From Dust to Destiny: [Chapter One: The Seed Beneath the Soil]
In the heart of Umuachara, a village where the chickens had more swagger than the humans, lived a boy named Chidi. Life in Umuachara was as predictable as a rooster’s crow. The sun rose, the goats bleated, and the village gossip, Mama Nkechi, started her rounds before the first pot of yam porridge even began to simmer. For Chidi, every day was a repeat of the last: chores, more chores, and a few stolen moments to dream under the shade of the mango tree—until someone’s goat wandered by to claim his daydreaming spot.
Chidi was the middle child in a family of seven, which meant he had mastered the art of being invisible when work was being assigned. But life wasn’t easy to dodge. His father, Okonkwo, was a man with a booming voice and the stamina of an ox, traits he used to demand endless help on their struggling farm. “Chidi!” Okonkwo would bellow at sunrise. “If you don’t get up now, the yams will dig themselves, and they’ll be laughing at us!”
Chidi often muttered under his breath, “If the yams could laugh, maybe they could also fetch water,” as he trudged to the stream with a clay pot balanced precariously on his head.
Dreams and Detours
But Chidi wasn’t just another village boy with a penchant for sarcasm. He had dreams—big ones. Every time a trader passed through the market with tales of Lagos, where people rode in shiny cars instead of clinging to the backs of motorbikes, Chidi’s eyes would light up. “In Lagos, they even have water that comes out of pipes in the walls,” the traders would say, leaving Chidi to wonder how one could negotiate with a wall faucet.
His siblings, however, had little interest in Chidi’s ambitions. “City life will make you soft,” his older brother scoffed one evening. “Can you imagine a life without chasing chickens every morning? It’s unnatural!”
Chidi disagreed. The idea of a life where chickens weren’t constantly plotting against him sounded like heaven.
Nneka’s Wisdom and Free Snacks
Chidi’s life took a turn one afternoon when Nneka, the village herbalist, called him over. Nneka was a small woman with piercing eyes and a knack for appearing when you least wanted her to. She was known for her herbal remedies and an uncanny ability to sniff out trouble. “Chidi, come here,” she said, catching him trying to sneak a roasted yam from his mother’s stall.
“I wasn’t stealing!” Chidi blurted.
Nneka smirked. “Stealing? Who mentioned stealing? But since you’re here, take this uziza leaf. It’ll keep your stomach calm—since clearly, it’s very active.”
From that day on, Nneka took a liking to Chidi, partly because of his quick wit and partly because he always helped her grind her herbs when no one else would. She began teaching him about plants, the kind that healed stomachaches and the kind that could give you “explosive clarity” if you annoyed her too much.
The Opportunity
One hot afternoon, while delivering yams to the market, Chidi overheard two traders discussing a scholarship program for rural students. His ears perked up like a goat spotting fresh leaves.
“What’s a scholarship?” Chidi asked innocently, interrupting their conversation.
The traders looked at him as if he’d just asked why the sky was blue. “It’s when they pay for your education,” one explained. “And if you’re smart, they might even send you to the city.”
Chidi’s jaw dropped. “You mean, someone will pay me to leave this village?”
The traders laughed. “Only if you pass their exam. It’s not for lazy boys who talk to chickens.”
That evening, Chidi ran home so fast he almost knocked over a bucket of water balanced on his sister’s head. He burst into their small hut, panting. “Papa, Mama! I want to take the scholarship exam!”
His father looked at him skeptically. “Scholarship? What’s that?”
“It’s a ticket out of here, Papa! To the city, to education, to water that comes out of walls!”
His mother, Amara, placed a calming hand on Okonkwo’s arm. “Let the boy try. Maybe his destiny is bigger than this village.”
Preparations and Ridicule
With what little they had, Chidi’s parents scraped together enough money to buy him textbooks and a pair of second-hand shoes. “These shoes are so shiny, the sun might blind you,” his younger sister teased as Chidi tried them on.
Chidi spent every free moment studying, though it wasn’t easy. The village kids took every opportunity to poke fun. “Look at him!” jeered one boy. “Studying under the mango tree like he’s already in the city.”
Chidi ignored them. “When I leave this place, I’ll send you a postcard from Lagos,” he shot back. “If you even know what a postcard is.”
At night, he would sit under the dim glow of a kerosene lamp, squinting at the tiny print in his borrowed textbooks. Nneka sometimes visited, bringing him snacks and quizzing him on multiplication tables. “What’s seven times eight?” she’d ask.
“Fifty-six,” Chidi replied confidently.
“Good. Now, eat this yam before your brain overheats.”
The Big Day
The day of the exam arrived with the drama of a Nollywood movie. Chidi walked the five miles to the town hall, his new shoes already threatening to give him blisters. The hall was filled with children from wealthier families, their clothes crisp and their pencils sharp. Chidi, clutching his borrowed pencil, felt out of place but refused to let it show.
The exam was harder than he’d imagined. One math question seemed to mock him: “If a train leaves Station A at 8:00 AM…” Chidi paused. What was a train? He powered through, writing furiously and praying silently.
The Long Wait
When the exam was over, Chidi returned to Umuachara and resumed his daily chores. Weeks turned into months, and life in the village went on as if nothing had changed. The other kids continued teasing him. “So, Mr. City Boy, when are you leaving us for Lagos?”
“Soon,” Chidi would reply, though his confidence wavered.
Then, one evening, as the sun dipped below the hills, a man in a suit arrived at their hut. The entire family froze. A man in a suit in Umuachara? This was either very good news or very bad news.
“Are you Chidi Okonkwo?” the man asked.
“Yes, sir,” Chidi replied, his voice shaking.
The man smiled. “Congratulations. You’ve won the scholarship.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then Chidi’s siblings erupted into cheers, his father let out a booming laugh, and his mother burst into tears.
That night, as the village celebrated, Chidi stood outside, staring at the stars. For the first time, he felt the weight of his dreams lifting. Tomorrow, his journey would begin. But tonight? Tonight, he would savor the taste of victory—and maybe a little extra yam porridge.
To Be Continued...