Growing Up Poor: My Journey From Hunger to Medical School

Growing Up Poor: My Journey From Hunger to Medical School

From empty stomachs to full lectures, this is how I turned scarcity into strength.

By: Hamza Yaqoob

There are days I still flinch at the sound of hunger. It isn’t a growl anymore, not something audible to others. But it rumbles inside me, quietly, a ghost of a past I carry in my bones.

Growing up poor doesn’t just shape your wallet. It shapes your worth—or at least, it tries to. It tells you you’re not allowed to dream too big, or speak too loud. That some futures are simply not made for people like you. But I didn’t listen.

The Kitchen That Was Always Empty

My earliest memory of hunger wasn’t even about me. It was my mother skipping her meals just so I could eat. She would smile and say, "I'm not hungry," while her eyes told a different story. Our kitchen didn’t have much: some rice, maybe lentils if we were lucky. Milk was a luxury. Fruit was fantasy.

I would go to school with an empty lunchbox and come home pretending I had eaten. My classmates shared biscuits and chips. I shared silence.

The School of Hard Truths

Being the poorest student in class isn’t just about money. It’s about shame. I had secondhand uniforms, broken sandals, and no pencil case. I had to ask the teacher for pages to write on. I was the invisible one—the boy who sat quietly in the corner, praying not to be noticed.

And yet, books became my escape. I lost myself in science diagrams and English stories. I discovered a world beyond my neighborhood, beyond hunger. I dared to imagine myself in that world.

The First Time I Dreamed of Becoming a Doctor

It happened after my younger brother fell sick with pneumonia. We couldn’t afford a proper hospital, so we waited in a government clinic for hours. He coughed all night, and I remember thinking, "If I were a doctor, I could help him. I wouldn't need money to care. Just knowledge."

That was the first time I wanted something so big, it scared me. I told no one.

Working While Studying

I began tutoring neighborhood kids by the age of 15. Just basic math and science. I didn’t charge much, but it helped put food on our table. I would teach in the evenings, study at night, and help my mother during the day. My grades stayed strong, but my body often gave up. Sleep was a luxury.

Some nights, I cried into my books, asking God why life was so unfair. But I always kept going. Hunger made me resilient. Poverty made me relentless.

The Entrance Exam That Changed Everything

Medical college in my country isn’t just about brains. It’s about money, connections, and access. I had none. But I had hope.

I studied with borrowed books. I solved past papers downloaded at internet cafes. I watched free YouTube lectures when I could get a signal. When the day of the exam came, I carried not just a pen and admit card, but a lifetime of struggle in my heart.

And I passed.

Living the Dream I Once Doubted

Today, I am an MBBS student. That sentence alone feels like a miracle.

I still work part-time as a tutor. I still skip luxuries. I still get flashbacks of my mother skipping meals. But now, when I hold a stethoscope, I hold the proof that pain can become power. That poverty is not the end of the road. It’s the beginning of a harder, deeper journey—one that builds character stronger than privilege ever could.

Giving Back

I now teach students who remind me of me: under-resourced, overburdened, but full of untapped brilliance. I tell them, "You don't need money to be worthy. You just need belief."

They listen, because they see that I speak from experience, not from books. And that matters.

Final Thoughts

Growing up poor taught me lessons no classroom ever could:

Hunger builds humility.

Struggle grows empathy.

And dreams, when chased despite pain, become purpose.

This journey hasn’t been easy. But it’s mine. And if you’re reading this, maybe it can be yours too.

You don’t need a full wallet to build a full life. You just need the kind of hunger that never goes away—the kind that fuels you instead of frightening you.

And that, perhaps, is the greatest education of all.