I wasn’t on a vessel when it happened. I was in my hostel.
I had just been rejected for a cadetship scholarship. One I had studied for, prepared for, genuinely believed I had a chance at. The kind of opportunity that feels like it could change the direction of everything.
It didn’t go my way.
I remember the feeling clearly. Not just disappointment — something deeper. A quiet, frightening question that crept in after the initial shock settled: Am I valuable enough?
That question sat with me for a while. I won’t pretend it didn’t.
But somewhere in that silence, something shifted. The fear didn’t go away — but it stopped being louder than my resolve. I made a decision, not out loud, not to anyone in particular, but to myself:
I would build so much value that the question would never need to be asked again.
I didn’t know exactly what that meant yet. I just started building.
Seven months later, I was standing at the podium at AIAC West Africa 2026 — one of the most significant maritime and energy conferences in the region — as the youngest speaker on the programme.
I wasn’t there as an attendee who had worked his way to the front of the room. I was there as a co-presenter, speaking on blue methanol from Nigerian gas resources and what it could mean for the future of maritime fuel.
I’m in my very early 20’s. I’m a penultimate – year Marine Engineering student. And I had spent those seven months building a project — not waiting for permission, not waiting to graduate, not waiting to be chosen.
The maritime industry has a way of making young people feel like they have to earn the right to contribute. Pay your dues. Accumulate years. Wait your turn.
I understand why that culture exists. Experience matters. Humility matters. I’m not dismissing any of that.
But I’ve also learned something in these past months: the industry needs people who are willing to ask questions that haven’t been asked yet. To look at Nigeria’s gas resources, or Africa’s decarbonization challenge, or the IMO’s emissions targets, and say — what if we approached this differently?
That question doesn’t require seniority. It requires courage.
The rejection that scared me turned out to be the most useful thing that happened to me. Not because rejection is good — it isn’t. But because of what I chose to do with the anger and the fear.
I chose to build.
If you’re a young person in this industry carrying a rejection, a setback, a quiet fear that maybe you’re not enough — I want you to know that the feeling is real, and it’s also not the final word.
The final word is what you do next.
