"Trust The Process"

Daniel came outside and saw Gabriel sitting, looking up at the sky. He realized Gabriel’s eyes were fixated on the stars. It felt as though Gabriel’s body was on earth, but everything else was elsewhere. Daniel asked, “Gabriel, are you okay?” Gabriel, still fixating on the stars, answered...“Daniel, I’m tired. I’m tired, Daniel. I have to attend two classes tomorrow. I have to sell plantain chips tomorrow. I have about four assignments due. I haven’t worked on the two group projects, and the deadline is fast approaching. I have important things to do at the hostel tomorrow. I haven’t touched my thesis, and my supervisor is on my neck. When will I ever have time to study? Oh my God, Daniel—do we even have food to eat tomorrow? Oh God, help us.”

This time, Gabriel’s face buried in his hands. Daniel stood still, speechless, he had no words to utter to encourage Gabriel. You know, Gabriel was always the strong one—the one with encouraging words, the one who always had hope.

Gabriel turned his face toward Daniel to check if he was still standing there because the place was very quiet. Realizing his demeanor was affecting Daniel’s, Gabriel tapped him and said, “Don’t worry—TRUST THE PROCESS.” 

Back in university, after eating supper together as friends, we would engage in conversations to forget that the food had not satisfied us. When Daniel saw me outside that day, he knew something was wrong.

The first time I saw the statement “Trust the Process” was on a friend’s status. I didn’t take it very seriously. “Trust the process” is a phrase many people use in motivational quotes. It is one of those statements to which everyone ascribes a personal meaning. For me, “trust the process” means understanding that the immediate result might not reflect the struggles or the outcome of the journey. The keyword here is “reflect.” Note that down. Now, let me tell you how I came up with this definition.

When I returned from Senegal in 2017, I had to enroll in a Senior High School (SHS) for my third and final year and sit for the West African Senior School Certificate Examination (WASSCE). Action Senior High School was a two-minute walk from home, so my parents suggested I enroll there.

One afternoon, I went to the school to ask about admission. I was told I had to take Mathematics and English exams and based on the results they will decide whether or not to admit me. I was given the exams to take on the spot. By God’s grace, the papers weren’t difficult. If you have read “Daddy the Risktaker”, you will know that, at that moment, taking exams hardly fazed me.

 I completed the tests and submitted them to the secretary. She told me the school would call in a few days with the results. Ten minutes after I reached home, my phone rang, it was the secretary. She informed me that I had been offered admission and should return the next morning to pay my fees. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself: “Ah, how? Who marks papers within twelve minutes?” The following morning, I went back, paid my fees, and was told that the headmaster glanced through my answers and instructed the secretary to call me immediately.
Genuinely, that was the start of academic excellence for me at the school.

From that moment, I was deeply committed. I studied relentlessly—even during break time when everyone else rushed to eat, I would still have my books open. Some people even wondered if I ever ate at all. My daily routine was hectic: waking up as early as 2 a.m. to study, finishing by 4, and getting to school before 6. Attend extra morning classes, regular lessons, and sometimes teaching my colleagues during break time. When school closed at 3:15, I stayed for more classes, followed by special study sessions with a few colleagues at 4:30. I would then rush home, shower, find something to eat, and return to school to study for another three hours before finally heading home at night.

Most of the time was devoted to studies. My study partner eventually became my girlfriend. Even most of the time I spent with her was spent teaching her. I’m sure at this point folks might raise an eyebrow and say, “Ei brother, are you sure?” Please oo, it is true oo. But let us focus—let’s focus on Trusting the Process. We might talk about this later; the key word is “might.”

As I became more popular, more and more people joined the classes I organized. From mock to mock, it was clear that I was on my way to getting at least six As. For those who don’t what a mock is, a mock is an internal exam conducted by the school to prepare students for the major exam, which in this case was the WASSCE. When the WASSCE got closer, I focused almost all my time on teaching.

The WASSCE finally came, and genuinely, the papers went on smoothly. I finished the WASSCE with the expectation of getting excellent results. The results were released three months later. A week before the results were released, I fell seriously ill. The story “Shocks in the Brain” gives a detailed account of what happened to me. My aunt suggested I visit them in Obuasi and get some rest. I arrived on 15th July 2018. I still remember the date—15th July 2018—because the first thing I did upon arriving was watch the World Cup final between France and Croatia. That was my first time in Obuasi.

Little did I know that I would return to this small town for a more permanent reason, and that it would come to constitute a major part of my life shaping paths I had never imagined. The story “What Awaits Us in a Far Land” will reveal how I ended up coming back. Let’s get back to the story.

A few days after my arrival, my cousin Jude told me the results were out. That afternoon, with his phone in hand, I gave him my ID, and he keyed in the results checker (Now, normally, I always check my own results, but for some strange reason, I let Jude do it this time. I genuinely don’t remember why)

 The results popped up on his phone. For me, I have a strategy when checking my results: I first scan through to see if there are any low marks, then focus on the high marks.

Based on this strategy, I asked

“Jude, there’s no C, right?”.
“There’s a D,” he replied.

I shouted, “What do you mean there’s a D?” and snatched the phone from his hands. My people, hmmm… four B3s, two C4s, and two Ds. Ah, how do I even describe how I was feeling?

In one split second, all the stress, all the sacrifices, all the late nights and early mornings flashed before my eyes. And just like that, it all seemed to amount to this. Family members suggested a remark since I was convinced there was an error with the results.  My Dad (God bless that old man) sat me down and said, “Gabriel, as your father I know this is not your true result. I’m proud of the effort you invested in these exams. Just let this go, and put the same effort into university, and you will be fine.”

 What my Dad was really telling me was that the process had made me into something special. It just didn’t reflect immediately, but sooner or later it surely would.

Most of us struggle with this. When the immediate result doesn’t showcase what we want it to, we give up and assume the process didn’t work. The fact that you didn’t win a certain competition doesn’t necessarily mean you’re terrible at what you do.

I listened to my Dad’s advice, even though at that time, I didn’t fully get it. You know what was surprising? After adhering to his advice, I later got to know it wasn’t just about me—it was a whole school issue. Turns out the school was suspected of cheating, so they slashed everybody’s marks. My result was actually solid, but the system dragged it down. Some people ended up with straight Ds, straight Fs—a disaster. A lot of them couldn’t even seek admission anywhere.

Looking back, I realized that God mostly helps us, but because we expect the help to come in a particular way, we don’t see the help and rather complain. The result wasn’t really mine, but considering the circumstances, it was a miracle. 

My dad had been right all along, and the proof came quickly. In my first year at UPSA, across both semesters, by God’s Grace and Mercy, I walked away with nine As, two Bs, and one C. That’s when I truly shaped my definition of “Trust the Process.”. I’m sure y’all think the story has ended. Hang on just a little longer.

After my first year in school, I was so convinced I understood the statement “Trust the Process” so much so I told myself and God that at no point would I be concerned about the immediate result. You know, no student has ever responded “no” to the question “Do you understand?” asked by our teachers. We all just nod along like loyal employees signing terms and conditions without reading. Sometimes we wonder, isn’t our response enough? Why do you have to test us again just to confirm that we understand the course? We said we understand the course—that should be enough. Trust us. I guess that’s the same thing that happened to me. Maybe God wanted to double-check if I really trusted the process.

In the university, my goal was crystal clear which was to graduate with first class honors, which required a Cumulative Grade Point Average (CGPA) of 3.60. During my time at the university, it was the same story—dedication and commitment toward the goal. I spent most of my time in the library, and my teaching went to the next level. This time, I even decided not to get a girlfriend during the four years (full vigor this time). I finished Level 100 with a CGPA of 3.75, which meant I was well above the required 3.60. I completed Level 200 with a CGPA of 3.68—still not bad—and Level 300 with a CGPA of 3.62. At this point, things started getting a little dicey, but I was confident the first class was mine. All I had to do was keep doing what I had been doing in the first three years, and I would be fine, I told myself.

My people, I finished with a CGPA of 3.593, just 0.07 shy of the goal. For two straight days, I could not sleep. I was angry and kept murmuring. About every 30 minutes, I would mutter, “0.07.” I was simply furious. On the dawn of the third day, while lost in my thoughts on my bed, a voice whispered within me: “I thought you said you trust the process. I thought you said you fully understood the statement.” I said, “Hmmm, it is well,” one last time and drifted off to sleep.

I realized chasing first class wasn’t just about grades—it built me. It made me hardworking, zealous, a teacher, a better speaker, and most importantly, someone who truly believed that with God’s help, I could accomplish anything I set my mind to. This time, I truly understood the process.

For real—just “Trust the Process.” Hope you enjoyed the story. The next story that will be released is “Where is Gabriel: Another Climbing Wahala.” The first “climbing wahala” can be seen in the story “The Unknown: A Dangerous Place to Be.” If you haven’t read it yet, please do so while you wait for the next story. 

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