I have been a reader for as long as I can remember. My earliest memory of how I fell in love with stories is of me reading aloud to my aunt. I am eight years old, standing before her as she sits on a sofa in our living room, reading a story I now cannot even remember. But I remember the word “perhaps”. I did not know it then. Could not pronounce it. She waited patiently, encouraging me to sound it out. And eventually I did. Of course, after a couple of self-conscious stammers.

I remember her smile afterwards. How the corners of her eyes crinkled and her face brightened with delight. The pleasure of that moment cemented in me not only a love for reading, but also for writing. I guess because I hoped my own writing would also elicit such joy. And write I did. Until I was thirteen years old in secondary school and made the decision to stop writing. If I were to explain my reasons simply, it would be that I felt lost. For eighteen years, I did not write. I continued to read, majored in Comparative Literature in university, and even attempted writing poetry at some point, but I did not write any stories.

That space did not exist for me anymore. A space where you are not only a reader, but also think yourself capable of producing something. Until 2022. When I came back to writing because, once again, I felt lost, and putting pen to paper felt like the only thing that could untangle all the mess I found myself in.

On January 19th 2022, I wrote my first story. I had just finished reading Oyinkan Braithwaite’s My Sister the Serial Killer and felt this itch to write something down. So, I sat opposite my husband in our bedroom, he doing his own work, and me, venturing into an old life. It took me four hours to write that story. From beginning to end, allowing no interruptions because part of me was scared I would not be able to come back to it if I stopped. And when hours later I stared at the first story I had written in eighteen years, I felt free and hopeful again. I did not waste time. That very day, I submitted it for the Bristol Short Story Prize, and when months later I received an email letting me know that it had been shortlisted, I found myself starting to believe that perhaps, there was something in it for me after all. The laddership program came into my life at such a time. When I was still trying to make up my mind, deciding whether I had the guts, and whether the rejections would be worth it.

Getting into the program felt like a confirmation that, perhaps, I could do this. That there was something in my writing to be nurtured and allowed to exist. Before our first meeting, Suyi sent an email orienting us to the program and asking us to write down our goals. Not only for the project we would be working on during the fellowship, but also for our careers as writers. In some way, I believe that was my first lesson: articulating the dream. And I soon learnt that everything about the fellowship aimed at ensuring I moved a step closer to those goals. From the first day of our virtual meeting, I found Suyi gracious in many ways. His easy manner, as well as his knowledge on and experience with the craft made for comfortable and eye-opening conversations. While he did not ask us to submit what we had written down/show him the progress we had made in our work, he asked questions – and boy am I grateful for those questions! Questions that helped unravel why I was stuck, made me interrogate my motives and rethink my creative choices, illuminated the holes in my plot, opened my eyes to creative potential, and left me feeling excited to return to my work teeming with new ideas. He had a way of getting to the heart of the matter by simply asking a question. I remain grateful for those questions because my writing is all the better for it. And I am grateful for my co-fellow whose questions and commentaries equally spurred on the learning.

Our sessions also allowed me to enjoy the moments when the writing just doesn’t happen. When the muse just isn’t with you, and writing feels like pulling teeth. While in the first month of the fellowship I managed to produce 10,000 words of new material, the second month didn’t go so well. I remember feeling like such a failure. But it ended up being a great lesson about what it is to be a writer. The struggle is part of it. And sometimes you must accept that it’s just not happening. The most important thing, Suyi said, is coming back to it. However long it takes, however slow the progress. Even if it means you only manage to write fifty words. Come back to it, because that’s what it is to be a writer.

Thanks to the fellowship, I don’t have to start from point zero. In every session, Suyi was very forthcoming with his experiences and how-to’s. He demystified the profession in ways I could have never known. From things like coming up with an elevator pitch and communicating the genre of your work to writing a query letter and understanding the market (choosing publishers where to send your work – UK versus US; territorial rights; Big five publishers versus medium – small publishing houses etc.) Suyi covered it all, providing a wealth of information and resources to help face what comes next with confidence. The program lives up to its intentions as a ladder and provides a network fellows can continue to tap into years into the future. More than anything, the program brought me back to the joy of writing, and why, at this point in my life, it is the dream I want to pour myself into wholeheartedly. Because dreams will remain thus until the day we allow them to take flight.

Until the pleasure of that which we dream brings to nought the fears of our waking lives Life is but a journey, its ending for all but one. Till it comes, dare to dream with eyes open wide, and one foot ever in front of the other The laddership program was well worth every moment.

If you're an emerging African author who is looking to take your writing to the next level—especially continental writers from underrepresented communities—we strongly encourage you to submit your work for consideration. See eligibility and application details below