In the pages of my memoir, I recount the challenging path that led me to abandon my Ph.D program after seven long years. Countless obstacles arose along the way, making it increasingly impossible for me to continue.
The first hurdle emerged from an unexpected source: my superior, the Director General (DG) at the National Broadcasting Commission (NBC), who not only denied me and my colleagues promotions for a decade but also placed numerous roadblocks in my academic journey, ensuring I would never cross the finish line.
A committee was formed to review applications for study leave, shortlist candidates, and present recommendations for the DG's approval. To my dismay, my inside source revealed that my name was consistently skipped over by the DG. Despite meeting all the criteria, he simply picked and chose his favorites, disregarding my potential.
Determined not to give up, I made a daring decision to secretly continue with the program, conducting my research without official approval, as coursework was not mandatory.
However, my efforts to navigate around the obstacles were met with further challenges. The DG, aware of my persistence, transferred me to a remote location far from the university. Undeterred, I carried on with my studies from this new post. Yet, once again, he discovered my clandestine pursuit and promptly relocated me to an even more distant place, adding more distance between me and my academic aspirations.
Just as I was about to throw in the towel, fate intervened, and the DG was mercifully removed from his position. Filled with hope, I eagerly resumed my program, only to be met with unforeseen hurdles that lay in wait.
I soon found myself entangled with corrupt departmental staff at the university, who shamelessly demanded money before fulfilling their responsibilities. At one point, they even hid my departmental file, claiming there was no one available to locate it. Their solution? Open a new file and pay the departmental fees once again. To make matters worse, the course coordinator openly endorsed their behavior, callously stating that I should not be pitied because my organization had ample funds.
To add insult to injury, my supervisor, who also served as the course coordinator, insisted that I submit my proposal in person, as he refused to accept it via email. His excuse? He would need to purchase fuel to power his generator and print the document. Each time I inquired about the progress of my proposal, he would instruct me to sift through a pile of files to find mine, often wasting precious time and effort. On occasions when he claimed to have taken it home, I would be granted another appointment, only to be met with more delays. Meanwhile, I had to endure a grueling 400-kilometer journey to reach the university. The man rarely answered my phone calls or responded to my emails.
To my disbelief, one of my colleagues revealed that they had to pool their resources to cover the expenses of the external examiner, including accommodation and meals.
At this point, my frustration reached its peak, and I made the difficult decision to walk away from the program after seven years of relentless struggle. It seemed as though fate had determined that I was not meant to complete this academic pursuit.
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