Written by Chisom M. Onuoha
Edited by Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu
Umuofia was a community where illiteracy had spread like
wildfire, leaving the people with little to hold on to. The villagers believed
in making money, not going to school and wasting time learning how to spend it.
What they respected was good character and wealth, not education. In Umuofia,
children weren’t raised with school books or classrooms in mind. Some earned
money through illegal means, while others who made theirs legally were often
mocked or duped because they lacked the knowledge to defend themselves.
News of the community’s ignorance spread far and wide,
reaching other communities and states through the press and broadcast media.
One of those communities was Azumbari, a distant land
where a school called African Child International School, ACIS, stood. A
student from the school’s press club reported the story. The report stirred
deep concern and curiosity among the students, and many were moved by the
realities faced by children their age in Umuofia. Teachers used the story as a
lesson, urging students to appreciate their access to education and to never
take it for granted.
Before the end of the term, the school management
proposed an outreach: a one-week trip to Umuofia to teach and enlighten the
children there.
When the time came, they fulfilled the promise. The ACIS
team, along with a group of students, travelled to Umuofia. But when they
arrived, the community’s chairman refused to allow them in.
‘Una want come teach our pikin say dem no
sabi?’ he shouted. ‘We
no need una teaching!’
It took long hours of persuasion before he reluctantly
agreed. He and other elders weren’t pleased, but they had no choice. The school
group was allowed to stay for just one week.
The ACIS team came prepared with teaching materials and
lesson plans. Still, it wasn’t easy.
‘We don’t even know where to start,’ said one of the
teachers. ‘These children don’t understand the words we use.’
Some of the children were confused. They stared blankly,
unresponsive. But there were a few, bright and curious, who managed to grasp
the lessons.
One day, one of the ACIS teachers gathered the children
under a tree and shared a story to help them understand what education truly
meant.
‘Once, there were nine siblings,’ she began gently. ‘Each
one carried a special gift. Together, they formed a powerful family known as
Education. These siblings are the secret to success. Without them, no one can
go far in life.’
The children leaned in, their curiosity growing.
‘The first sibling is Empowerment,
who helps you believe in yourself. The second is Determination, who gives you strength to keep going when things are
hard. Understanding helps you see
clearly and learn deeply. Then there’s Character,
who teaches you honesty, respect, and kindness.’
She walked slowly among the children as she continued.
‘Acquisition
helps you gain knowledge and useful skills. Training
turns your talents into real abilities. Intelligence
helps you think smart and solve problems. Opportunity shows up when you’re ready and willing. And finally, Nurturing reminds you to care for
yourself and others as you grow.’
The children stared, silent but spellbound. The names
weren’t just words; they were seeds planted in their minds.
‘These are the Nine Siblings of Education,’ the teacher
finished. ‘If you remember and follow them, they will guide your path, not just
in school but in life.’
By the end of the week, something had changed. The
children couldn’t stop talking about the visitors. Even their parents discussed
the experience during community meetings. Among the children was Chioma, the
daughter of a wealthy man.
One evening, Chioma went into her room and pulled out a
book she had used during the lessons.
She flipped through the pages slowly, her face
thoughtful. ‘Our ancestors…’ she murmured. ‘Na here una bring me
grow? Umuofia? I no like am oh.’
Chioma paused, her fingers frozen mid-flip over the
pages of her exercise book. Her eyes widened. A spark lit up behind them. The
school... the name... the address... It had been mentioned briefly, but
clearly.
She sprang from the bed, papers fluttering to the floor
as she dug through her notes with urgency, lips moving in a whisper. ‘Where I write am? I sabi say I write
am somewhere…’ Then she stopped. Her finger landed on a line, and
her eyes lit up.
Clutching the notebook to her chest, she bolted from
the room. Her slippers slapped the floor with each step as she stormed into the
sitting room.
Her father reclined in his armchair, sipping from a
calabash of palm wine. On the side table beside him sat a plate of peppered
chicken, its spicy aroma filling the air.
‘Daddy!’ she called. ‘Remember those people wey come here come teach us wetin
dem say we no know?’
He glanced up sharply, lowering the calabash. ‘Talk!
Talk fast… fast.’
‘I wan go their school,’ she said, eyes shining. ‘I wan learn something better.’
Her father, Chibueze Okoro, sat up straight, frowning. ‘No
oh! Not in this house!’ he barked. ‘My papa no go school. My mama no go.
In fact, nobody for this family go school. Now na you wan come break am? You
wan make I dey spend money?’
‘Papa, I hear you,’ Chioma said quietly. ‘I no go go school again.’
She turned around and walked away, trying not to cry.
That night, dinner was served. Everyone came to the
table, but Chioma was missing. No one mentioned her name. It wasn’t because
they didn’t notice; her absence hung heavily in the air like a question no one
wanted to ask. The silence spoke louder than words.
The next day, Chioma’s parents sat together, worried.
‘This girl don change,’ her mother said. ‘She no dey talk, she no dey eat well.’ ‘I notice am too,’ Chibueze replied. ‘We go put her for school. But wetin
community go talk?’
A lot ran through his mind. Wetin people go talk? Dem go say I don soft. Dem go laugh me say I dey
spoil my pikin. But if I no do something now, this girl fit lose her light.
Still, by evening during dinner, he made up his mind to
do what was best for his daughter. He would send her to school, no matter what
anyone said.
He stood up and called out, his voice firm. ‘Fatima!’ he shouted. ‘Go call my daughter. Tell her say we get family
meeting now-now.’
Fatima, the family’s quiet and respectful maid, emerged
from the kitchen and nodded without a word. She wiped her hands on her wrapper
and climbed the stairs.
Five minutes later, she came back with Chioma following
slowly behind. Chioma’s face looked empty, and her eyes were dull, like all the
life had gone out of her. At the
dining table, she asked, ‘Papa,
why are you calling me?’
Her parents exchanged glances.
‘I no understand wetin you dey talk oh,’
Chibueze said, squinting at her. ‘Where
you learn that kind rubbish wey you dey speak?’
Chioma took a breath. ‘Papa,
you know say I tell you say I wan go school. You no gree. So I begin use my
phone learn how to speak English. Na wetin those people dey call ‘English’.’
He didn’t expect those words. They touched something
inside him.
Though still in Basic Four, Chioma had a small phone her
father bought her. It was mainly so she could reach him or her mother when
needed. But instead of playing with it, she had used it to start learning English
on her own.
‘She don show Determination,’ her
mother whispered.
Chibueze sighed deeply. ‘Well... me and your mama don talk. You go go school. But
you no go stay with us. You go stay for hostel. Tomorrow morning, give me the
school address make I go…’
Chioma’s face lit up. A smile broke through her moody
silence. She reached for her plate of delicious ukwa and began to eat.
***
The next day, very early, Chioma gave her father the
school address she had written down in her notebook. Chibueze travelled to
Azumbari, located the school, and paid all the required fees for the new term.
The school administrator looked over her background and
placed her in Basic Four, the class best suited for her level. Though the term
was already in session, he assured Chibueze that Chioma could catch up with the
help of extra support from the teachers.
He handed Chibueze a folder containing the school’s
timetable, a list of required materials, and the name of her class teacher.
Chibueze waved it away. ‘No need. I no sabi read,’ he said bluntly.
The staff kindly took time to explain everything to him,
including what Chioma would need, her class schedule, and when she could start.
They also mentioned that her school uniforms would be ready and waiting for her
at the hostel on the day she resumed.
When all was settled, Chibueze returned to his company, Okoro Cement Depot. He was the owner and
employed many intelligent workers. Even though he didn’t go to school, he was
sharp with numbers, and nobody could cheat him.
Seated in his office, he dialled Chioma’s number.
‘I don go your school. I don pay the money,’ he
said, leaning back in his chair.
Chioma screamed with joy when she heard the news. She ran
to her room, hugging her pillow and dancing around in excitement.
Later that evening, her mother took her to the market to
buy everything she would need: provisions, toiletries, bedsheets, sandals, and
a box for her clothes. It was Chioma’s first time going to a boarding school,
and everything felt new and exciting. The school offered both day and
boarding options, but her parents chose the hostel. They didn’t want the
villagers gossiping or mocking them for sending their daughter to school,
something many in Umuofia still saw as a waste of time or even a scam.
That night, her mother helped her pack. Chioma carefully
folded her wrappers and nightgown the way she had seen her mother do it. The
bedsheets gave her trouble, so her mother took over while arranging her
toiletries and food items into the box.
She looked up and said, ‘Mummy, thank you. I go make you proud.’
Her mother smiled gently. ‘I know say you go make me proud, my pikin. Just face your book and do
well.’
That night, Chioma barely slept. Her dreams were filled
with books, uniforms, and what a big school compound might look like.
***
The sun hadn’t risen fully. The sky was still grey, and
dew clung to the leaves like tiny beads. Roosters crowed in the distance as the
village slowly came alive.
Inside the Okoro household, Chioma’s room was quiet.
She sat on her bed, gently zipping up her school box while her mother tied her
shoes and adjusted her hair. Then Chioma reached into her drawer and pulled out a plain notebook. The
cover was clean and smooth. It was one of the many exercise books her parents
had bought during the ACIS visit. It was the only one she had chosen to keep
close because it held the name and address of the school that had opened her
eyes.
She smiled and tucked it safely into her bag. ‘Na this small book carry my dream,’ she whispered.
Her mother, sitting beside her, heard the words. She
wrapped an arm around Chioma and gently pulled her close.
‘You go do well,’ she said softly. ‘Just remember who you be.’
Chioma nodded. ‘I
go try, Mama.’
They stood up together. Her mother helped lift the bag
and carried it downstairs. Chioma followed behind, her heart beating fast with
hope and courage.
At the door, her father stood quietly, dressed in his
usual long kaftan, car keys in hand. He didn’t say much, only nodded, his eyes
steady as he watched them come down.
Chioma’s mother carried the larger school box outside and
gently placed it in the boot of the car. Chioma followed, holding her small
backpack. A smaller travel bag sat by the doorway.
‘Fatima!’ Chioma’s mother called.
The maid appeared and, without a word, picked up the
travel bag and placed it carefully beside the box in the boot. Then she stepped
back respectfully.
Chibueze walked over to the driver’s door and gave his
daughter a teasing look. ‘You no go waste my fuel oh,’
he grumbled, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Chioma laughed. ‘I
go use am learn better thing, Papa.'
Her father opened the front door of the car, and she
climbed into the passenger seat.
Her mother stepped back and waved. ‘Make you do well, my daughter. I dey
pray for you.’
Chioma smiled through the glass. ‘Thank you, Mama!’
As the car pulled out of the compound, her mother stood
at the gate, watching until they disappeared down the dusty road.
***
The ride to Azumbari was long. The roads twisted through
hills and open land. Chioma stared out of the window, her eyes wide. She had
never left Umuofia before. Everything looked new: tall buildings, proper roads,
children in neat school uniforms. At
one point, she turned to her father. ‘Papa,
this place fine oh.’
Chibueze grunted. ‘Fine
no dey feed person. Na book wey you come read, not fine road.’
They reached the school gate by noon. A tall signboard
stood beside the entrance: African Child International School–knowledge
is freedom.
A guard waved them in. They walked to the reception,
where a kind-looking woman stood behind the desk
‘Good afternoon,’ she said warmly. ‘You must be
Chioma.’
Chioma nodded. ‘Yes, ma.’
‘We’ve been expecting you,’ the woman said with a
smile. ‘Let me call the matron who will take you to the hostel.’
Within minutes, a woman in uniform appeared. She looked
firm but kind. ‘Chioma, follow me,’ she said.
Chioma turned to her father. She hugged him tightly. ‘Thank
you, Papa,’ she whispered.
Chibueze cleared his throat, trying not to look too
soft. ‘Make sure say you read. No go dey
do follow-follow.’
‘I hear, Papa.’
The matron picked up the travel bag, and a school
porter carried the box. Chioma followed them, her backpack slung over her
shoulder.
Chibueze stood by the door, watching her go. She looked
small beside the matron, but her steps were steady.
Chibueze turned to the receptionist. ‘She go do well, abi?’
The woman smiled. ‘Yes, sir. She’s in good hands.’
Chibueze nodded, stepped outside, and looked up at the
sky. He took a deep breath, got into his car, and drove away.
Chioma looked around as they walked through the school
compound. Children from different backgrounds filled the grounds. Some played,
others sat in quiet groups reading. Everything looked strange but exciting.
The matron led her into a room with two beds. ‘This is
your new home,’ she said. ‘Your roommate will join you later.’
She set the travel bag on the bed and motioned to a
neatly folded uniform on the table beside it.
‘This is your school uniform,’ she added. ‘You’ll wear
it from tomorrow morning. After dinner, I’ll help you arrange your things and
settle in.’
Chioma nodded and dropped her backpack gently. She sat
on the bed and looked around. The room was neat and quiet.
She pulled out the notebook again, opened it to the
first page, and read the words she had written weeks ago: Empowerment.
Determination. Understanding. Character…
She smiled and whispered to herself, ‘I go make all of una proud.’
***
The morning bell rang sharp
and loud. Chioma jumped from her bed, confused at first. She rubbed her eyes
and looked around the unfamiliar room. Then it hit her: I’m no longer in Umuofia.
Outside her window, students
were already up and about, dressed in clean uniforms. Some sat under trees
chatting, others walked with breakfast plates, while a few held books as they
prepared for the morning assembly.
Chioma opened her school box
and brought out a large sachet of Golden
Morn. She tore it open carefully and poured some into a small bowl. Then
she added a few spoons of powdered milk and water. Stirring it quickly, she
began to eat.
Kamsi, her roommate, peeled a
boiled egg and took small bites, sipping from a small pack of fruit juice
beside her. ‘You dey rush,’ Kamsi
teased.
‘I
no wan late,’ Chioma
replied with a smile.
After eating, she quickly put
on her new school uniform, sky blue and navy. She buttoned it all the way up.
Her name tag sat neatly on her chest. In her small mirror, she looked at
herself and smiled shyly.
‘You ready?’ Kamsi asked as
she adjusted her socks.
‘Yes, I’m coming,’ Chioma
replied, grabbing her books.
As they walked together
through the school compound, Chioma noticed more details—the soft murmur of
students’ voices, the fluttering flag, and the bold quotes painted across the
yellow walls.
‘Knowledge
is like a garden. If it is not cultivated, it cannot be harvested.’
‘Discipline
is the bridge between goals and success.’
She paused briefly, reading
each one. They stayed in her mind like little songs.
They soon reached the
classroom. It wasn’t the size that surprised Chioma, it was the order. The
chairs were neatly arranged, each with its own desk. A smart board stood at the
front, gleaming under soft lights, and a small bell rested on the teacher’s
table. Everything looked calm and purposeful. This was a space built for
learning.
A tall, young teacher stepped
in. Her glasses rested on her nose, and her voice was sharp but calm.
‘Good morning, class.’
‘Good morning, ma,’ everyone
echoed.
‘My name is Miss Adaobi.
Today, we will be talking about parts of speech. But first, we have a
new student.’
All eyes turned to Chioma.
Miss Adaobi looked at her
kindly. ‘Please introduce yourself.’
Chioma swallowed hard. Her
palms were sweaty. Slowly, she stood up. ‘My name is... Chioma Okoro. I come
from... Umuofia.’
Some students giggled. One
whispered, ‘She dey talk like village
person.’
Chioma heard it. Her cheeks
burned. But she kept standing.
Miss Adaobi raised a brow.
‘Quiet, everyone. Chioma, you’re welcome. I believe you’ll do just fine here.’
Chioma sat down quickly,
avoiding eye contact.
The lesson began. Words flew
across the room—noun, verb, adjective... Chioma tried her best to
follow. But some things sounded strange.
She leaned towards Kamsi and
whispered, ‘Wet... wetin be ‘adjective’?’
Kamsi smiled. ‘It’s a word
that describes something. Like ‘big house’… ‘big’ is the adjective.’
‘Oh!’ Chioma nodded slowly.
‘Okay. I dey understand small-small.’
During break, Chioma sat
alone on the bench under a mango tree. Some girls passed by, laughing.
‘She
no sabi talk English,’
one of them whispered.
Chioma looked down at her
bread and akara, suddenly not hungry
anymore.
Then Kamsi walked up and sat
beside her. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Everyone was new once. They just dey form.’
Chioma looked at her. ‘You think say I go fit catch up?’
Kamsi grinned. ‘Of course. You strong. You get
Determination. And you get Character. You remember those Education siblings?’
Chioma laughed lightly. ‘I no go forget them.’
That afternoon, they had a
spelling test. Chioma missed half of the words, but she didn’t cry. She just
circled the ones she didn’t know and asked Kamsi after class.
Later that night, she sat on
her bed reading. She read out loud, slowly but clearly:
‘Adjective... is... a word... that...
de-scribes... a noun.’ She repeated it again and again until she said it
without looking.
Outside, the moon hung
quietly. The school compound was peaceful. Inside her room, Chioma’s heart beat
with hope.
One
day, I go be one of the best,
she thought with a smile. She truly believed it.
Two weeks passed like the wind. Chioma had fallen into a
routine: early morning assembly, classes, break, more lessons, prep time, and
night reading. She was still slower than most students, but something in her
had changed.
She now sat at the front of the class. Her hand often
rose when questions were asked. She read aloud during group work. And every
night, she studied with a small torchlight under her blanket, just to get
better.
‘Make
I fail, no be for this school,’ she would whisper to
herself.
Miss Adaobi noticed her efforts. One day after class, she
called her aside.
‘Chioma,’ she said, adjusting her glasses, ‘I’m proud of
the way you’re trying. Keep it up. Don’t let anyone make you feel less.’
Chioma nodded, smiling. ‘Thank you, ma.’
That weekend, the school announced a general English test. It would cover everything they had
been taught so far. Students groaned and murmured.
‘Another test again?’ one of them complained.
But Chioma’s eyes lit up. This was her chance.
She studied harder than ever. She borrowed Kamsi’s past
test booklets and stayed up late every night. Even during break time, she sat
alone by the classroom window, reading her notes.
Kamsi watched her one afternoon and said, ‘You really dey try. Just make sure you rest
small.’
Chioma shook her head. ‘No be now. I wan prove say I fit do am.’
The day of the test arrived. Miss Adaobi walked into the
classroom with a brown envelope. ‘No talking. No looking sideways. If you’re
caught cheating, you score zero.’ She began to share the papers.
Chioma’s hands were a little sweaty as she received hers.
She whispered a short prayer: ‘God, help
me remember wetin I read.’
She began.
The first question: Choose
the correct adjective in this sentence: ‘The little boy ran fast.’
She smiled. ‘Adjective...
na word wey describe noun. ‘Little’!’ she ticked it.
One after another, she answered the questions, thinking
carefully. She didn’t rush. When the
test ended, she breathed out deeply and looked up at the ceiling, a soft grin
on her face.
Two days later, Miss Adaobi walked in with the marked
scripts.
‘Today,’ she began, ‘I am impressed. Many of you did
well. But one person surprised me the most.’
Everyone looked around.
She raised a paper high in the air.
‘This student moved from the bottom of the class to one
of the top five. Let’s clap for Chioma Okoro.’
The class went silent for a second, then clapping
followed.
Chioma froze in her seat. She didn’t know whether to
stand or cry.
Miss Adaobi walked over and handed her the script.
‘Seventeen out of twenty. Well done.’Chioma took it slowly. She stared at the
score. Her name was written boldly on top.
Kamsi leaned over and whispered, ‘I talk am! You too much!’ From
the back of the class, one of the girls who had laughed at her weeks ago raised
her hand.
‘Chioma, please help me explain that number six after
class,’ she said.
Chioma looked back, surprised, but she smiled. ‘No wahala.’
Later that evening, Chioma stood by the window of her
hostel room, watching the sky turn orange. She held her test paper to her
chest.
‘I’m becoming someone,’ she whispered to herself.
Her notebook sat open on her bed. On the first page were the familiar words: Empowerment. Determination.
Understanding. Character…
She smiled and whispered, ‘I’m no longer just the girl
from Umuofia.’
***
Since the English test, Chioma’s name was no longer
strange in school. People who had once ignored her now greeted her with
respect.
‘Morning, Chioma,’ a boy from Basic 5 said as she passed.
‘Good morning,’ she replied with a little smile, still
getting used to the attention.
Teachers began using her answers as examples in class.
Even Miss Adaobi once said, ‘If Chioma can grow like
this, then no one here has an excuse.’
Her books were now always neat, her handwriting clearer,
and her questions smarter. But with
the praise came new challenges.
One morning, the class prefect fell sick. During
assembly, the principal made an announcement.
‘We need someone to help lead Basic 4 this week. Teachers
have chosen Chioma Okoro.’
The students clapped.
Chioma’s heart jumped.
Me? she thought. A leader?
During break time, her classmates gathered around.
‘Class Prefect Chioma!’ Kamsi teased, bowing with a grin.
Chioma laughed shyly. ‘Abeg
stop dat thing.’
But leading wasn’t easy. She had to make sure students lined up properly, cleaned the
classroom, and stayed quiet when the teacher stepped out. Some didn’t like her new position.
‘Who
she be sef?’ one girl whispered loudly. ‘Just because she get 17 over 20.’
Chioma heard it, but she said nothing.
Later that day, as she stood by the chalkboard writing
names of noise makers, one boy hissed, ‘Na
now she go show herself.’
Her hand paused. Then she continued writing.
That evening, she sat alone under a mango tree in the
school compound, her notebook on her lap.
She opened it and read the
words again: Character. Training. Opportunity.
‘I won’t let this chance pass me by,’ she said quietly.
The next day, she came to class stronger. She handled noise calmly. She helped a
struggling classmate read. She cleaned the blackboard before the teacher
entered.
On Friday, during assembly, the principal smiled. ‘I’m proud of Basic 4 this week.
Chioma, you did well.’
The students clapped again, this time louder. Even those who doubted her began to
change.
Another test came. This time,
in Mathematics, her weakest subject. She studied even harder. She asked
questions. She begged for help from the senior students. When the results came
out, she got fifteen out of twenty. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a win.
‘Progress, not perfection,’
Miss Adaobi said, patting her shoulder.
During the closing assembly,
the school counselor stood up. ‘We’re choosing peer leaders for the next
session, students others can learn from.’ She looked at Chioma and smiled.
‘Chioma Okoro will be one of them.’
Everyone gasped, but this time, no one said a word.
By the end of the term, Chioma had climbed to second
place in class.
On the evening before departure, as she packed her bags
for the holidays, Kamsi said, ‘You’ve changed this school, you know.’
Chioma zipped her bag and smiled. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘this
school changed me.’
The next morning, Chioma sat
quietly in the back seat of her uncle’s car, her school bag resting on her lap.
In her hand was a brown envelope that carried her term’s result. She looked out
the window as the car sped through dusty roads and small villages. Her heart
beat fast, but not from fear this time. She had something to show.
When they reached Umuofia,
the car pulled into the compound. Her mother rushed out with flour-stained
hands, as she had been baking chin-chin
in the backyard.
‘Chioma! My pikin! Welcome oh!’
her mother cried, rushing forward.
Chioma smiled and stepped out. ‘Good evening, Mummy.’
Her father stood by the door with folded arms. ‘So you don come back, scholar girl,’ he
said, trying to hide a proud smile.
‘Good evening, Papa,’ she said softly and knelt to greet
him.
That evening, after dinner, Chioma brought out the brown
envelope.
‘Mama,
Papa… this na my result.’
Her mother wiped her hands and carefully opened the
paper. She stared at it for a moment, then looked at Chioma. ‘My eye no dey understand this one,’ she
said quietly.
Chioma smiled and took the sheet from her. ‘I carry second position,’ she said. ‘Out of the whole class.’
Her father’s eyes widened. ‘Second?’ he asked. ‘For all the children?’
Chioma nodded. ‘Yes,
Papa.
Her mother let out a joyful cry and hugged her tight. ‘My pikin! I dey proud of you! You no shame
us at all!’
Chibueze nodded slowly. ‘You try. You really try.’ Then, for the first time, he smiled
openly.
***
The next morning, word began to spread in the village.
Chioma had returned with top scores and glowing remarks from her teachers. At
the market square, the women selling tomatoes whispered to one another.
‘Na the girl wey travel go that ACIS school?’
‘Na she oh! I hear say she dey speak English
anyhow now. Dem say she carry second position for class.’
Children began to gather outside her gate, peeking
through the fence.
‘Chioma! Abeg teach me how to read!’ one small boy shouted.
Another girl stepped forward, holding a broken slate
and a stick. ‘Aunty Chioma, abeg help me write my name na.’
Chioma didn’t push them away. She brought out her
notebooks and sat with them under the mango tree. One by one, she taught them
to say the alphabet, spell their names, and read small words.
Soon, a small crowd gathered every morning. Even adults
stood nearby, pretending to sell things but secretly listening. One evening,
her father returned from a meeting with the village elders. His face looked
serious.
‘Chioma,’ he called. ‘Come here.’
‘Yes, Papa.
‘I
hear say you dey teach small children under our mango tree.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He paused. ‘Continue
to teach them. No stop. Some of their papa and mama come meet me today. Dem say
dem wan know how to put their pikin for better school.’
Chioma’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’
Her father nodded.
‘E be like say your light don dey shine.’
That night, as stars covered the sky, Chioma sat in the
backyard, her notebook in hand. Her siblings played nearby, but she didn’t join
them. She stared at the page and wrote slowly:
The light is coming. And I am not
afraid to let it shine brightly.
She closed her notebook and looked up at the sky. ‘I’m
ready… for everything,’ she whispered.
And somewhere in the dark, the wind carried her words far
beyond Umuofia.
***
Term after term, Chioma improved. In JSS1, she came first
in class and never dropped from that top position again. By the end of SS2, she
was crowned Head Girl of African Child International School, a sign of her good
character and leadership.
Chioma’s name soon echoed beyond her school walls. She
represented her school in spelling bees, science fairs, and essay competitions,
always returning with first, second, or third place. Each win opened new doors.
Then, the biggest door opened: a fully funded
scholarship to the University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, USA, awarded
through the Education for Africa Excellence Programme. There, she studied
Medicine and Surgery, determined to become a doctor.
In a foreign land, Chioma remained focused. She rose
above every challenge: culture shock, tough classes, and homesickness. She
built a name for herself as a brilliant, humble, and resilient young woman.
After graduation, she secured a well-paying job at
Jefferson Hospital in Philadelphia. But Chioma never forgot home.
Every month, she sent money to her father in Umuofia with a clear instruction:
Papa, start building the school. I’ll return
soon.
The project began while she was still working. Bit by
bit, the school took shape. Walls rose from the red soil. Roofs were installed.
Classrooms were painted bright blue, windows gleamed white under the sun, and a
wide playground waited for the laughter of children.
In less than three years, the school was ready.
Chioma returned home, not just with certificates, but
with purpose.
‘No school fees,’ she declared. ‘It will be free. For
every child.’
The villagers were stunned. They had never seen
anything like it. But Chioma remembered what it felt like to be mocked, to sit
in darkness, hungry for understanding. Now, she was determined to light that
path for others. She had returned to nurture her people.
Slowly, parents began bringing their children to the
new school. The same villagers who once mocked her now bowed their heads in
respect, their eyes filled with wonder and quiet regret.
***
Months passed, and the school blossomed. Then came a
Sunday unlike any other. It was Chioma’s first time sharing her journey with
the world.
Two days before that special Sunday, Peace FM 89.1, one
of the region’s most popular radio stations, began airing a special
announcement. The cheerful voice of the station’s presenter echoed through
homes, shops, and motor parks every hour:
‘Coming this Sunday at 12 noon. Join us for an exclusive live
interview with Miss Chioma Okoro, the young woman who transformed Umuofia by
building a tuition-free school for her people. From village girl to international
role model, don’t miss her inspiring journey.’
The news spread like wildfire. People talked about it in
front of shops, markets, around water stands, and in classrooms. Social media
picked it up too. Chioma’s name was everywhere.
‘I go tune in sharp sharp,’
someone said at a roadside suya spot.
‘Na our Chioma be that!’
another exclaimed proudly.
‘I wan hear wetin she go talk. That girl
carry sense.’
On Sunday morning, at exactly 7:00 a.m., Chioma’s phone
rang.
She picked it up. ‘Hello?’
A calm voice replied, ‘Good morning, Miss Chioma. This is
Angela John from Peace FM. Just confirming, you’ll be with us today by 12 noon
for the live interview?’
Chioma smiled. ‘Yes, ma. I’ll come after church. Thank
you for the invitation.’
‘We’re honoured to have you. Safe journey.’
Later that morning, by 11:45 a.m., Chioma arrived at the
Peace FM studio. She wore a simple dress and a calm smile, though her heart beat
a little faster than usual.
A man in a clean shirt opened the door. ‘You’re welcome,
Miss Chioma,’ he said warmly. ‘Please come in.’
Inside, the studio was full of quiet energy. Microphones
stood ready, cables curled neatly on the floor, and soft lights lit the room.
Miss Angela sat behind a desk, her smile warm and
confident. Beside her, the sound technician, Mr Ugonna, adjusted the controls.
Angela rose and greeted her. ‘Good to see you, Chioma.
May we also film the interview for our online audience?’
Chioma nodded. ‘No problem, ma.’
The cameraman signalled with a thumbs-up. The red light
blinked on. The interview was about to begin.
Angela began, ‘We’ve all heard about the transformation
you brought to Umuofia. What inspired you?’
Chioma took a breath, her eyes thoughtful. ‘It wasn’t
much. I just compared the children from African Child International School with
the ones back home. The way they spoke, how they thought, it touched me. I knew
my people could change too, if only someone believed in them.’
The conversation flowed for over an hour. They spoke
about her childhood, her struggles, her victories, and her dream.
Towards the end, Mr Chidi, the cameraman, leaned forward.
‘Miss Chioma, before we close… would you bless us with a
poem? Maybe something personal, something that tells your story.’
Chioma hesitated, then nodded. ‘I wrote one back in
SS2,’ she said. ‘It’s called What a Key.’
She adjusted the microphone. Her voice was soft. Her
eyes shone with emotion. Then, she began:
I found this key,
Not too early, not too late,
But just in time
To open the doors they said were
closed.
What a powerful key,
The power of success.
I mean... Education.
It didn’t come wrapped in gold.
It came with effort,
With long nights,
With questions I was once too shy to
ask.
At first, I struggled.
Letters danced before me.
Laughter chased me in the classroom.
But I didn’t stop.
I mean... Education.
I held on, even when it was hard.
It seemed like a dream,
This journey from silence to speech,
From doubt to strength,
From Umuofia to the world.
Now I hold the key.
And with it,
I open doors for others.
I mean... Education.
The studio went quiet.
Angela wiped the corner of her eye and whispered,
‘Thank you. That was powerful.’
They ended the session, shook hands, and Chioma stepped
out of the building.
Leaving the studio, she drove straight into her
father’s compound. Stepping out of the car, she let out a grin, then stood
still, her heart full of fulfilment.
The breeze danced through the trees. The village, once
full of ignorance, now had children carrying books, shouting rhymes, and
practicing letters on chalkboards.
Taking a deep breath, she looked up at the sky and said
softly, ‘I can’t believe this. I was the one chosen to break the chains in this
community… and I did it.’
Her hands lifted in thanksgiving. ‘Thank You,
Almighty.’
The shackles were broken. And the light had come.
