There’s a story often told with pride. A young boy from a remote village beats the odds, studies under candlelight, survives poverty, and becomes a doctor. He returns home, the only one with a white coat for miles. The village celebrates him. The government parades him as a success story. Newspapers write about how he’s the only neurosurgeon in the district, or worse, the whole country. He stands tall, smiling for the cameras, and everyone claps. But what they should be doing is crying.
Because being "the only one" is not success. It’s a death sentence in disguise.
It means thousands, sometimes millions, have no access to proper healthcare. It means children die of diseases no one is around to treat. It means mothers give birth without a professional in sight. It means an entire generation of potential doctors, engineers, and professionals never got the chance to exist because the system failed them.
But instead of seeing this for the tragedy that it is, society celebrates it. Governments use it for PR. The privileged few hold onto it like a badge of honor. The doctor himself, instead of being horrified by the reality, stands proud. Because in a continent where success is measured by how far ahead you are from others, scarcity isn’t a problem—it’s power.
In Africa, being "the only one" is a status symbol. The only doctor. The only professor in a particular field. The only one with a certain skill. Instead of sharing knowledge, many guard it like treasure, as if more educated people would somehow reduce their importance.
This is why mentorship is rare. This is why gatekeeping is the norm. This is why industries remain stagnant, innovation struggles, and growth is painfully slow. Because when there are too few, the few become gods.
Imagine a country of 50 million people with only 10 cardiologists. Instead of ringing the alarm bells, leaders celebrate the 10, showering them with awards and praise. Meanwhile, people die of preventable heart conditions every day.
Now compare this to developed countries, where the goal is abundance, not exclusivity. A city of a few hundred thousand can have multiple hospitals, dozens of specialists, and countless medical students in training. There, no one brags about being the only doctor in town—because that would be a national embarrassment.
But in Africa, we have normalized failure.
Politicians love these stories. They use them as evidence that things are "getting better." They’ll show you the one doctor, the one engineer, the one scientist, as if that proves progress. What they won’t show you are the thousands of children who never even had the chance to dream of those careers.
They won’t show you the villages where people still die from minor infections because there’s no clinic in sight. They won’t show you the underfunded universities where the next generation of doctors should be training, but aren’t.
The worst part? The successful few often buy into the illusion. Instead of demanding better, they bask in the admiration. They enjoy the exclusivity. They become part of the problem.
Another reason why Africa remains stuck in this cycle is the fear of competition. Many who rise to the top don’t want others joining them. They enjoy being the only one in the room, the only expert, the only name people know.
This is why knowledge isn’t shared freely. This is why mentorship is weak. This is why young professionals struggle to find guidance. Those at the top would rather protect their thrones than build ladders for others to climb.
Meanwhile, other continents are mass-producing experts. They flood the job market with talent, ensuring that no single person becomes "the only one." Because true progress isn’t measured by how far ahead the top 1% are—it’s measured by how far behind the bottom 50% aren’t.
Breaking the Cycle
The truth is, no one should ever be proud of being the only doctor in a village, district, or country. It should be a source of shame. A failure of leadership. A sign that something is deeply, horribly wrong.
So what needs to change?
Destroy the exclusivity mindset. Success should not be about being the only one. It should be about creating more like you. The more doctors, engineers, and scientists we have, the better. Gatekeeping knowledge is a disease.
Invest in education. Not just university education, but foundational education. The reason we don’t have enough professionals is that too many children never get a fair shot from the beginning.
Shift the culture. We need to stop glorifying isolated success stories and start demanding systemic change. A country with one or two celebrated experts in a critical field is not successful—it is a failed state.
Encourage mentorship. Those who make it should pull others up, not block them out. Knowledge should flow freely, not be kept behind doors.
The day Africa stops celebrating "the only one" and starts demanding "the many" is the day real progress begins. Until then, the lonely doctor standing in the village isn’t a hero. He’s a warning sign. A reminder that we are still failing. And unless we change, we will keep failing for generations to come.
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