I came into this world not just as a child but as a story in motion, destined to carry more than my own dreams. I was born into a family of seven, the first child of my parents. To many, being the firstborn is simply a position of honor, but to me it became a calling — one that came with responsibilities so weighty they carved adulthood into my childhood long before I was ready.
Being the eldest in a large family meant that every decision I made echoed beyond me. It was never just about my own choices, but about the example I set for those who were watching — my younger sister, and my brothers. I often found myself torn between being a child and being a guardian, between wanting to explore my own dreams and needing to hold up the dreams of others. And yet, as heavy as that burden sometimes felt, it shaped me into the person I am today — determined, ambitious, and unwilling to allow circumstances to dictate my future.
I can still remember mornings that began before the sun had fully risen, when I would help my mother prepare my siblings for school. Sometimes I longed to linger in my own world, to move at my own pace, but duty had no patience for delay. My role was clear: to step in where I was needed, to ensure that things ran smoothly, to protect, to guide, and to nurture.
There were days when it felt unfair — when I questioned why I had to carry so much, why I could not simply live as freely as the children around me. But life taught me early that the “why” was less important than the “how.” Instead of asking why, I learned to ask how I could rise above, how I could turn challenges into lessons, and how I could use my experiences to fuel my future.
Today, I stand as more than the first child of five. I stand as a voice, a guide, and a light. My past has shaped me, but it does not confine me. Instead, it propels me forward, reminding me daily that I am here for a purpose larger than myself.
My mission is clear: to teach, to empower, and to inspire through the power of story. To remind my generation that responsibility, no matter how heavy, can become the foundation of strength. To show that ambition is not arrogance, but faith in the possibility of more. To prove that dreams, no matter how delayed, are never denied if we refuse to let them die.
And with every word I write, every story I tell, I will continue to plant seeds of hope, courage, and empowerment.
Because this is who I am: the first child who grew up too fast, the dreamer who refused to stop dreaming, the storyteller who believes in the power of words to change lives.
When Childhood Ended
I became an adult at fifteen. Not because I was ready, but because life demanded it. While other girls my age were lost in play, I was learning lessons no book could teach—lessons of responsibility, resilience, and survival.
I come from a family of seven. As the firstborn, I carried the unspoken weight of leadership. My younger sister and three brothers looked up to me, and though I often felt unprepared, I knew I had to stand strong for them.
My father was a man of relentless hustle. He was a bike rider at dawn, a farmer by day, and a small businessman by night. He did everything possible to keep food on our table, though sometimes all his efforts could only provide two meals a day. Still, he never gave up. His sacrifices taught me that dignity is not measured by wealth, but by perseverance.
My mother, on the other hand, was the quiet genius of our home. She sold fruits in the market but was more than a fruit seller. She had blessed hands that created and innovated, though her brilliance was known only within our small village in Kumba. To me, she was living proof that greatness can shine even without recognition.
In 2015, I faced my high school government examinations. For many, it was just another test, but for me, it was a lifeline—a chance to enter university and break the cycle of struggle. Each night, I studied under a dim lantern, whispering prayers with every page I read. I carried not only my own dreams but also the hopes of my siblings and the sacrifices of my parents. Failure was not an option.
At fifteen, I learned truths that shaped me forever—that poverty can silence dreams, but determination can keep them alive; that responsibility doesn’t wait until you’re ready; and that love is not spoken but shown through sacrifice.
My name is Crusita, and this is my story—the story of a girl who became a woman too soon, but who discovered in hardship the strength to rise.