Between education and hope: the non existing hope During our journey back to school, the coordinator gave us directions to his office. He told us he would call us to come and collect our reward. That call never came. Instead, the scholarship coordinators created a group and added all of us there. Days passed. No message. No update. Then suddenly, we heard new information: we would be moving to a different school, and there would be no reward anymore. Still, we were happy. Life continued. Later, they said they would take care of our tuition fees and that we would only need to sort out accommodation. At that point, I told myself I wasn’t going anywhere—but my parents insisted I should try. Then another update came: they would pay for other departmental fees that were not part of tuition. We agreed again. Later, they said they would handle accommodation as well. Hope was given. Then taken. Then given again. Some students went back to their former schools. Some never showed up because they were already studying good courses in other states. Only a few of us decided to continue. At some point, I completely gave up on going. My state coordinator stopped picking our calls. When he finally picked a parent’s call, he said the government would not assist us anymore. That was it. My dad bought me a new laptop in exchange for the scholarship school. I was excited and sad at the same time. What if that scholarship was my only opportunity? What if I had just lost my chance forever? I prayed and asked God to choose the best option for me. By Monday, my dad told me to prepare we were going to town. When we arrived, I completed my registration in less than 30 minutes. A registration that took me over one month in my former school. I started classes that same day. I fell in love with the school environment. I made new friends. But that was in second semester. I was scared at first because most of the students were very intelligent. But from where I was coming from, giving up was never an option. This was how I began a new life in a new university. I believe it was the right choice. But is the hope still there? The hope disappeared but I keep believing it’s on its way back. Maybe someday. But not now.

Between education and hope After we left the villa, we began our journey back to school. That same day, a protest was ongoing, and many major roads were blocked. We had no choice but to take unfamiliar local roads. Not long after, our car started misbehaving. We would move a little, then stop. Move again, then stop. Still, our supervisor insisted we continue. At some point, my dad even suggested that I should drop off and try to find my way home on my own. But the supervisor kept reassuring us, saying everything would be fine and that we should keep moving. A journey that was not supposed to take up to three hours ended up taking more than eight. The car kept stopping. Parents kept calling. Even the governor’s wife was calling to check on us. Through it all, the supervisor kept giving us hope. We finally arrived at the state capital the next day. When I got to where I stay, I stood outside knocking for a long time. When they finally opened the gate, I walked in and slept off immediately exhausted in every sense of the word. Later that same day, I still had a practical class in school.

Between Education and Hope (Part 4): Inside the Villa Honestly speaking, I didn’t sleep that night. It was my first time sleeping in a hotel. The room was big, the bed was big too. There was a television, chair, drawer, and even a fridge. Though, if I think about it well, it wasn’t that different from my mum’s room but you know that feeling. The toilet even had a heater and a bathtub. It felt like I was in a more developed version of my mum’s room. My body hardly adjusts when I enter a new environment, so sleep didn’t come at all. The next morning, I had a slight headache. I called my dad and told him we would be going to the State House. I even asked him, “Where exactly is State House?” He said it’s inside the Presidential Villa. Presidential Villa. That’s where the president lives. Immediately, I became happy. Even if I didn’t pass any exam, I was still entering the villa. Later that morning, the girl I shared the room with said she was hungry. I called the coordinator, and he said he would get back to us in a minute which he did. But this time, he told us to pack all our things because we would be checking out of the hotel. He took us to a roadside food seller and bought beans for us. We weren’t happy, but we didn’t really have a choice. When we got to the first gate of the villa, security told us to park the car before entering. We stayed there for nothing less than 30 minutes. They only allowed us in after receiving a call from inside. We couldn’t stop admiring the environment. The villa looked like another state inside Abuja. At the second gate, the same thing happened. Park the car. Wait. Phone calls. Then finally, we were allowed in. Inside was beautiful. We were given tags, T-shirts, and face caps. We wrote our names and were led into the hall. There were many students wearing the same cap and T-shirt. We were directed to sit. Everyone was looking at everyone. But no one was talking. We were all nervous. After some minutes, the President’s wife entered. We all stood up. Many dignitaries were present governors’ wives, ministers, and important people. But honestly, the cold was too much. The English they were speaking was plenty. The promises were plenty too. At some point, I even started dozing off. But they fed us well https://image.nostr.build/d9482922740907560fb49513ec95b1e6d1432251aa5d4e90609cffc86b25068b.jpgfood with big meat. When the program ended, we stood again as the President’s wife left. Our coordinator told us we should get ready to leave. As we left Abuja, I thought everything was finally falling into place. I didn’t know that another story was waiting for us.