From the Desert to the Degree

By Mosaab Mohammed Adam
Nagashi Graduate, Class of 2025–2026

I stood at the edge of the sea, staring into waters that promised everything and could take everything away.

My hands were empty, yet my heart was heavy with emotions I could barely understand. Fear, hope, regret, and longing all lived inside me at once. But that moment did not begin at the shore. It began long before quietly, slowly with questions I could no longer ignore.

In 2021, I stepped into adulthood earlier than I expected. I worked long hours, carried responsibilities, and did what I had to do to move forward. From the outside, it looked like progress. But inside, something was missing.

Every night, when the world grew silent, the same questions returned:

Is this the life I want?
Is this all I can become?

I wasn’t searching for money. I was searching for meaning for a life that felt worth the struggle.

When no clear path appeared, I made a decision that changed everything. I left behind everything familiar and stepped into the unknown. I crossed the desert toward Libya, chasing the hope of reaching Europe.

But the desert does not care about hope.

Days passed under a burning sun that showed no mercy. Each step grew heavier as thirst and exhaustion took over. At night, the cold replaced the heat, and silence surrounded us—thick, heavy, and unforgiving. Along the way, I saw things that changed me forever. In that journey, dreams faded, and survival became the only thing that mattered.

By the time I reached the sea, I was no longer chasing a future.

I was simply trying to stay alive.

But even that journey did not go as planned.

Instead of crossing to the other side, I found myself inside a prison in Libya. Ten long days passed in silence. No movement, no distraction just me and my thoughts.

For the first time in months, I stopped running.

And in that stillness, something shifted inside me.

Then, a message arrived.

My friend Mohamed Gabir wrote to me:
“There is a scholarship opportunity in Malaysia this could be our chance.”

Soon after, my older brother Ibrahim sent me words I will never forget:

“True courage is not risking our lives to escape hardship, but pausing to rethink our decisions. Perhaps this opportunity is a door opened for you. The choice is yours.”

Those words stayed with me.

For the first time in a long time, I saw something different not an escape, but a direction.

With the support of Nagashi Organization, I began applying for a scholarship at Albukhary International University in Malaysia. Step by step, doors I believed were closed began to open again.

Then came the acceptance letter.

That same week, a major raid took place in Libya. Many others were not as fortunate.

I survived—not because I was stronger, or faster—but because I chose differently.

I gathered what little I had left—my documents, my faith, and my determination—and began a new journey. This time, not across deserts or seas, but toward a future I could finally believe in.

In Malaysia, I started from the beginning. I learned, I struggled, I grew. Slowly, everything began to change.

Today, I stand not at the edge of uncertainty, but at the completion of a journey I once thought impossible. I graduated from Albukhary International University with a Bachelor’s Degree with Honors in Media and Communication.

But this journey gave me more than a degree.

It taught me that life is not about running away from hardship—it is about choosing your path with courage and awareness.

I no longer run.

I build.
I learn.
I use my voice to serve others.

I was never meant only to survive.

I was meant to find my purpose.

And I did.

This journey was never mine alone.

To my friend Mohamed Gabir—thank you for bringing hope back into my life.
To my brother Ibrahim—your words changed my understanding of courage.
To Nagashi Organization—you gave me a second chance.
To Mr. Abdulrahman Meranet—your generosity made this possible.
To the Albukhary Foundation—thank you for opening the door to a new life.

And to everyone who believed in me, even in the smallest way—thank you.

Because of you, this is no longer just a story of survival.

It is a story of purpose.