The Computer I Never Had

A Journey from Khotokha to Code

I was two years old when my parents divorced. I never saw my father again after that. My mother packed up what little we had and returned to her village with me and my brother in tow. I don’t remember those early years clearly, but I know they were hard. My mom carried burdens no one should have to carry alone.

I grew up in Khotokha, a small village where life moved at a different pace. When people talk about the digital divide, they’re talking about places like where I grew up. Forget computers and laptops. I didn’t even know what a smartphone was. The internet was something that existed somewhere else, for someone else. I learned from textbooks, the same ones year after year, and I never really had a chance to explore beyond those worn pages.

When I moved to for middle school, things changed slightly. We had IT courses. There was a computer lab we could use once a week. I remember the anticipation of those sessions: the chance to sit in front of a screen, to click a mouse, to see what these machines could do. But as a boarding student, that one hour a week was all I got. No smartphone to tinker with in the evenings. No laptop to practice on. Just that single weekly window into a world I desperately wanted to understand.

When school vacations came, I watched other students talk about what they'd do at home. Some had computers, some had internet access. I went back to the village. No devices. No connection. Whatever momentum I'd built during the term evaporated. I couldn't afford a laptop. My mom was doing everything she could just to keep us in school, to keep us fed. Asking for a computer felt impossible, like asking for the moon.

I was interested in technology, deeply interested, but interest without access is like hunger without food. It gnaws at you. And every vacation reminded me just how far behind I was falling.

The Turn

In 2022, my life took an unexpected turn. I went to Norway to study the International Baccalaureate for two years. Suddenly, I had access. Real access. Not one hour a week in a supervised lab, but the freedom to explore, to learn, to make mistakes, to stay up late watching tutorials and trying things that didn't work until suddenly they did.

I started teaching myself. I made up for lost time. Everything I'd been curious about for years, I could finally pursue.

Now I'm at Wheaton College, pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Computer Science. When people ask me what I want to do with my degree, I tell them the truth: I want to solve real world problems. I want to build things that matter. I want to create solutions for communities like the one I came from, where potential goes untapped not because it isn't there, but because the tools to develop it aren't available.

What I Wish I’d Known

When I was back in Khotokha, staring at those textbooks and wondering if I'd ever catch up to the rest of the world, I wish someone had told me a few things:

You don't need expensive devices to start. Yes, access helps. Yes, having your own laptop changes everything. But some of the best developers I know started with shared computers, library access, or old machines that barely worked. They started with free resources: online courses, YouTube tutorials, documentation. The barrier to entry is lower than you think.

You don't need permission from anyone. Not from teachers, not from family, not from people who tell you that tech is for other people from other places. You don't need someone to hand you an opportunity. You can create your own. The internet is filled with free knowledge. All you need is curiosity and persistence.

Why I’m Writing This

I'm writing this for the student in a village somewhere who's curious about technology but doesn't see a path forward. I'm writing this for the kid in a school with limited resources who gets one hour a week in a computer lab and wonders if that's enough. I'm writing this for anyone who's been told, implicitly or explicitly, that technology isn't for people like them.

You belong in this field. Your perspective, shaped by the challenges you've faced, is valuable. The problems you want to solve matter. And the path forward, while not easy, is absolutely possible. Start where you are. Use what you have. Learn what you can. The journey from curiosity to capability doesn't require perfect conditions. It requires commitment.

I'm still on my journey. I'm still learning, still building, still figuring things out. But I'm here. And if I can make it from Khotokha to where I am now, you can make it from wherever you are to wherever you want to be.

The computer I never had in primary school? I have it now. And I'm using it to build a future I once thought was impossible.

YOU can too.