THE ROAD TO ME

Chapter 6

The following days passed in a blur of preparation. I practiced my monologue during every spare moment—at school, at home, and even during lunch breaks with my friends. They critiqued my performance with playful honesty, offered thoughtful suggestions, and cheered me on like my personal fan club.

At home, I became so immersed in the role that I often found myself speaking lines aloud without even realizing it. My siblings would glance at me, eyebrows raised, asking if I was okay. I’d laugh, wave them off, and say, “Just rehearsing.” But the truth was, the lines had taken root in me—I carried them like a secret flame I couldn’t put out.

Even on the road, as I walked to school or ran errands, I would mumble my lines under my breath. Sometimes I’d get strange looks from passersby—hawkers, keke drivers, or elderly women selling vegetables by the roadside. One man even asked if I was praying. I just smiled, cheeks burning, and kept moving. I didn’t care much. Every repetition made me feel stronger, more ready. The stage was calling, and I was preparing to answer it—word by word, breath by breath.

One day, I was caught mid-rehearsal by my father. I hadn’t heard him come in—I was in the living room, lost in my monologue, gesturing dramatically and pacing like I was already on stage. When I finally noticed him standing by the doorway, arms folded, I froze mid-sentence.

He gave me a look I couldn’t quite place—part amusement, part concern. Then he shook his head and said, “If you’re finally going crazy, just let me know. I’ll take you to the right place on time.”

I blinked. For a moment, the silence between us was as awkward as the moment itself. Then we both burst into laughter—his was short and dry, mine was nervous but relieved.

The entire exchange was awkward, funny, and a little embarrassing. But it didn’t deter me. If anything, it added fuel to the fire. I was determined to give this dream everything I had—even if the world thought I’d lost my mind along the way.

The days leading up to the academy’s reopening were a whirlwind of emotions—hope, fear, and excitement all tangled inside me like a storm I couldn’t calm. Each sunrise brought me closer to the moment I’d been dreaming about, yet also closer to the possibility of disappointment.

While I poured my heart into perfecting my monologue—repeating lines until they lived in my bones and breathing life into every word—I couldn’t shake a persistent thought that hovered just beneath the surface: What if I’m not good enough? What if, after all this effort, I walked in and they saw nothing special in me?

The fear crept in quietly, like a shadow in my chest. Some nights I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining a room full of talented strangers all better, brighter, bolder than me. My hands would tremble just thinking about it.

But every time doubt threatened to drown me, my friends pulled me back. Their belief in me was louder than my fear. They reminded me of why I started, cheered at the parts I wanted to give up on, and refused to let me hide. Without their steady encouragement, I might have let insecurity win. But with them, I stood my ground—shaky, yes, but still standing.

Because somewhere beneath the nerves, I knew: I owed this dream a chance.

Days passed, and there was still no word from Mr. Andrew. My friends and I grew increasingly anxious, but raising an alarm wasn’t an option since everything had to remain discreet. Finally, in desperation, I confided in my headteacher , telling her everything.

She immediately tried to contact Mr. Andrew, but he ignored her calls. Eventually, he blocked both her number and mine. Confused, she explained that she didn’t really know him personally. Their first and only meeting had been in a movie shop in Uyo, where she had gone to inquire about the academy. Mr. Andrew had presented himself as the academy’s editor, even showing an ID card to confirm his identity. The shopkeeper vouched for him as well, leaving little reason to doubt his claims.

Now, his silence and evasiveness raised serious concerns.

Determined to get answers, we decided I should go to the academy in person to confront him. However, convincing my father to let me leave the house was going to be a battle of its own.

My headteacher devised a plan. She would request my father’s permission for me to attend a “teachers’ practical training” in Uyo. It was a clever cover story, but when she presented it to my father, he was immediately suspicious.

“She’s been going out too much,” he said sternly. “Why does it always have to be her? Let someone else go instead.”

His refusal stung deeply. It felt like my father was deliberately trying to block every step I took toward my dreams. Anger bubbled within me, but I bit my tongue. Thankfully, my mother and headteacher pleaded on my behalf. After much persuasion, he reluctantly agreed but with a firm condition:

“This will be the last time she leaves home for anything at her age,” he said.

Although frustrated, I knew I couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity. I agreed to his terms, determined to make the most of the trip.

On the morning of the trip, my headteacher came to our house to collect me. She drove me to the bus stop, handed me transport fare, and said earnestly, “Be careful, Happy. Come back early.”

I could feel the weight of her concern. She was risking a lot by allowing me to make this journey alone. As I boarded the bus, doubts crept in. Is this really worth all the stress? Still, I clung to hope.

When I arrived at the academy, I was in awe of the lecture hall filled with students. To my amazement, two of my favorite Nollywood actors, Ini Edo and Benedict Obi, were leading the session. It felt surreal—as though I had stepped into a dream.

A staff member directed me to the CEO’s office, where I recounted everything that had happened with Mr. Andrew, including how my friends and I had paid for the form. Prince JTT, the CEO of Creative Media Arts Academy, listened attentively before speaking.

“Mr. Andrew was once our editor,” he explained. “But he left the academy a long time ago. He no longer works here.”

To confirm his words, he took me to Mr. Andrew’s former office, which was now empty. My heart sank. Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized I had been scammed.

Prince JTT led me back to his office and said kindly, “Alright, I’ll give you a chance to join the academy without the form fee—if you impress me.”

His offer caught me off guard. “I’ll do my best, sir,” I replied, my voice trembling with determination.

He smiled. “Good. I’ll introduce you to the class, but you’ll need to perform a monologue in front of everyone. Remember, you can’t be a shy actor.”

The thought of performing in front of seasoned actors like Ime Bishop and Kenneth Ekanem sent waves of anxiety through me. “Sir, can I perform for you alone?” I asked hesitantly.

He laughed. “An actor can’t be shy. Fear no one.”

Despite my nerves, I nodded. Before heading to the class, I inquired about the tuition fees. He explained that the six-month program cost ₦120,000. My heart sank further.

“Sir,” I said, struggling to hold back tears, “I don’t think I can afford this. Thank you for the opportunity, but I can’t stay.”

As I turned to leave, he stopped me. “Wait until the meeting with the other actors concludes. Then we’ll talk.”

As I sat waiting, I couldn’t help but envy the students attending the academy. They were living the dream I yearned for. After the meeting, Prince JTT called me back to his office.

“Happy,” he began, “I can see your passion for acting. For that reason, I’m offering you something special.”

He pulled out a form and placed it in front of me.

“This is the last scholarship form I have,” he said. “Fill it out, and welcome to Creative Media Arts Academy. The world awaits you.”

I was speechless. Tears of gratitude filled my eyes.

“Thank you, sir,” I whispered, overwhelmed by his kindness.

Without hesitation, I completed the form, took passport photos, and submitted all the necessary documents. Prince JTT handed me the class timetable, which included sessions on acting and scriptwriting—the two areas I was most eager to learn.

“You’ll start classes tomorrow,” he said with a smile.

As I left the academy that day, my heart swelled with gratitude and hope. Despite the challenges and setbacks, I had been given a chance to chase my dream.

I promised myself—and everyone who had believed in me—that I would give this opportunity everything I had.

The opportunity to study at the Creative Media Arts Academy was nothing short of a blessing. It felt like a dream come true—a chance to refine my talent and become the actress I’d always envisioned. But like all dreams, mine came with its challenges, and the greatest of them all was confronting my father.

I didn’t know where to begin or how to approach him. Each time I thought about it, my heart sank. The idea of standing up to him, of boldly declaring my decision to pursue acting, seemed impossible. One slap from my father would send me straight back to reality. He wasn’t just my father; he was a man feared by many. His commands were law, and we, his children, wouldn’t dare to disobey.

As the days passed, the weight of my dilemma made me sick with worry. How was I going to leave home for lectures? What would happen to the pupils I taught at school? And how would I even begin to explain this journey to my father in a way that he could accept?

I shared my excitement about the scholarship with my headteacher and a few close friends. I also revealed the shocking truth about Mr. Andrew being a scammer. While they were thrilled about my scholarship, they were understandably upset about Mr. Andrew’s deceit.

“Well, it all ended in praise,” one of my friends said. “We can’t wait to see you on screen!”

I couldn’t wait either, but my joy was overshadowed by the thought of my father. How would he ever understand this?