A story about a beautiful woman in finance.
I ended up in Business School without ever planning for it.
No groundwork laid in high school, no grand strategy — just a sudden arrival in a world where my A-grade mean in Art & Design felt less like an achievement and more like a punchline.
I could practically sense the quiet amusement around me.
So I adapted.
Quickly.
The smartest move I could think of was learning directly from the best in the room. If I could win the class representative role at the official ballot — already agreed upon by the class — I’d have a legitimate reason to collect everyone’s assignments before submitting them.
Free access to the sharpest thinking in the cohort.
Bedtime reading, curated by merit.
The assignment I looked forward to most was always from one J. E. Mwelu. Her papers were precise, considered, and quietly brilliant. I’d hold off submitting the batch until I’d read every word of hers — then watch the lecturer’s expression when the work came back.
It took a while to connect the name to the face. J. E. turned out to be the girl who’d been smiling my way each time I glanced at what she was wearing.
I never quite conquered Finance. But the habit carried me further than I expected. And when I’d grown steady enough in Business Studies that the class rep role had lost its charm, one thing hadn’t — African print fashion.