That's Not My Name by Iyinoluwa

That's Not My Name by Iyinoluwa - January 2026 Scholarship Essay

During my pubescent years, I aimlessly imagined a conversation within an alternate reality where I was fully conscious of my mother’s decision that would transform our livelihoods forever. Fortunately, I was only two years old at the time my mother won a ticket to the infamous country of freedom, the United States of America, so I was spared the emotional turmoil of leaving one’s native land. My memories of Nigeria are sparse, but the aftermath would continue to plague my internal dialogue for years to come.

I could feel my heart hammering in my chest for what felt like the thirtieth time in less than five minutes. It was the first day of 2nd grade, and I was already becoming a mental punching bag for my lousy friend, scientifically known as anxiety. The culprit for this toxic relationship was no other than my first name: Iyinoluwa. A very obvious reminder of my ethnicity.

“It’s Maryann,” I spouted in a very robotic manner once my teacher reached my place in attendance. “I don’t go by that name.”

The number of times I had internally rehearsed how I was going to correct my unfortunate name embarrassed me. My teachers’ inability to enunciate my “real” name in front of every other body of flesh inside the classroom never failed to sting. It wasn’t necessarily the way they failed to mimic my parents’ pronunciation of the name. Moreover, the unspoken agreement among my peers highlighted the essence of my opposing cultural background. I felt like an anomaly.

Access to unrestricted internet platforms saved me. Growing up in predominantly White spaces denied my younger self the courage to exist authentically. I quickly learned that my racial identity did not pose as a handicap, for I found community in online strangers. I formed digital friendships with people who resembled my ancestors. I felt prideful when viewing foreigners partaking in social media trends depicting Nigerian culture. No outside entity persuaded me to reject my heritage. Instead, I developed an immense fondness for what society labeled as “other.” I believe the status quo should be challenged, especially in a cultural melting pot like America. Exposure to such a vast amount of identities led me to establish a strong sense of empathy. Diversity should be viewed as a strength not a punishment.