I never imagined myself to be where I am today.
If you had told the younger me—the girl who hawked soft drinks and Gala through the noisy, crowded streets of the market—that one day I would study Law in Canada, I would’ve laughed it off as an impossible dream. To me, the market was where life began and ended. The market was everything—its chaotic rhythm, the sting of sweat and dust on my skin, the harsh sounds of bargaining that shaped my childhood. Everything I knew was contained within the borders of those crowded streets, and anything outside that realm felt like a faraway fantasy.
But here I am today. A barrister. An international human rights advocate. Standing in front of audiences that span continents. It feels like a dream that somehow became reality, even though I never dared to imagine it could happen.
My name is Iveren, and life has never been kind. I was born into hardship, raised by a mother who tried her best to shield me from the storms of life, but no one can fully escape the weight of poverty. My father passed away when I was just in JSS3, leaving a gap that no amount of love could fill. My mother did all she could—selling small items, managing a stall in the market, stretching the little we had to make sure I could get an education. But no matter how hard she worked, there was always a sense that it would never be enough.
Growing up without a father meant carrying an invisible weight—a weight that no child should have to bear. My world was always marked by silence and absence, the kind that only children of broken homes understand. My father’s death was more than the loss of a parent; it was the loss of a sense of stability, of a future that seemed promised. It was a cold reminder that life could slip away in an instant, and that nothing in the world could make you immune to it.
Despite the overwhelming circumstances, I made one decision that would change my life forever—I refused to let my circumstances define me. I told myself that education was my ticket out, my escape from the daily struggle. But even with that hope, reality had its way of throwing obstacles in my path.
When I got into the University of Lagos to study Law, I was elated—but also terrified. The excitement was tainted with the harsh reality that no one could pay my tuition. No one could buy me the textbooks I needed. My mother could barely afford food, let alone school fees. But I was determined. I had no choice. I wasn’t going to let go of my dream just because life was throwing stones at me.
Every morning before my lectures, I packed bottles of Coke, Fanta, and Sprite into a cooler and packed Gala into a bag. I’d go to class with my cooler, setting it beside me like a silent companion. And then, after school, while others went to their hostels to rest, I hit the market. The sun would be unforgiving, beating down on me as I called out “Buy your cold drink and Gala!”—over and over, for hours.
The market was loud. It was crowded. It was exhausting. But it was also my survival. It became my battleground, where I fought each day to make enough to survive. The constant hustle and bustle were a reminder that life wouldn’t wait for me to catch up. Every sale felt like a victory. Every night I went to bed with the hope that the next day would be better.
But the hardest battles weren’t in the market. They were in the classroom. Law textbooks were a luxury few could afford, and some of them cost as much as twenty-five thousand naira—money I didn’t have. Even the second-hand books were hard to find. I spent sleepless nights photocopying notes from friends, and more often than not, I was left sitting in the library long after it closed, poring over photocopied sheets of paper, hoping that I could somehow absorb enough to pass.
There were days when I had no money to pay for transport fare. I would walk for miles to get to class, my stomach empty, my spirit heavy. There were days I couldn’t even afford to eat lunch. But no matter how tired, how hungry, how defeated I felt, I kept going. Because I knew one thing—no matter what life threw at me, I couldn’t give up. The dream was bigger than me. It had to be.
One Saturday, everything changed.
I had just finished my lectures and returned to the market, my feet aching, my throat dry from hours of shouting, when I saw a man waving at me from a modest car. He had a calm, kind demeanour—unlike the usual customers who barely gave me a second glance. He smiled and asked, “How much for the Gala and Coke?”
“Five hundred, sir,” I answered automatically, handing him the goods. But he didn’t drive off immediately. Instead, he looked at me more closely, studying my face with an intensity that made me pause.
“You speak very well,” he said. “Are you in school?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, a little surprised by his attention. “I’m studying Law. I sell to support myself.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “My name is Pastor Gideon. I used to be like you. Can I talk to you after church tomorrow?”
I was taken aback. People had tried to offer me help before, but it always came with strings attached, or promises they never kept. I was skeptical, but something in his eyes made me think that he was different. So, the next day, I went to his church.
The church was small, but there was something different about it. The air felt warm, and the people were kind in a way I hadn’t encountered before. After the service, Pastor Gideon and I talked for hours. He listened to my story, asked about my struggles, and shared his own. He told me he understood hardship because he had been there too, and he had fought his way out. And he promised to help, not just with handouts, but with guidance.
Weeks passed, and Pastor Gideon didn’t just show up with help—he showed up with encouragement, with a listening ear, with real support. His ministry bought me textbooks I couldn’t afford, paid my final year fees, and even helped me prepare for law school. I started to believe in a future I couldn’t see before.
But the biggest miracle came when Pastor Gideon told me about a scholarship for a Master’s program in Canada, fully funded by a Christian foundation. It seemed too good to be true. Canada? Me? It felt like a dream I wasn’t allowed to have. But he encouraged me to apply. With his unwavering belief in me, I applied, even though I feared rejection.
And then the email came. I was accepted.
I remember staring at that email for minutes, feeling numb. I had no words. How could this happen to me? A girl who used to walk barefoot in the market, who cried herself to sleep because she didn’t know how she would survive the next day? How was I now standing on the edge of the world, about to embark on an international journey?
Today, as I stand before you as a barrister and human rights advocate, I look back and wonder how I got here. How did the girl who used to hawk drinks in the market become someone who speaks at global conferences? The answer isn’t simple. It’s a result of unwavering perseverance, a belief that even in the darkest times, something better is waiting. It’s a result of people who believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. People like Pastor Gideon, who became my guiding light when I thought all hope was lost.
So, to anyone out there who feels like their dreams are impossible, who feels like the world is too heavy to carry, know this: your journey isn’t over yet. Life might knock you down, but it’s not about how many times you fall—it’s about how many times you get up, how many times you keep going. Your story can still be rewritten.