To me, being the first of my family to attend college in the U.S. used to mean the same thing as being alone. From attempting to graduate high-school as an English learner to figuring out a way to superior studies, I had to do it on my own. The first time I received a college-related letter was at the beginning of my junior year. Up to that point, I never even dared to think that far ahead. My main focus was to be able to graduate, considering the fact that most of the credits I accumulated back in Congo could not be transferred to my public high-school. There I was, a junior, sitting in my American history class surrounded by freshmen and sophomores, trying to understand the documentary that was being shown. I wish he would have enabled the subtitles.

When I took that letter to the counselor, which was in fact from a well-known scholarship program, she promised to take a look at it to help me get started but she never did. It has to happen twice before I understood that if I wanted to go to college while being able to afford it, I had to do it on my own. So, senior year, I plunged. I took the ACT for the third time and began looking at the big scholarships. That same year, I took 3 AP classes, enrolled in NHS, and was involved in multiple other activities while trying to get my driver’s license to start working part-time. The sleepless nights and the never-ending fatigue were manageable. No, the hardest part was not knowing if I was doing everything right, especially regarding all the forms and tax papers I needed to assemble and send to the institutions. It’s not like I could ask any adults around me for help, they were not even aware of the whole application process. But they trusted me and kept praying for me. My younger siblings looked up to me, therefore, I was determined to be the best role model for them. I guess I did. Look at me Mom, a whole sophomore at a top university.

Being a first-generation at Vanderbilt always meant working twice as hard. At first, I thought I would be on my own just like in high school. When preparing for move-in, I was packing based on blog recommendations and YouTube videos. As a result, I packed a bunch of stuff but left out small but very important things like rain boots or a coat. But I knew that there were other students going through the same thing, and I made it a priority to become acquainted with other first-generation students. And I did, I even met upperclassmen that had a similar background as me. These people helped me go through my first year. They were always there to answer my questions, and thanks to them, my first year was as great as I expected it to be. Wherever the school resources failed to support me, those other students were there to help because they had been there before. As a result, I became better at navigating the school resources and was able to make the most out of each opportunity. I think my status as a First-generation student was actually beneficial to me. Without it, I would not have experienced Vanderbilt through that humble but honest lens.

The community created by the Vanderbilt QuestBridge chapter, along with the African Student Union were the two organizations that allowed me to receive the best guidance I could have asked for from the student body.