US visa restrictions shattered my Stanford dream —Rights activist, Oduala

Human rights defender and Marigold R.O. Foundation Executive Director, Rinu Oduala, speaks with TEMITOPE ADETUNJI about her Stanford admission and the visa restrictions that disrupted her plans to study in the United States

Can you take us back to when you first received an admission from Stanford University and tell us what that moment meant to you?

I had been admitted to Stanford’s master’s programme in Community Health and Prevention Research, an opportunity I had worked towards for years. As the first person in my immediate family to pursue a master’s degree, the admission was deeply personal. My family was incredibly excited. It (the admission) meant everything.

Growing up in Nigeria with limited opportunities, I had once felt that institutions like Stanford University were places I had no business dreaming about. Receiving the admission showed me how far I had come. It felt like all the odds I had fought against had finally bent in my favour.

Why did you choose Community Health and Prevention Research?

Public health is deeply personal to me. I grew up in the ghetto, where I saw women and children die from preventable conditions. Those experiences made me question why we wait for people to become victims before we act.

My work with communities and advocacy gave me practical experience, but I wanted academic training to strengthen it and help me connect what I had seen on the ground with evidence, research and policy. I wanted to move beyond identifying problems to developing evidence and policies that could actually prevent them.

When did you realise getting a visa might become a challenge?

It was when the United States announced visa restrictions affecting Nigerian nationals. Before then, I approached the process like any other admitted student.

I had previously lived and spent time in the US for fellowships, speaking engagements and other professional activities, so I did not expect my nationality to become the central issue affecting an opportunity I had earned.

I also began to hear from other Nigerian students facing the same uncertainty, which made me realise this was bigger than me.

What happened between receiving your admission and deciding you could not proceed?

One important clarification is that I never submitted a student visa application, so I was not personally refused one.

After I publicly announced my Stanford University admission, several Nigerian students contacted me, many of whom were facing the same uncertainty. I reached out to Stanford University to understand what options were available.

Although the university had started the process and asked when I expected to join, there was no clear pathway for me to begin remotely or defer the programme while waiting for the situation to change.

After considering the uncertainty, I made the difficult decision to withdraw my admission. It was painful because I had earned that opportunity, but by then I was also thinking about the many other Nigerian students in the same position.

When an entire group’s academic plans are affected by a policy they had no role in creating, the issue becomes much bigger than one person losing an opportunity.

What was the underlying visa issue?

The underlying issue was the US government’s visa policy, which imposed restrictions affecting F, M and J visas for Nigerian nationals, citing national security, screening and vetting concerns.

While governments have the authority to make immigration decisions, such policies have real human consequences. For me, the broader concern is what happens when nationality becomes a barrier to an educational opportunity someone has already earned.

A passport should not determine a person’s potential or access to education.

How did you receive the news, considering everything you had already done to prepare?

Honestly, it was a blow. Admission to Stanford University made me imagine the next chapter of my life—where I would live, what I would study, the research I would pursue and the people I would meet. Then suddenly, the question became whether I could even get there.

What made it particularly difficult was my history with the United States. I had travelled there several times, lived there for months, held fellowships and spoken at American universities.

I also held a valid five-year B1 visa, although it was not a student visa and could not be used to undertake a full-time degree programme. So, it was painful to see how a policy affecting my nationality could prevent me from accessing an opportunity I had worked so hard to earn.

Can you take us through the timeline, from receiving your Stanford University admission to the decision to withdraw?

I was admitted in March 2026; Stanford University asked me to apply for the visa in June. I communicated with the university between June and August, and ultimately withdrew my admission on September 8, 2026.

How much did you invest financially and emotionally?

I invested a lot. Beyond the costs of applications, documentation and preparing for graduate school, the bigger investment was the years behind the application.

You do not simply wake up one morning and get into Stanford University. You build an academic record, gain professional experience, write applications and essays, seek recommendations, face rejections and keep going.

By the time you receive an admission, you have already invested years of your life, as well as significant time and money.

The greater loss for me was the opportunity itself and everything it took to reach that point. That loss was not peculiar to me. Other Nigerian and African students who received admissions, scholarships and other opportunities had also invested significantly in getting there.

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What did you have to put on hold?

I had imagined the next stage of my academic and professional life, including research interests I wanted to develop and people I wanted to learn from. But I also kept thinking about Nigerian and African students whose plans had been disrupted. Some had planned their year around starting school, made financial commitments or turned down other opportunities.

For many, an international admission is life-changing, especially for those from disadvantaged backgrounds who worked hard to earn it. While I lost an opportunity that mattered deeply to me, I became more interested in what it means when many people experience the same setback at once.

What was the hardest part of dealing with the setback?

Probably processing the fact that something I had worked for could be taken out of my hands for reasons completely outside my control. It is frustrating knowing there is no additional qualification or improvement I could make to change the outcome. Hard work and merit do not always protect people from structural barriers.

Interestingly, I began thinking less about, “Why did this happen to me?” and more about, “What does this mean for everyone else?” I have access to platforms and networks many Nigerian students do not, so staying silent would leave those without such support, and even more vulnerable.

How did your family and friends react?

Initially, my family wanted me to try everything possible, saying, “Just apply. See what happens.” I understood because they had watched me work for this opportunity and wanted me to fight for it. But I kept thinking about other Nigerian students facing the same restriction, and eventually, my family understood my perspective.

If I find a way around the problem while thousands of Nigerians cannot, what exactly am I solving? I care about my own opportunities, but I also care about ensuring opportunities remain accessible to other Nigerians and Africans.

Did you consider deferring, attending another institution or studying elsewhere?

Stanford University made clear that deferral was unavailable, and there was no remote option to begin the programme while waiting for the restrictions to change. Studying elsewhere remains an option, and I will most likely pursue my education at another university while continuing my professional career.

However, having alternatives does not diminish what I lost. Stanford University was an opportunity I had earned, and losing it because of a nationality-based restriction was significant. Not everyone has another opportunity waiting; for some, this may have been their only chance.

What ultimately convinced you that withdrawing was the most realistic decision?

It was the uncertainty surrounding the visa restrictions and the lack of a clear way to preserve my admission while waiting. I could have hoped the policy would change, but there was no certainty it would happen in time.

I also heard from other Nigerian students facing the same situation and did not want my decision to depend solely on my ability to navigate it through personal networks.

What have you been doing since then?

I have been speaking with students, institutions, policymakers and others to understand what can realistically be done, while using my platform to highlight the broader issue.

Nigerian and African students have had their academic plans disrupted after years of preparation. We are not asking for special treatment, but the opportunity to pursue legitimate admissions. Our ambitions should not be determined solely by the passports we carry.

Did this experience change how you see opportunity and merit?

Absolutely! It made me think more seriously about mobility and who gets to participate in global institutions. We often treat merit as simple: work hard, qualify, apply and succeed.

But systems can determine whether you can access an opportunity you have earned.

You can do everything right and still face a policy decision that changes everything. For young Africans, this highlights the gap between earning an opportunity and actually being able to access it.

Looking back, is there anything you wish you had known before applying?

No. I would not have done anything differently. This was not a mistake on my part that I could have avoided. It was a policy environment that changed around us.

The important lesson for me is that international students, particularly those from Africa, are being made to understand that admission and the ability to travel are two different things.

You can earn an academic opportunity and still face an external barrier to accessing it simply because of where you were born. That raises a broader question about equal access and how immigration policy affects people who have already earned legitimate educational opportunities.

What would you say to other Nigerian students who have secured admission abroad but are now uncertain about travelling?

This is difficult, but you worked for that admission. You earned it, competed internationally and got there. Your passport identifies your nationality. It is not a measure of your intelligence, potential, contribution or capacity to pursue an education.

I would not want talented young people to normalise a situation where they begin to see their nationality as something they have to overcome before their qualifications can even be considered.

Do you still intend to study in the United States?

Not in the United States, at least not in the next couple of years. I have had fellowships, professional opportunities and speaking engagements in the United States, and I value the relationships I have built there.

I also continue to respect the academic institutions, human rights defenders and many brilliant people I have met there. But right now, I have to build my education elsewhere during this difficult political moment.