Four years ago, I wrote about Francis Tucker's first commencement speech. Today, I proudly chronicle his second.

Francis, a refugee from war-ravaged Sierra Leone, is my favorite all-American non-American. But stay tuned: He's a man with a plan.

In 2005, just months after settling in the United States, Francis wowed 'em at the Camden High Adult Evening School with his work ethic and wide-eyed appreciation for what makes this nation great.

"If you really thirst for education," then-21-year-old Francis told fellow graduates, "this country offers numerous opportunities to quench that thirst."

This month, Francis earned a bachelor's degree in nursing from Maryland's Columbia Union College. In a speech, he reminded the graduating class that the journey is as important as the destination.

"It doesn't matter how long it took you," Francis said. "As long as you crossed the finish line, with God's help, you're a victor."

Long and winding road

His father, Francis Sr., left Sierra Leone in 1989 to find work, and he settled in Philadelphia. His mother, Janet, wound up here by chance; the civil war broke out while she was visiting her husband in 1991, and the U.S. government granted Janet temporary protected status. (She and Francis' father now have their green cards, and both intend to become U.S. citizens.)

Francis and 11 siblings had to fend for themselves. Rebels killed their grandmother, briefly detained five of the older boys, and slashed Francis' right hand.

The Tucker siblings took the hint. In 1997, the family fled to Guinea, winding up in a refugee camp where Francis fell ill. Later, their parents sent money from the United States for an apartment.

"For five years," Francis recalled, "I had no job, no opportunities, no school." His mother told him to study, so he taught himself French and devoured John Grisham novels to improve his English.

Francis Sr. applied to bring the whole family to America, but so far only two of the girls and Francis have been resettled. In South Jersey, Francis immediately enrolled in night school, marveling at some students' lax attendance and rude behavior.

"Sierra Leone lost a good citizen," principal William Walters told me at the time. "Here's someone from a foreign land telling us how grateful we should be."

A Seventh-day Adventist, Francis felt called to attend Columbia Union, a small Christian college costing $25,000 a year - about what his parents (a mechanic and a nurse's aide) made combined. He won $15,000 in scholarships, but as a refugee awaiting a green card, he could not get loans.

Generous Inquirer readers stepped in, helping Francis cover his first year. It was a down payment on a new life, a gift Francis repaid with grit.

"In Africa," he explained, "if someone gives something to you, you have to put in effort to show them you value it."

It took a village

College proved more than a culture shock. For Francis, it was a full-fledged earthquake.

"What are pickles?" he asked me early on. "Menus here are like The Da Vinci Code."

Focused and fearing failure, Francis rarely looked up from his books. He also served as a resident assistant and held many jobs in the work-study program.

"Freshman year, he was a weird guy," reported Evens Jean-Paul, Francis' roommate. "He was a brother in his shell, all closed."

In time, Francis relaxed, organizing a talent show to benefit victims of Hurricane Katrina, joining the soccer team and a gymnastics squad. He won an election for class president in a country where he can't yet vote.

He even was named "Flirt of the Year," an honor that puzzled the goofy, cheerful student unaccustomed to American dating rituals.

"In Africa, it is disrespectful to look someone in the eye," he recounted in Camden. "In America, you're dishonest if you don't. I'm still struggling with this."

Francis graduated $35,000 in debt. Ever thankful, he sent invitations to the strangers who had helped him succeed.

In Bridesburg, an Inquirer reader who gave $300 and then forgot his name was so touched, she traveled to Maryland for his baccalaureate.

"So often when you give money, you never know what happens," explained the woman, who asked not to be identified because she does not seek recognition for charity. "Francis suffered so much and worked so hard. This kid gets what life is about. I needed to meet him." 

Proud to be an American

Francis aspires to attend graduate school and become a nurse anesthetist, a job that pays up to $150,000 a year. For now, he's just hoping to land a hospital position that lets him learn and earn. Next month, he will fly to Los Angeles for an interview at Cedars-Sinai; West Coast weather reminds him of Sierra Leone.

"As long as I'm touching people's lives," he said, "I will feel satisfied."

"We complain of job loss here, but there are no jobs there," he added, referring to family in Africa depending on him financially. "They cannot stand independently."

Money will be tight for Francis, too. After paying his rent and loans and tending overseas obligations, he'll save for his next goal: becoming a U.S. citizen. He has the green card, but not yet the $700.

And so again, he waits.

"I believe in fate," Francis said. "In so many ways, I already feel like an American." 

Contact Monica Yant Kinney at myant@phillynews.com or 215-854-4670. Read her recent work at http://go.philly.com/yantkinney