I’ve been an intern not once, but almost twice in my career.
Call me “rookie” all you want—I sometimes forget myself too.
For over four years, I thrived in 3D animation: modeling props for cartoons, creating marvelous cloth designs, sculpting in Z-Brush, texturing, UV layouts—you name it. Trust me, I could still be your go-to expert in this field. Need proof? Check out my Behance portfolio.
But then, life threw me an opportunity. While hustling to make ends meet, I landed a role as a freelance Art Director at a digital agency—Redwolf, a subsidiary of Noah’s Ark. For anyone familiar with the company, you’d understand if I exaggerated a bit—they were a big deal.
Being among the "wolves" was exhilarating. I quickly became one of their most active female Art Directors. Deadlines were my playground, and I worked overtime willingly. My dedication often made colleagues beg me to go home—a journey, by the way, that took 73 kilometers, an hour and 17 minutes by car, or a mix of three buses, a keke maruwa, a rough bike ride, and a final walk down my street.
Work wasn’t just five days a week—it was seven, the nature of the digital industry. No complaints, though. The buzz of working with top brands like Airtel, Nokia, Supakomando, and Nestlé Pure Life kept me going. But as much as I loved the thrill, I sometimes couldn’t help but remember why I didn’t miss that job.
So, here I am, reintroducing myself to you—the rookie.
People often ask, "Mo, why the career shift? Why leave behind a promising start in art direction and a sure job post-youth service?"
I wish I could say an angel came down one Sunday and told me, “Mo, product design is your path. Walk in it.” But no—it wasn’t divine revelation. It was hunger.
Not the metaphorical hunger motivational speakers wax poetic about. The real, straightforward kind: hunger for money.
Yes, I wanted the so-called root of all evil firmly planted in my backyard so I could harvest it freely. Even God, I figured, wouldn’t frown upon a generous tithe and offering. And how else was I going to get there if I avoided this necessary evil?
Sure, some might argue, "You could have made good money in your old field with a little more persistence." And they’re right—I know friends thriving in that space. But for me, it wasn’t just about money. It was about growth, fulfillment, and a chance to dream bigger.
Robert Frost’s poem, “Choose Something Like a Star,” compares a star to the unfulfilled desires we chase. For me, money was just the reward. The true prize lay in the journey—taking on something more expansive, something that allowed me to grow in all directions.
I remember sitting at my old job one day, with ten completed deliverables and a content calendar waiting for next month. I asked myself, Is this what I want for the rest of my life?
Not the hours spent glued to the screen—I’d do that any day, even as a future nursing mother. But in the grand scheme of things, was this it? The answer pushed me to where I am now.
I chose to race across the sky like a star, free and unafraid of what lay ahead. I wanted to be more, to take on more, so I could have the capacity to encompass more—more money, greater heights, meaningful connections, and the privilege of working in remarkable companies.
If you’d asked me months ago why I chose to start over as a rookie instead of climbing the traditional ladder, I might not have had an answer. Now, I know.
It’s as simple—and as celestial—as the order of the stars.
I decided to choose like a star
This was my year in retrospect
Thank you.
A little throwback to 2021….