Old dreams die hard. But, I’ve never believed that dreamers are high achievers. They could be, but other factors do play a role to make them true.
The story of ‘An African (Nigerian) in Russia’ inspired me way back in high school to dream of
making a pilgrimage to Russia, the land of winter. My Geography then in Senior three inspired me the more to wish to feel how real winter felt like. Russia is just close to Greenland, the land of the midnight sun. Greenland is close to the Arctic, but my mind then, stubbornly conceived Arctic is one of the edges of the world.
My European History in A-level reinforced the same old dream that I would make it to Russia. The Summer Palace in St. Petersburg with its magnificent mausoleums, spiced with unique historical artefacts, prominent of which is Lenin’s in St. Petersburg Palace Square.
But then, when I kept reading the story of ‘An African in Russia’, I told my classmates about it and my dream to Russia. At that, I even specified the locations I would yearn to set my feet upon. Minsk, Moscow and St. Petersburg (formerly, Leningrad) came top on my priority list. Again, my passion for Literature kept my dream alive.
I loved reading different literature about Russia: The Moscow Campaign, The Bolshevik Revolution, Russia in the two world wars and of course, The Government Inspector by Nikolai Gogol. There’s also the Summer Literary Seminars, often held in St. Petersburg. A local journalist wrote inspiring literary stories about the event any time he attended the seminar each year.
Now, won’t my dream come true if I pick journalism as my career choice? I often wondered. That was the time when one’s passion to pursue a certain course but prestige guided one to choose a career. Most of my classmates, just like me, were conscious of pursuing ‘heavy’ prestigious courses, without considering a drop of passion in their expectations. But, my passionate dream to visit Russia inspired me to study journalism, some years later.
In high school then, impatient wishes and dreams of touring the world came in handy. Another classmate would tell me how he would wish to go to Japan. Another would say, “As soon as I finish my senior four, I would head straight to former Prussia (Germany). My brother lives there. He even has a German wife.”
Nevertheless, with the story of ‘An African in Russia’ as my immediate inspiration, I appeared to have a dream for my other vehement inspiration. I even inspired another friend, whom everybody in class thought was totally confused, to fall in love with
the word ‘Minsk’-a town in Russia. He even headlined his autograph ‘Minsk’ before giving it to us to sign our best wishes for him since our time in high school was coming to an end.
All friends in class jokingly called me ‘Russia’. I felt no slight offence after all, this would be ‘my next destination after school (DV),’ I told them in the fullness of my heart. I spruced up my confidence and inspiration of going to Russia by applying for some courses (not Journalism but medicine) that were advertised in the press. I highly disliked medicine related courses. But, with my dream to go to Russia, here was I applying for the courses I loathed. That would surely put me on the road to Russia, I thought longingly.
Time came when we had had to part from one another. It was inevitable. We had finished our final examinations. Most of us were only waiting for our dreams to come true, however hard to attain they appeared to be.
A few friends had got feedback concerning the courses they had applied for in their respective countries of interest. Whatever was sent back to them were mere prospectuses, glossed with magnificent College structures. But, the tuition aside, let alone other expenses say for visa, travel, accommodation was enough to shatter my dream. Mine was broken. From a humble background, I could not even dare tell my parents how much money the course I had applied for in Russia would cost them.
For some time, out of school, I still see most of my school cronies treading on both village paths and town roads in an endeavour to make ends meet. Their dreams too, seem to have died a long time ago.
“My dream for Russia….” RIP.
Joshua Masinde
The story of ‘An African (Nigerian) in Russia’ inspired me way back in high school to dream of
making a pilgrimage to Russia, the land of winter. My Geography then in Senior three inspired me the more to wish to feel how real winter felt like. Russia is just close to Greenland, the land of the midnight sun. Greenland is close to the Arctic, but my mind then, stubbornly conceived Arctic is one of the edges of the world.My European History in A-level reinforced the same old dream that I would make it to Russia. The Summer Palace in St. Petersburg with its magnificent mausoleums, spiced with unique historical artefacts, prominent of which is Lenin’s in St. Petersburg Palace Square.
But then, when I kept reading the story of ‘An African in Russia’, I told my classmates about it and my dream to Russia. At that, I even specified the locations I would yearn to set my feet upon. Minsk, Moscow and St. Petersburg (formerly, Leningrad) came top on my priority list. Again, my passion for Literature kept my dream alive.
I loved reading different literature about Russia: The Moscow Campaign, The Bolshevik Revolution, Russia in the two world wars and of course, The Government Inspector by Nikolai Gogol. There’s also the Summer Literary Seminars, often held in St. Petersburg. A local journalist wrote inspiring literary stories about the event any time he attended the seminar each year.
Now, won’t my dream come true if I pick journalism as my career choice? I often wondered. That was the time when one’s passion to pursue a certain course but prestige guided one to choose a career. Most of my classmates, just like me, were conscious of pursuing ‘heavy’ prestigious courses, without considering a drop of passion in their expectations. But, my passionate dream to visit Russia inspired me to study journalism, some years later.
In high school then, impatient wishes and dreams of touring the world came in handy. Another classmate would tell me how he would wish to go to Japan. Another would say, “As soon as I finish my senior four, I would head straight to former Prussia (Germany). My brother lives there. He even has a German wife.”
Nevertheless, with the story of ‘An African in Russia’ as my immediate inspiration, I appeared to have a dream for my other vehement inspiration. I even inspired another friend, whom everybody in class thought was totally confused, to fall in love with
the word ‘Minsk’-a town in Russia. He even headlined his autograph ‘Minsk’ before giving it to us to sign our best wishes for him since our time in high school was coming to an end.All friends in class jokingly called me ‘Russia’. I felt no slight offence after all, this would be ‘my next destination after school (DV),’ I told them in the fullness of my heart. I spruced up my confidence and inspiration of going to Russia by applying for some courses (not Journalism but medicine) that were advertised in the press. I highly disliked medicine related courses. But, with my dream to go to Russia, here was I applying for the courses I loathed. That would surely put me on the road to Russia, I thought longingly.
Time came when we had had to part from one another. It was inevitable. We had finished our final examinations. Most of us were only waiting for our dreams to come true, however hard to attain they appeared to be.
A few friends had got feedback concerning the courses they had applied for in their respective countries of interest. Whatever was sent back to them were mere prospectuses, glossed with magnificent College structures. But, the tuition aside, let alone other expenses say for visa, travel, accommodation was enough to shatter my dream. Mine was broken. From a humble background, I could not even dare tell my parents how much money the course I had applied for in Russia would cost them.
For some time, out of school, I still see most of my school cronies treading on both village paths and town roads in an endeavour to make ends meet. Their dreams too, seem to have died a long time ago.
“My dream for Russia….” RIP.
Joshua Masinde
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