THE ROAD TO ME

Chapter 8

The following week, I had to attend lectures on Monday while also teaching my pupils. I arrived at school early and took permission from my headteacher to leave by 10 a.m. Luckily, she granted it. Honestly, even if my headteacher didn't grant my request, I would still go, I was determined to leave regardless. My mind was already made up.

The door my father tried to close, I had already walked through in my heart.

Getting to the academy on weekdays wouldn’t be an issue, I had convinced myself. After all, my father assumed I was at work, teaching. As long as I returned home before sunset, no one would question anything. I head towards the park joyfully, but fate has a way of mocking our best-laid plans.

At the bus stop, just as I was about to board a bus to Uyo, I felt someone brush past me.

“Happy!” a familiar voice called out—sharp, stern, and unmistakable.

I froze.

Slowly, I turned around, and there he was—my father—standing a few steps away, his face knotted in confusion and disbelief.

“What are you doing at the park heading to Uyo? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

My mouth opened, but no words came out. My legs trembled slightly, and for a split second, I was dumb.

“My headteacher sent me to get some textbooks for some of the classes,” I replied almost instinctively.

“Oh, okay,” he said. “I’m also heading to Uyo for a meeting. We can go together.”

Panic consumed me, but I had no choice. We boarded the same bus.

“So, which bookshop are you going to?” he asked.

“I don’t know the name, but she said I should call her once I get to Uyo Plaza,” I responded.

“How do you leave home for a place you don’t even know?” he asked. “Call her now.”

I felt a chill but composed myself. I dialed my headteacher ’s number, praying she would pick up.

“Have you gotten there already?” she asked immediately, her voice on the loudspeaker.

“No, ma’am,” I replied, trying to keep calm. “I bumped into my dad, and we’re on the same bus. He wants to know where I’m supposed to buy the Macmillan books for Primary 3, 4, and 5.”

She paused for a moment and then said, “Hmm, let me ask my husband. That’s why I said you should call me when you get there.”

When she called back, she said, “At Barracks Road, close to the Creative Media Arts Academy. Once you get to Plaza, take a bus heading to Barracks Road, stop at Essie Street, and look for Number 6. That’s where we buy most of our books.”

“Okay, ma’am,” I responded, relieved.

My dad nodded. “I know the place. It’s not far from Plaza. You don’t need to take a bus. I’ll point it out to you before I leave.”

At Plaza, he pointed out the street before boarding another bus heading to Ikot Ekpene Road. The moment he left, I felt like I had been released from a chain. I called my headteacher , overwhelmed with gratitude.

“I knew there was fire on the mountain,” she said, laughing. “Luckily, my husband picked up immediately. You’re just so lucky.”

I sighed. “Luck is always on my side.”

Back at the academy, Nancy—the girl I had met on my first day—became my closest ally. She was full of energy and always willing to help.

“You’ve got potential, Happy,” she said during lunch. “But you need to work on your confidence. The industry won’t wait for you to find it—it demands it.”

Her words stuck with me.

“How do I build confidence?” I asked her one afternoon, voice low, heart full of doubt.

“Start by practicing in front of a mirror,” she advised, her tone calm but firm. “Rehearse your lines. Perfect your expressions. Learn to be fearless in your delivery. Talk to strangers. Talk to friends. Talk to anyone about anything. That’s confidence. Though,” she added with a small smile, “some people might mistake it for audacity.”

Her words settled deep in me like a seed. I nodded, absorbing every syllable. I wanted to believe it was that simple, but I also knew I had a long way to go. The mirror became my companion. Every night, I stood in front of it, performing lines, forcing myself to look into my own eyes without blinking or flinching. Little by little, I felt something shifting inside me.

Then one Saturday morning, as I zipped up my bag and prepared to sneak out for class, my bedroom door creaked open—and there stood my father.

He didn’t say anything at first.

He just stood there, arms crossed, eyes scanning the bag slung across my shoulder.

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice quiet, but lined with suspicion.

My breath caught.

This was it. There was no point in hiding anymore.

“I have a class,” I said.

“A class? On a Saturday?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“Yes. At a movie academy,” I replied, trembling but firm.

His face darkened. “A movie academy? Have you lost your mind?”

I explained everything—how it was my dream, how I had been attending secretly, and how much it meant to me.

His anger was volcanic.

“If you step out of this house again in the name of that academy,” he thundered, pointing toward the door, “I will disown you!”

The words hit me like a slap—sharp, cruel, and unforgettable.

Tears streamed down my face, but I didn’t move. I didn’t crumble. I stood my ground, even as my knees threatened to give way beneath me.

“Dad,” I said, my voice shaking but firm, “I respect you, I truly do. But this is my life. I can’t live in regret just to please you. I love this career. I love acting. And I can’t stop now. Not after how far I’ve come.”

My mother rushed into the room, sensing the rising tension. “Please, let’s all calm down,” she pleaded, trying to reach him. But he wouldn’t hear it.

He gave me one last look—one filled with disappointment, fury, and perhaps, deep fear—and then stormed out of the room.

The door slammed shut behind him, the echo hanging heavy in the air.

My mother moved closer, her brows drawn tight with worry. She stood beside me, lowered her voice, and asked softly, “Happy, what did you do?”

I told her everything—again. The scholarship, the academy, my passion, my dream.

When I finished, she just stared at me, stunned. Then she shook her head slowly, as if trying to wake herself from a bad dream.

“So, you’re really still doing this acting… whatever madness,” she said, almost to herself.

There was no yelling. No threats. Just a quiet, crushing disappointment.

She stood up without another word and walked away, leaving me there—alone on the bed, my heart pounding in a silence louder than any scream.

I collapsed onto my bed, shaken but resolute. My heart ached, but I knew one thing with absolute clarity:

I wasn’t turning back.

Weeks turned into months, and I continued attending the academy in secret. My father’s disapproval lingered, but I held onto the hope that one day he would understand.

Then, an opportunity came—a director selected me for a role in a film. It was a seven-day shoot.

Nancy encouraged me. “Don’t miss this for anything. This might be the movie that announces you.”

But how could I leave home for seven days without telling my father?

The news of being selected for a film role felt like a dream—an opportunity I couldn’t afford to miss. But the reality of my situation hit me hard. How could I leave for an entire week without my father finding out? The last time I confronted him, it nearly cost me my place at the academy. Now, with this opportunity in front of me, I was standing at a crossroads.

I shared the news with Nancy, who was more excited than I had ever seen her.

“Happy, this is it! This is your chance to shine,” she said, practically jumping up and down. “You have to go. This role could change everything for you.”

But the weight of my father’s wrath lingered in the back of my mind. He would never allow me to take such a step, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for another battle with him. I spent sleepless nights weighing my options, my mind swirling with thoughts of my future and the promises I had made to myself.

The days leading up to the shoot were filled with tension. I practiced my lines in secret, rehearsing every scene in front of the mirror. The thought of disappointing my family again ate at me, but the fear of living a life of regret was stronger.

Then came the moment of truth. The director called to confirm the dates and times for the shoot.

“Happy, are you still good for the role?” he asked over the phone.

I hesitated before answering, my voice barely a whisper. “Yes. I’ll be there.”

That evening, as I prepared for bed, I realized I couldn’t keep running from the truth. I had to tell my father, even if it meant losing him forever. The thought of stepping into my future at the expense of my family’s approval was daunting, but I knew it was a step I couldn’t avoid.