
