Mo

"Being underestimated is a superpower."

By Students of NYC

June 6^th, 2025

“My dad used to drive me around Lagos in Nigeria and name every road. Every landmark. I was six. I thought I’d forget it all. But I didn’t. I remember every single thing he ever taught me. That’s how I know he’s still with me. That, and because everyone tells me: ‘You are just like him.’”

My full name is 23 letters long. 'MORIREOLUWAGBANILEALAYE.' It means ‘I’ve seen the goodness of God in the land of the living.’ In Nigeria, children are named on the circumstances of their birth. My dad named me that because he waited six years to have me. No child. No job. Then, just a month before I was born, he finally got a job offer. He called me his miracle child. He died when I was seven. Cancer. I didn’t cry for two years. I just didn’t. Not a single tear. I think because he kept saying to me: ‘Always be strong for your mom.’ Over and over. That was the last thing he wanted. I think he was trying to make me strong. Because I was all she had. And she was all I had.

When he passed, my mom didn’t tell me right away. She didn't know how to. But I saw the casket. I knew. I just never said anything. I watched her fall apart and knew I couldn’t fall apart with her. She had to be my everything after that. And I had to be hers. She once said: ‘I don’t want you to become an orphan. I’m taking care of my health because of you.’ And that kind of thing… that stays with you.

Growing up, I stuttered. I was quiet. People underestimated me all the time. But I learned something powerful in that silence. I learned that being underestimated is a kind of superpower. It gives you space. It gives you time. And when no one sees you coming — your impact is louder. I let them talk. I let them assume. And then I show them. I used to be the quietest girl in class. Now I’m student body president. I don’t speak first. I don’t need to. I listen. I let people feel like they’re in control. But in my head I’m thinking: ‘Your idea is good. But mine might be better.’ That kind of quiet confidence isn’t just strategy. It’s survival. It’s how I’ve had to move through the world. Especially as a girl. Especially in rooms full of boys.

My vice principal told me something the other day: ‘Learn to take up space.’ And I’m still figuring out what that means. But I know it matters. I know I’m meant to take up space in ways people don’t expect. I want to be a doctor. But not just the kind that treats patients. I want to fight for them too. Maybe study law. Speak up for the ones like my dad—who were turned away when they needed help the most. I want to be the person who says: ‘No, this life matters. This person stays.’”