Unfolding Potentials: A Journey of Self-Discovery
Initially overwhelmed by isolation and cultural barriers, the author's experience pivots during a university welcome tour. Through the designed social architecture of HSE and genuine connections with both international and Russian students, profound loneliness gives way to a sense of belonging. The journey unfolds from a "clenched fist" of fear to an inspired engagement with academic life, revealing how the environment and community actively foster personal and intellectual growth amidst a challenging new world.The decision to go to Russia was not made lightly; it came as a result of the well-known African proverb that says: When you follow your heart, you wiil dance in the rain.
It suggests that pursuing what brings you joy and pleasure will lead to fulfillment.
When you follow your heart, You will dance in the rain.
For me, it was a tremor that began in the quiet capital city of Nigeria and culminated in a seismic shift in the trajectory of my life. The brochure for the National Research University – Higher School of Economics (HSE) had been a siren's call. It spoke of global rankings, a fiercely international student body, and a rigorous Economics program that promised to sculpt raw intellect into a formidable tool. To my ambitious friends, it was a golden ticket. To my family, it was a source of immense pride, tinged with the anxiety of sending their son to a country whose stereotypes were as vast and cold as its geography.
The seventeen-hour flight was a liminal space, a capsule of humming engines and fleeting darkness. I watched the flight path on the screen, a glowing line inching its way over deserts and mountains, moving further and further from everything I knew. I tried to sleep, but my mind was a reel of imagined scenarios: stony-faced immigration officers, unreadable street signs, and a pervasive, isolating silence. I had armed myself with phrasebooks and Duolingo exercises, but the guttural sounds of the Russian language felt like a fortress wall, and I was a lone soldier without a ladder. The potential I was meant to be unfolding felt more like a tightly clenched fist, unwilling to open.
The Grey Embrace of Moscow
The first touch of Russia was not a handshake, but a slap of cold, dry air as I disembarked at Sheremetyevo. It was late September, and autumn had already painted Moscow in shades of steel and gold. The sky was a low, wide canopy of pearlescent grey, a colour I had never truly seen before. In Abuja, the sky was either a brilliant, sun-bleached blue or a dramatic, torrential black. This was different a soft, persistent, and enveloping grey.
The first two days were a testament to my isolation. A trip to the nearest supermarket, a place called "Perekrestok," became an hour-long ordeal of deciphering labels on milk and bread. The cashier spoke to me in rapid Russian, and when I stared blankly, she simply sighed, a sound that felt disproportionately crushing. I retreated to my room, surviving on the snacks I had brought from home and the instant noodles I had managed to buy. I called home, forcing cheer into my voice. "It's great, Mum. The university is amazing. The people are nice." The lies tasted bitter on my tongue. The potential within me felt buried under a permafrost of fear.
The Invitation – A Crack of Light
On the third morning, a notification popped up on my phone from the HSE International Student Alliance group. "Welcome Tour & Campus Visit. Meet at Pokrovka Boulevard Building 2:00 PM." The message was simple, but it felt like a lifeline. This was the official start. Dressing carefully in my African attire, I layered my clothes, a practical skill I was quickly learning. The walk to the metro station was bracing. The cold was no longer a shock but a constant companion.
Finding the correct building was my first small victory. And there, standing by the grand, ornate entrance of a building that looked more like a palace than a university faculty, was a group of students. One of them, a young woman with a bright blue beanie and an even brighter smile, was holding a sign that said "HSE WELCOME" in several languages. She spotted my hesitant approach.
Privet! You must be Ezekiel! I saw your name on the list. Welcome!" she said, her English fluent and warm, devoid of the heavy accent I had expected. "I'm Anna. I'll be your guide today.
The relief that washed over me was so profound it was almost dizzying. Anna's smile was the first genuine, uncomplicated human connection I had made since arriving. She introduced me to the others in the group—a boy from Ubekistan, a girl from China, a pair from Parkistan. We were all in the same boat, our faces a mixture of the same apprehension and budding curiosity I felt. I was not alone.
The Unfolding Campus
As Anna led us through the heavy doors, my senses were immediately recalibrated. The outside world of muted greys and stern facades fell away, replaced by a breathtaking interior. We stepped into a vast, central atrium that soared several stories high. A modern glass roof allowed the soft, grey daylight to flood the space, illuminating a beautiful fusion of old and new.
This building dates back to the 19th century," Anna explained, her voice echoing slightly in the grand space. "It was a merchant's estate, then a Soviet administrative building, and now, it's ours.
My eyes travelled over the details. Ornate, white moldings adorned the high ceilings, depicting intricate floral patterns. The walls were a warm, buttery yellow, and massive, arched windows framed views of the inner courtyard. But woven into this historical tapestry were threads of vibrant modernity. Sleek, white staircases spiraled through the atrium like sculptural installations. Students sat on contemporary, colourful furniture, their laptops open, surrounded by the ghosts of Russia. The air hummed not with silence, but with the low, energetic thrum of intellectual life—the murmur of conversations in multiple languages, the clicking of keyboards, the rustle of pages.
This was not a sterile, intimidating institution. It was a lived-in, breathing organism. It was a museum that refused to be a relic, insisting on being a vibrant, working heart. Anna showed us the lecture halls, some with old, wooden benches that felt like church pews, others with ergonomic chairs and state-of-the-art digital boards. She pointed out the library, a sanctuary of quiet concentration where floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stood beside digital catalogues.
The most striking space was the inner courtyard. Cobblestoned and enclosed by the wings of the building, it felt like a secret garden. A few stubborn late-blooming flowers provided splashes of colour, and students clustered on benches, drinking coffee, laughing, and debating. The atmosphere was one of intense engagement. The beautiful environment was not just a backdrop; it was an active participant in the learning process. It seemed to whisper that ideas were beautiful, that collaboration was natural, and that the pursuit of knowledge was a dignified, even joyous, endeavour. The cold fist of fear in my chest unclenched another degree. For the first time, I felt a flicker of something other than anxiety: inspiration.
The Architecture of Connection
The campus tour was more than a sightseeing trip; it was a masterclass in the social architecture of HSE. Anna was not just a guide; she was an ambassador of a culture. She explained how the design of the university was intentionally meant to foster interaction.
You see these open spaces? The atriums, the courtyards?" she said, gesturing around. "They are designed for 'accidental' meetings. To break down the barriers between faculties, between years, between nationalities. A physicist can bump into a sociologist and start a conversation that changes both their perspectives.
This philosophy was embodied by the students themselves. After the formal tour, a group of "home students"—Russians who volunteered as "buddies"—joined us for coffee at the campus café. I was initially hesitant, worried about the language barrier. But my fears were quickly allayed.
A lanky, bespectacled young man named Dmitry slid into the seat beside me. "So, Nigeria? Lagos, right?" Dmitry began, his English careful but clear. "I am big fan of Nigerian film. Nollywood! The drama is... incredible!" He launched into an impression of a dramatic Nollywood scene, his hands flying, which sent the table into fits of laughter.
Another student, a young woman named Svetlana with kind eyes, asked me about Nigerian food. "What is the one thing I must try?" When I described the complex, spicy-savoury perfection of a well-made Jollof rice, her eyes widened. "We have to find you ingredients. There is an African shop I know. We can go this weekend."
The offer was so spontaneous, so genuine. It wasn't pity or obligation; it was curiosity and a simple, human desire to connect. They asked me to teach them phrases in Yoruba, however, I declined because I was Tiv and not Yoruba and they, in turn, patiently coached me through the Cyrillic alphabet, laughing good-naturedly when I struggled with the rolling 'r' sound. They explained the nuances of Russian social etiquette—why you should never give an even number of flowers, the importance of taking off your shoes when entering a home.
This accommodating spirit was the true magic of HSE. The university had provided the beautiful, open stage, but the students were the ones performing the daily miracle of community. They were the human element that warmed the stone and glass. The knot of fear that had been my constant companion since Abuja had finally, completely unraveled. In its place was a sense of belonging, a fragile but real connection to this new world.
My encounter with Professor Vera
My first class was English for the Current Sociocultural Agenda with Professor Vera Palovna. I had expected a stern, elderly academic, a figure as imposing as the city itself. She did not lecture; she conversed with the room, drawing out ideas, challenging assumptions.
A few weeks into the semester, during a lecture on social inclusion and exclusion, she used an analogy that struck a deep chord with me. "is the world totally inclusive” deliberation upon deliberation sets in while she moderated our discussions.
After the class, feeling emboldened, I approached her. "Professor Vera," I began, slightly nervous. "Your analogy about whether our society is totally inclusive really helped me understand about my home country political activities and allocation of resources.
Indeed, Higher School of Economics is a place you will always want to be.
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