The village of Umunchi was far from developed. Its winding dirt paths, scattered mud houses, and the familiar green leaves known as akirika—used to cover some of the older homes—reminded anyone who visited that progress had yet to fully reach this community. Only a few houses, solidly built with bricks or concrete, stood proudly amidst the thatched roofs, owned by the village's wealthier families.
As the first light of dawn struggled to pierce through the mist, a loud "Kokorokoooo!" erupted from a small bamboo shed near Nneka's window, where goats and fowls slept through the night.
"Mtchewwe," Nneka hissed, stretching her arms and yawning loudly. "I think it's time Mama lays this cock to rest; it is so meaningless at this hour."
She glanced at the wall clock above her wardrobe. The time confirmed her irritation—5 a.m. already. Despite the early hour, the village was slowly coming alive. Smoke from cooking fires swirled into the sky, and children could be seen balancing grey pots on their heads as they helped prepare breakfast.
Nneka, sixteen years old, had lived her entire life in Umunchi. She was in her final year of secondary school, and today was a day she had long awaited—her graduation and prize-giving ceremony. She had grown up under the watchful eyes of her mother, Ezinne, who worked tirelessly to provide for her. Though small and modest, their home was filled with love and care, and Nneka's heart swelled with gratitude despite their financial limitations.
Her morning routine had already been completed; she had bathed, washed, and dressed carefully, ensuring that her graduation gown—ironically well-pressed and neatly folded by her mother after the last Eke market day—looked flawless. As she wrapped the towel around her chest and stepped into the corridor, she called softly, "Mama, good morning."
"You've already bathed?" Ezinne asked, her voice tinged with surprise.
"Yes, Mama. I bathed this morning," Nneka replied.
Ezinne smiled warmly. She had already warmed the soup from last night. "That's good. You can take the fufu from the basket in the kitchen. Remember to let me know when you're done eating so I can accompany you to school."
Though Nneka was old enough to walk to school alone, Ezinne insisted on accompanying her. The fastest route led through a narrow, bush-covered path believed to be frequented by smokers and troublemakers. Only on rare occasions, when her uncle Nchedo—who had a palm wine tree close to the school—was tapping wine, would he escort her instead.
After finishing her breakfast, Nneka dressed in her graduation gown, polished shoes, and carefully positioned her cap. She smiled at other school children passing by, eager and proud. The Community High School of Umunchi, situated at the heart of the village, was known for offering free education to all children and had earned a reputation as one of the best schools in the area. Today, the grounds were buzzing with excitement.
"Are you going to wait, Mama, or will you go home and come back later?" Nneka asked as they approached the school gate.
"I'll wait, but not right here. I'll go check on Aunt Nnem to see if she'll be coming with me," Ezinne replied. Aunt Nnem, the village gossip, lived nearby, and Ezinne wanted to ensure she stayed informed without being drawn into idle chatter.
"You know if you go to her house, Mama, you'll forget yourself. That woman never stops talking," Nneka warned, though a smile tugged at her lips.
Ezinne responded playfully, "I have warned you to be mindful of your words, child of God." Nneka nodded, chastened but understanding.
Inside the school grounds, the assembly had already begun. The principal, Mrs. Iwueke, stood confidently on the stage, microphone in hand. "Good morning, great students! Today is a special day: the graduation of our senior students and the fifth anniversary of our noble school. We extend heartfelt thanks to our honorable supporter, Mr. Samuel."
The moment that made Nneka's heart race arrived. "I now call on our overall best student, one who has excelled not only in academics but in morals, punctuality, and respect—Miss Nneka Mbakwe-Favour!"
Applause erupted. Nneka's legs felt light as she walked forward, her head held high, her heart pounding. Her mother's proud shouts rang in her ears, giving her courage and washing away any trace of shyness. The principal hugged her, and teachers shook her hand as a small parcel was handed over, wrapped in a simple brown envelope.
She returned to her seat quietly, smiling at her classmates Onyeka and Nkechi, who shared in the day's excitement. Once the ceremony concluded, the graduates proceeded to the auditorium to receive their results. Nneka, as expected, had cleared all her papers with flying colors.
Running toward her mother afterward, she handed over the parcel and her result. "What else could be in this parcel if not the usual notebook?" she murmured, half in jest. "They can't even give something bigger, like money, flowers, or anything else."
"Nneka, you must be appreciative. No matter how small, contributions should be valued. You are a Christian; learn to be content with what is given," Ezinne advised gently. Nneka nodded, reflecting on her mother's wisdom as they walked the short path home.
At home, Nneka eagerly opened the parcel—it was indeed a notebook, just as she had guessed. Setting it aside, she changed out of her gown and settled onto her bed, her thoughts heavy yet hopeful.
The evening fell quietly over Umunchi. Outside, her uncle Nchedo's voice could be heard as he spoke to Ezinne, later calling Nneka to share his congratulations. "Congrats, my beloved! I'm very proud of your achievement," he said, embracing her warmly.
"Thank you, Uncle," Nneka replied, sitting on the bench, her heart full.
Dinner had been simple but nourishing: pounded yam with bitter leaf soup prepared lovingly by her mother. Once her meal was complete, Nneka retreated to her room. Sitting on her bed, she whispered her thoughts into the still night.
"This is where my life starts," she murmured, tears glistening in her eyes. "How will I move forward? Mama doesn't have much to support me, not even for a JAMB form. Yet, I trust in God."
With her small Bible in hand, Nneka knelt beside her bed. "Father in Heaven, You have been my shield, my comforter, my protector. You have led me this far, and I give You all the glory. Thank You for this recognition today. As I finish secondary school, I pray for guidance, more opportunities, and wisdom to follow the right path. Amen."
Rising from her knees, she straightened her bed and prepared for rest. Her head barely touched the pillow before the day's exhaustion claimed her, and soft, even snores filled the quiet room.
Nneka's journey, shaped by the humble streets of Umunchi, the sacrifices of her mother, and her unwavering faith, was only beginning. Despite the village's limitations and the simplicity of life around her, she carried dreams as vast as the sky above, fueled by resilience, hope, and the promise of a brighter future.