Life as an international student in Canada meant crushing poverty. But it also taught me resilience

This First Person article is written by Gideon Christian, who lives in Calgary. For more information about First Person stories, see the FAQ.

Two weeks into my studies, I stopped by the graduate admission office at the University of Ottawa to check on the status of my funding application. 

The funding was critical. I told the university when I applied that I couldn't study without financial support. The admin assistant looked at me from her desk with sympathy as she told me I was turned down.

Stunned, I choked back the tears.

And that's when I realized my Canadian studies were going to be much, much more difficult than I imagined.

I grew up in a low-income family in northern Nigeria. My dad ran a small business and my mum was an elementary school teacher. That meant I didn't have any political connections to leverage and only top-notch grades could get me into university.

But I did it, studied law and was called to the bar. Still, I wanted more. I wanted to be a university professor and, because I lacked political connections, I believed I needed the cachet of a foreign degree to get me there.

That's why I applied for the master's of law program at the University of Ottawa. I made it clear in my application that I would not be able to study without funding. So in 2006, when I got my admission letter, which stated the funding decision is pending, I was optimistic.

I bought my plane ticket, found a place to stay and even started classes. Then I got the heartbreaking news.

Without funding, my savings vanished. I could barely afford food. I turned to the student federation food bank for breakfast cereal, canned soup and apples, and started volunteering there to give back. By the fourth month, I could no longer pay for my one-room basement unit. I was weeks away from being homeless.

Then one Sunday morning, as I attended my regular religious service, I saw a familiar face leaving the building. Struggling to remember how I knew him, I yelled his name anyway.

"Michael!"

He was a high school mate from Nigeria. We hadn't seen each other in 16 years but after introducing me to his young family, they offered me a room in their house for four months.

Homelessness averted.