"I will try." These were the words of Legson Kayira, a Malawian boy who walked 2,500 miles from his village to Cairo, Egypt, to pursue an education. From the very beginning, I carried the same stubborn faith. No matter the distance, the obstacles, or the doubts, I resolved to try, and try again.

Back in my primary school years, when I was approaching my teens, I was inseparable from the radio. The memory is still vivid: sitting in a corner of the room, head tilted, listening to every word coming out of that little box. I remember my uncle joking: "Uri agaseke?" He meant that I was like a basket; still, unmoving, quietly sitting in the room, focused only on the radio while ignoring all other chores. He laughed at me. The truth is, he was right. In those moments, I had a dream: to be a radio presenter.

I loved football, but not on the pitch. I would tell the names of every APR, Rayon Sports, and Amavubi – national football team – player. I memorised lineups from Arsenal’s era of Thierry Henry and William Gallas, Manchester United with Rio Ferdinand, Van Nistelrooy, and a young Cristiano Ronaldo, or the fierce Barcelona led by Messi. While other boys ran to the fields to play, I was always the last to join, only when there was no one else around.

Yet football wasn't my only fascination. I also loved drawing. In our village, cars were so rare that they felt like visitors from another world. The only one we saw regularly was the ONATRACOM bus that passed through the village every Tuesday on its way to Nyakarambi market. Whenever it arrived, I would run as fast as my legs could carry me, just to see it pull into the station. I would stare at it, take a picture in my mind, and then hurry back home to draw it on the ground with a stick, or with my finger in the dust.

Journey to discovery

When I joined high school, new adventures began. My father's bicycle became my main transport. He would ride me 45 kilometers to the nearest town where I could catch a bus to Zaza, the home of the Minor Seminary where I studied. Did I mind the long, tiring journeys? Not at all. I was living an adventure.

While my classmates arrived in cars or entertained themselves with stories of movies they had watched, my greatest discovery was music. It was then that I first heard of Eminem, T.I., and B.o.B. Rwanda was in its Tough Gang era and hip hop was alive everywhere. By the time I was 15, I had written and performed my first rap song, Kamana. My friend Best G. stood by me on stage, helping me set the crowd on fire. The adrenaline, the lights, the energy, it was unforgettable.

I didn't stop there. Later, I performed again, this time at the Institute of Agriculture, Technology and Education of Kibungo (INATEK), alongside my then-colleague Charles. The competition theme was the importance of language, and we wrote a song for it. The chorus still echoes in me:

"Language, the source of information, the source of communication. Language, the king of peace and power, it's the path that leads us together, and we live forever."

Back then, I didn't know how prophetic those words would be.

Academic crossroads

As I approached the end of O-Level, I was excelling in many subjects, except math. However, I wanted to be a doctor, believing medicine was the noble path for me. But without math, medicine was almost impossible. I tried to enroll in Physics, Chemistry, Biology (PCB) to move away from theorems and logic, but in vain.

Instead, I ended up in a language combination: English, Kinyarwanda, and Swahili at Collège du Christ-Roi. At first, it felt like a disappointment. But life was nudging me back toward communication. Looking back now, I realise that nothing was wasted.

Reality check

By my twenties, I was maturing and facing hard truths. I took a critical look at my lyrics, my writing style, and my stage presence. The truth was clear: I didn't have the lyrical punch to conquer the rap world. I didn't have what it takes to rise to fame. It hurt, but it was also liberating. Because through it all, writing remained.

After graduation, another harsh reality hit home. The journalism dream began to slip away. Media internships were scarce, and opportunities were rare. Almost half of my classmates gave up their dreams of becoming journalists. It was painful to watch, and painful to live. But I held on to one thing: my writing.

I co-founded a small startup offering writing services. We had big dreams, but without experience in business. Within months, we were struggling to find clients and to compete with established agencies. The startup failed, but it taught me that every setback was preparation for something greater.

The unexpected turn

Then life did what it does best. It surprised me. I landed a position in a top-tier government institution, focusing on national development and international cooperation. This wasn't just any job; it was an opportunity to use all those communication skills I'd been developing since childhood, but in the service of something bigger than myself.

Suddenly, the boy who once clung to his father's bicycle was boarding planes, carrying a service passport, meeting with international peers across three continents. I found myself creating content, collaborating with journalists on national stories, snapping photographs that would shape public discourse, and helping to tell Rwanda's story to the world.

The golden thread

Thirty years later, the boy narrating football games, the teenager rapping about language, the student learning to wield words, became the professional working to communicate Rwanda’s and its people’s interests. I never became the sports journalist I once dreamed of. I never became the rap star I once thought I could be. I never wore a doctor's white coat. But in the end, communication was always there, the golden thread weaving through my story.

This is not a story about failed dreams. It is a story about evolving dreams. It is about how dreams sometimes follow us, even when we stop chasing them. They transform, they adapt, and they meet us again at heights we never expected to reach.

To the children in rural Africa, never forget this: your beginnings do not limit your destination. Dreams are not just chased. Sometimes, they chase you. And when they do, they will take you places far beyond what you thought possible. Believe in yourself. Believe in the journey. And believe that you, too, can punch above your weight.

As Nelson Mandela said, "It always seems impossible until it's done."

The author is a communication professional with a deep passion for public diplomacy.