Chapter One: Rejection Was Just the Beginning
The final days I spent in my village, Nkot Gam, were some of the darkest of my life. It was not just a chapter closing — it felt like my entire existence was being torn apart.
I had grown up in poverty, in a place where the roads were as broken as the trust between neighbors. Whispers of witchcraft filled the air like dust, and hatred seemed easier to find than peace. But what made it hardest was not just the suffering — it was the feeling that I had no one on my side.
My father, Buinda Clement Njoya, was a teacher. He was respected in the village by others, but inside our home, the respect ended. He couldn't support us financially, and he gave very little emotionally. My mother, Margaret Ngwenda, was a woman of fierce strength and silent tears. She carried the burden of the family alone, providing for me and my seven siblings as a farmer. I loved her more than anyone else. She was strict but loving, hard but generous. Her pain, though unspoken, was visible in her tired hands and the lines on her face.
After many disagreements between my father and me, he finally gathered his younger brothers and declared something that still rings in my ears like a hammer striking stone: he disowned me. I was just fourteen. That same night, he told me to leave the house. It was 8:00 p.m. The cold air outside felt like a slap on my bare skin. I had no money, no destination, and no plan. Just pain. Pure pain.
I left. I walked away from the only home I had ever known. And in doing so, I walked straight into the unknown.
---
Chapter Two: A Stranger in a New World
Bamenda was nothing like my village. It was a city — alive, loud, and fast. As the bus rumbled through Ndu, Bui, and Ndop, I saw paved roads, tall buildings, and cars that sparkled in the sunlight. It was like a different world. And yet, when I arrived, I felt smaller than ever.
Amour Mezam Park in Nkwen was busy with people going about their lives. I stood there with just 50 francs in my pocket, my stomach empty and my heart broken. I had no one waiting for me, no roof to sleep under. As night fell, fear gripped me again. Would I die here? Would anyone even know if I did?
That night, I found a corner outside a building and curled up. I didn't sleep. I prayed. I cried. I survived. The hunger gnawed at my belly. My body ached from the journey. The air felt heavier than any burden I'd ever carried. But I didn't let go. I couldn't. Something deep inside told me I wasn't finished.
The next morning, I woke up with one mission: survive another day. I began to walk, looking for someone I could talk to, maybe help, just to earn water or bread. That's when I saw him — a man I remembered from my village. His name was Manassas, an elder who used to visit for beer.
My heart raced. I approached him and explained who I was. His eyes lit with recognition and sympathy. He didn't have much to offer, but he did something powerful: he pointed me in the direction of a familiar name. My cousin, Fahda Ferdinand, was living in Mankon. I had no idea.
I followed his directions, walking with hope for the first time in days. When I found Ferdinand, he was surprised, but after hearing my story, he took me in. His kindness felt like a sip of water in a desert. I had a floor to sleep on, and that was more than I could have asked for. But I knew this would only be temporary. My story was still waiting to be written.
---
Chapter Three: Chambi Julie Andam — The Woman Who Rebuilt Me
God was not finished. One day, I met a woman who would change my life forever. Chambi Julie Andam. She had already been helping Ferdinand, but when she learned about me, she opened her arms without hesitation.
Julie was a widow. She had lost her husband and carried that pain with grace. But instead of turning inward, she turned her suffering into service. Her home became a refuge. Children without fathers, mothers, or direction found sanctuary with her. I was one of them.
Julie didn't just offer me shelter — she offered me dignity. She treated me like her own. Her eyes were always watching, not with suspicion, but with care. She was conscious of everything: who needed medicine, who hadn't eaten, who was quietly breaking.
Her mother, Azah Frida Chambi, was equally warm. An older woman with calm strength, she never said much, but her presence alone brought peace. They didn't have wealth. What they had was richer: kindness, discipline, and love.
I was enrolled in school from Form One to Form Five. Every morning, I wore my uniform with pride. I was learning. I was growing. And for the first time in years, I felt safe.
---
Chapter Four: The Days of Learning and Becoming
School was not easy. I had missed a lot. But I studied hard. I stayed up at night with candles when there was no light. I asked questions. I read aloud to myself. I wanted to prove that I wasn't a mistake.
Julie was always there, encouraging me with her actions. She provided what she could. Sometimes food was scarce, but there was always warmth. I began to understand the power of sacrifice — and the value of a second chance.
But then, life shifted again. The Anglophone Crisis broke out. Schools were shut. Armed men marched through the streets. Gunfire echoed like thunder. Fear returned. Julie tried to keep us calm, but no one could deny that things were falling apart.
Still, she did not give up on me.
Chapter Five: From Classroom to Steering Wheel
Knowing education was now unsafe, Julie found another way to invest in my future. She enrolled me in PA Sammy Driving School in Small Mankon.
It was a bold decision. Most would say driving isn't a real education, but to me, it was everything. I was finally being trained for a profession. I could become a driver — earn, support myself, and make a future.
Driving school was tough. I had to learn the rules of the road, traffic signs, defensive driving, and vehicle mechanics. But it also taught me patience, self-discipline, and confidence. I studied every day, practiced every turn. I learned to see beyond the wheel.
I met other students, some who had families, some who were alone like me. We shared stories, encouraged one another. PA Sammy himself was a strict instructor, but he believed in order, and he taught me to believe in my own precision.
When I finally passed my driving test, I held that certificate like it was gold. Because to me, it was.
Chapter Six: The House That Built Me
I didn't build the house I now called home. But that house built me.
Because of Julie and her mother, I had become more than a rejected boy from Nkot Gam. I had become a student, a trained driver, a man who had endured storms but never sank.
Every time I drive, I carry the memory of sleeping on the streets. Every time I cook, I remember being too hungry to move. Every time I see Julie's face, I see the love of a mother I didn't ask for but was blessed to receive.
She and her mother gave me everything: food, education, discipline, and a belief in myself. Without them, I may not have survived.
A Message to My Readers
Never believe your beginning is your end.
Even if you are rejected, disowned, forgotten, there is still someone out there who will see your value.
To the mothers who shelter, to the strangers who offer direction, to the teachers who don't give up — thank you.
And to every boy or girl like me, who has ever stood alone at a bus park with nothing but tears:
Hold on. Help is coming. And when it does, build your life not just for yourself — but for someone else who's still in the dark.
Because this world is broken, yes. But it is also full of Julie Andams — women who build children, homes, and futures with love alone.