Assalamu Alaikum Warahmatullah.

Honorable guests, respected trainers, beloved classmates, and my dear family, today is a day I once thought I would only witness in a dream.

I stand here as the valedictorian of the Madia Academy for Journalism and Communication Class of 2025, graduating with an Advanced Diploma in Journalism and a Higher Diploma in Film and Photography. When I look at this moment, I see more than certificates… I see a long journey filled with sacrifice and survival.

I come from Sandu Misera, a village where very few children have the rare opportunity to start and finish western education. Many of my friends dropped out, not because they didn’t want to learn, but because their parents needed them on the farms or gardens. Poverty pushed them out of school. I survived that reality, but it came with heavy sacrifice.

There were the glorious moments of mango season, baobab season, or groundnut season, when I would sell these things just to afford food at school or to buy a book. My parents tried their best, but with the struggles of feeding the family, I had to support myself in whatever small ways I could.

Every day after school, I went straight to the farm. And when I was on the afternoon shift, I had to work on the farm before going to school. I collected firewood so my family could cook. I made sure the donkey under my care ate and drank on time. I pedaled 6 kilometers daily, and on the days my bicycle broke down, I walked 6 kilometers just to reach school.

These challenges had consequences. I failed WASSCE the first time I sat for the exam. I had just 3 credits and failed all the rest, including English Language and mathematics. But failure didn’t stop me; it powered me. I later resat those exams in 2013 while attending The Gambia College, determined to rise despite the weight of my circumstances.

Growing up poor meant countless days going to school with no money, no breakfast, nothing to eat until I returned home at 4 pm. Even now, my colleagues at the office wonder how I spend long hours without eating. What they don’t know is that this is how I was forged, from hardship and endurance.

As the Mandinka saying goes:

“A child raised by thunder cannot be frightened by the sound of a gun.”

And indeed, I was raised by thunder.

Many students I graduated with in high school have already earned their master’s degrees. I am still climbing, slow but steady. Not because I lack potential, but because poverty delays you; it does not stop you. For I do not envy their journey; they are moving at their own pace, just as I am in mine.

I carried something heavier than fear: responsibility. As the first son, the backup of my family, I could not afford to fail. My siblings look up to me. I represent every village boy who dares to dream beyond his circumstances.

Most importantly, the media is my passion. Storytelling is my heartbeat. And Communications is my calling.

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to acknowledge a loss that weighs heavily on my heart today.

I recently lost an uncle, Muhammad Barra, a man who was not just an uncle, but my father in disguise. From the day I was born, he stepped into a role many would shy away from. He took me to school, clothed me, fed me, and guided me through the hardest moments of my childhood.

When life was rough and the world felt cold, he was my warmth.

When I cried, he wiped my tears and never wanted to see me sad.

His words were gentle, his love unconditional, and his presence my refuge.

Alhamdulillah. Everything happens by the will of Allah. Yesterday we observed his 40-day charity. Today, standing on this podium, I dedicate all my awards, achievements, and this valedictorian honor to the loving memory of my late uncle. You stood by me during my childhood education days when hope was fragile, and resources were few.

This achievement is yours, Baba.

Your sacrifices were not in vain.

May Allah grant you Jannatul Firdaus. Ameen.

Alhamdulillah. Without Allah’s mercy, none of this would be possible.

To my parents, thank you for the sacrifices made long before I understood them.

To my siblings, you inspire me to keep pushing.

To my wife, Nyima, thank you for standing with me, believing in me, and being the silent strength behind everything I’ve achieved recently.

Before I move on, ladies and gentlemen, kindly join me in giving a round of applause to our trainers. (Clap)

I would like to take a moment to thank the entire MAJaC family, not only those who stood in front of us in the classroom, but also those who worked quietly behind the scenes.

To our trainers, thank you for your patience, discipline, mentorship, and belief in us even when we doubted ourselves. You corrected us when we were wrong, pushed us when we were comfortable, and celebrated our growth like proud parents.

To the administrative staff, thank you for keeping this institution running smoothly, handling our concerns, guiding us through procedures, and always offering support when we needed it.

To our security personnel, thank you for ensuring our safety every single day. You welcomed us at the gate, watched over us during late practical sessions, and treated us not just as students, but as your own children. Your contributions may not always be seen on stage, but they are deeply felt in our success. Today’s achievement belongs to you as much as it belongs to us.

To My Classmates, The Class of 2025

We survived deadlines, fieldwork, rewrites, retakes, group assignments, and sleepless nights. But we survived together. We all know that MAJaC is not for the weak. This Point reminds me of Barrister Barrow. I was supposed to do a presentation on an assignment, but I had a mission in Senegal. I was in Dakar when I sent a voice note to Barrister Barrow for an excuse. These are exact words when he replied, he said, “Well, well, Mr. Barra, you might as well do a video so I can mark your presentation virtually.”

Mustappha Ceesay is right. There is no room for laziness or idleness in MAJaC, but today, we stand at the finish line of something big -and at the start of something bigger. Years ago, we walked into MAJaC as strangers, unsure, nervous, young.

Today, we leave as family, as fighters, as people who grew up together and learned more than books could ever teach. This Advanced diploma isn’t just a paper.

It’s every night you stayed up studying when you wanted to quit.

It’s every lesson life taught you between the pages. It’s every laugh, every tear, every moment you thought you couldn’t make it- but you did.

Some of us leave today not knowing what’s next. And that’s okay. If my story taught me anything, it is that real success is not knowing all the answers, but daring to ask the questions and keep pushing.

The world out there isn’t easy. But neither are we. We are the generation that fails, stands up, and tries again. We are the ones who turn fear into fuel. That knows that falling doesn’t mean failing

So today, I don’t say goodbye. I say thank you for the lessons, the memories, the struggles, and the growth. And I say good luck, because the world has no idea what’s coming. YOU!

Please don’t stop here. Aim higher, write more. Film more. Document more. The world needs your voices.

Dream loudly.

Work quietly.

Let your success make the noise.

To the Next Generation, Choose MAJaC

If you want a place where dreams become skills and skills become careers… choose MAJaC. This institution shapes character, builds confidence, and produces storytellers with purpose.

MAJaC is not just a school; it is a launchpad.

From Sandu Misera to MAJaC…

From a village boy to valedictorian…

From carrying firewood and feeding donkeys to holding two Advanced diplomas.

My journey proves one thing:

It doesn’t matter where you start.

What matters is how far you are willing to go.

Thank you.

May Allah bless our journeys.

And congratulations to the MAJaC Class of 2025.

We made it.

Thank you.