THE ROAD TO ME

Chapter 3

My parents sat me down and asked what I wanted to do with my life since I was unable to pass a common waec, according to my Dad. I was 17 and I didn't have many years to sit at home. While waiting for the next WAEC registration, I had to learn a trade. Brimming with dreams, yet terribly confused and scared. A part of me wanted to be a lawyer since Acting was a no no for my dad. Another part wanted to be a teacher. And yet, another part wanted to be a movie star—an actor. I just can't get over it. I wish Dad could just let me.

When my dad asked me the question, I didn’t have an answer. I didn't know what to say at the moment, he might approve of me being a lawyer or a teacher but these weren't my priorities. So, I asked for some time to think, and he agreed, even though he said, your decision must align with the initial plan, you know what I mean. Of course I knew. The plan of being a doctor or a nurse. So whatever trade I must learn, must align with the career he has chosen for me.

A few days later, after careful reflection, I settled on one thing: Acting. I know they won't accept , but I have to still try. I can't get over it, it is my calling and I must answer. I called my parents together and told them about my decision. I have not changed my mind. I still want to be a writer and an actor. What trade can I learn to align this career? I was not surprised by the look on their faces; it was as if I had just committed an abomination.

“An actor?” my dad asked, his tone filled with disbelief.

“Yes,” I replied confidently.

“What is wrong with you, Happy?” He asked. “Is that even a career?” he asked, his voice heavy with scorn.

I felt my confidence waver again. “I thought it was a career,” I muttered. “People make money from acting. I love watching movies, and I love seeing actors perform. Throughout my life as a junior student I have even built on that until you made me go to science. Out of all the things I’ve dreamed of becoming, acting is the one thing I can never stop loving.” “Please, support this vision”, I pleaded.

“Acting is not a career,” he snapped. “And you will never become an actor under my roof.”

His words cut deep, but he wasn’t done. “I want you to be a nurse or a doctor,” he said firmly.

“Dad. I don’t know anything about science.” I said, almost crying. No matter how many times I will have to write for this, I doubt if I will ever pass.

“That won’t stop anything. He said. When the time to retake waec comes, we will know if you will pass. For now, I’ll take you to a chemist to learn the basics, and then we’ll figure out how you’ll advance,” he declared.

“I don’t want to be a nurse,” I said, desperation creeping into my voice. “I’d rather be a teacher.”

“You’ll be a nurse,” he concluded before walking out, leaving me with my mother.

“Mum,” I called, tears streaming down my face. “I hate needles. I can’t even watch someone get hurt. How will I cope as a nurse or a doctor? I can’t do it.”

“I’ll talk to your father,” she assured me before leaving.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, but nothing more was said about the chemist training. Unsure if my father had changed his mind, I confronted my mother.

“What’s the plan?” I asked.

She sighed. “The money is the problem. The chemist says we need to pay ₦250,000 for you to learn.”

I stared at her. “I don’t want to be a nurse,” I said again. Then, out of frustration, I declared, “The money for the training will never come. No matter how hard you both try to save, it shall never come. Amen!”

My mother was so emotional she began to cry, and although I felt bad, I didn’t console her.

A month later, Dad and Mum called me in again for a talk. In my mind, I was already praying, Please, God, don’t let this be about starting nursing training—because I hated it with all my heart.

“Ehm… Happy,” Dad began. “After a lot of discussion and planning between your mother and me, we’ve decided you’ll go learn something else while we raise the money for the nursing program.”

Hmm… at least I wasn’t going now. I felt partially relieved.

“Okay,” I said, “what trade am I learning?”

“Not a trade,” he replied. “I want you to go to a computer school and learn software programs—so you’ll have a solid computer foundation. It’ll help you in your science field.”

Honestly, it wasn’t a bad idea. I was actually happy—because at least I’d be leaving the house to do something meaningful. It was better than doing nothing.

He took me to a place he had already negotiated with—a computer school. And guess what? There, I met one of my old friends from science class.

Wow, she’s here too. Makes sense, I thought.

After Dad left, we reconnected. She was so excited and immediately started asking about my writing. She even begged me to bring stories for her to read at home on weekends because, according to her, “home is always boring.”

Because of her, I started writing again—from home.

I had written so many storybooks. But if Dad saw any of them, he would burn them without a second thought. If he even suspected I was writing a story, he would instantly distract me—assigning chores and making sure I had no time to sit still.

Sometimes, I cried. Sometimes, I rebelled silently. I can't even count how many times I laughed through the pain, trying to keep going.

But deep inside, I knew—writing was the one thing that made me feel alive. Months after .a man came to our compound. He introduced himself to my father, explaining that he had just opened a nursery school in the community and needed young, capable teachers. He said he had asked around, and everyone recommended me.

My father was speechless. We needed the money, and I needed to do something with my life. It had been almost a year since I wrote my WAEC exams, and I had recently finished my computer training. This I had to do while waiting for the money to get enrolled in the chemist training.

“I’ll get back to you,” my father told the man.

That night, he asked if I could handle the teaching job. Overwhelmed with excitement, I said yes, but his expression darkened.

“You’ll only do this because I don’t have the money for the chemist training yet. Once I have it, you’ll quit teaching,” he warned.

“Okay,” I agreed, just to avoid an argument.

The next day, I visited the school with the man, and I even encouraged some of my friends to join me. The man’s wife later made me her second-in-command, the head teacher, which earned me an extra ₦1,000 on top of my ₦4,000 salary. I was thrilled! I was finally earning money and felt like I was slowly escaping the fate of becoming a nurse.

While working at the school, I met people who shared my passion for acting. Some of the teachers and I started a drama group for the pupils. My headteacher soon noticed my talent for storytelling and acting, especially after a performance we presented during the school’s first Parents’ Day celebration.

One day, she sat me down and said, “Why don’t you pursue an acting career? You’re incredibly gifted. Remember the drama you performed? Everyone was impressed, even the chief of the community. Don’t let anyone stop you from following your dreams, not even your father.” yeah, I once told him about my dad's decision, now she's advising I go for what I truly desire.

Her words resonated deeply with me. That night, I began dreaming big—so big that I imagined myself acting alongside Nollywood stars like Genevieve Nnaji and Mercy Johnson.

Determined to start, I searched through some movie packs in our drawer and found a contact number labeled “For those who want to join Nollywood.” I was ecstatic! I copied the number and called the next day.

The person on the line directed me to a location in the city. Although it wasn’t a movie school, it was an opportunity to meet a movie marketer. I shared the news with my friends, and we decided to secretly visit the man.

We planned the trip for the weekend, and I lied to my father, telling him I was attending a teachers’ meeting in the city. He believed me, especially because my colleagues were waiting for me to go together.

We boarded a bus heading to the city, each of us buzzing with anticipation. For me, Happy, this wasn’t just a trip; it was the start of my journey toward fulfilling my dream. As we approached the city, my heart raced. Would the marketer take us seriously? What if my father found out? I shoved my fears aside, determined to make the most of this chance.

When we arrived, the man was waiting for us in a small, crowded office filled with posters of Nollywood movies. He introduced himself as Mr. Chris and spoke confidently about his connections in the film industry.

“Young people like you are the future of Nollywood,” he said, smiling. “But it takes dedication, talent, and, of course, some financial commitment to get started.”

“Financial commitment?” I echoed, my stomach sinking.

“Yes,” he replied. “To join the industry, you need to register with the guild, pay for scripts, and attend workshops. The total is ₦20,000.”

My friends and I exchanged uneasy glances. None of us had that kind of money. I tried to explain my situation, telling him about my passion for acting and my family’s financial struggles.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “You seem serious about this, so here’s what I’ll do. Pay ₦5,000 now, and I’ll let you attend an audition this weekend. If you perform well, I’ll help you find sponsors.”

My heart leapt with hope. “Thank you, sir,” I said, almost in tears.

Now, I had another problem: raising the ₦5,000. I only had ₦2,000 saved from my teaching job. My friends could see the worry etched on my face as we walked home.

“We can help,” one of them said after some hesitation.

“How?” I asked, hopeful but unsure.

“We’ll contribute,” she said. “₦500 each.”

The four of them pitched in, giving me ₦2,000. Together with my savings, I now had enough to cover the registration fee and ₦1,000 for transportation. Their generosity moved me, and I promised to make them proud.

That weekend, I returned to the city with my friends. The audition venue was buzzing with aspiring actors, each one hoping for a shot at fame. When my turn came, I performed a short monologue I had prepared, pouring my heart into every word.

When I finished, Mr. Chris nodded approvingly. “You’ve got potential,” he said. “I’ll contact you when we have a project.”

His words filled me with hope, but as the days turned into weeks, I heard nothing. My excitement began to wane, replaced by doubt. Had I been naive to trust him?

One evening, while I was helping my mother in the kitchen, my phone rang. It was an unknown number.

“Hello?” I answered cautiously.

“Is this Happy?” a deep voice asked.

“Yes,” I replied, my heart pounding.

“This is Mr. Chris. We have a movie shoot next weekend, and I’d like you to be part of the cast.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “Thank you, sir! I’ll be there.”

After the call, I danced around the kitchen, oblivious to my mother’s curious gaze. For the first time, it felt like my dream was within reach.

The moment I told my friends about the movie shoot, they were thrilled. We laughed and celebrated the opportunity, but the excitement was short-lived. Reality soon set in: what would I tell my dad? How would I explain being away for three days? And what about my teaching job—who would take care of my pupils?

These thoughts consumed me, but I was determined to make it work. Summoning all my courage, I approached my headteacher the next day.