THE ROAD TO ME

Chapter 2

This was hard—heartbreakingly hard—but I knew something had to be done. He’s my father, yes. He raised me, protected me, provided for me. I owe him honor. But still, my destiny… my calling… it’s mine to live.

I couldn’t bring myself to rebel outright. I wasn’t raised that way. But I also couldn’t allow myself to be led blindly into a life that didn’t feel like mine. This wasn’t just about school subjects—it was about identity, purpose, and the future I saw for myself whenever I closed my eyes.

I thought deeply about it. Maybe, just maybe, his decision wasn’t rooted in malice, but in fear. Or ignorance. Maybe he thought medicine was the safest, most respectable path. Maybe he believed art had no future. Maybe he just didn’t know any better.

And if that was the case, then I had to show him—through quiet persistence, not defiance—that his daughter was born for more than what he could see.

Whatever I become, I want it to make him proud too. But not at the cost of my soul.

The first week as a science student was both painful and ridiculous.

This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t my dream. Every morning I put on my school uniform, it felt like I was dressing up in someone else’s destiny.

Letting go of the Media and Entertainment Club—where I had grown into one of the heads—was heartbreaking. Stepping away from the Writers' and Drama groups felt like tearing pages out of the story I was born to write. I watched from a distance as my friends rehearsed lines, shared scripts, and created magic without me. I was no longer part of their world. It hurt in ways I couldn’t explain.

Most days, I cried. Sometimes in the hostel, hiding under my blanket. Sometimes in class, with my face turned to the wall so no one would notice. I was grieving—grieving the loss of a future I had already begun to taste.

My first day in the science class was something else. The students looked at me like I didn’t belong—and in truth, I didn’t. The teacher paused when he saw me, his eyes scanning the class list in confusion. I sat at the back, near the window, staring out like someone in a trance. My mind wasn’t there. My heart wasn’t either.

After a while, the teacher gently asked me to come to the front. He said something about how my father probably meant well, that science might open doors I hadn’t considered. I nodded, but inside I was screaming. If only he knew how much I hated those words.

After class, a few students tried to be friendly, sensing my sadness. One of them—a boy named Saviour—offered to help me catch up with the topics I had missed. He said maybe, just maybe, I would come to like science if I gave it time. I smiled politely and thanked him, but deep inside, I knew the truth:

This wasn’t about time. It was about purpose.

And no matter how long I stayed in that class, I would never feel at home.

Saviour wasn’t just a helpful classmate—he was the best science student in our entire class. Everyone knew him as the go-to person for after-school tutorials. Calm, patient, and brilliant, he had a way of making even the most complicated formulas sound simple.

Naturally, I began to draw closer to him, hoping that some of his genius would rub off on me. Maybe if I studied hard enough, stayed consistent, and listened carefully, I could survive in this world of atoms, cells, and calculations.

But honestly, nothing clicked.

Everything Saviour taught me after class sounded like something else entirely—poetry, rhymes, maybe even a story waiting to be written. My brain didn’t connect with the logic and equations. Instead, it turned every scientific explanation into a narrative. I couldn’t help it. That was how I understood the world. Not in data, but in dialogue.

Eventually, even Saviour began to lose hope. One day, after another long tutoring session where I couldn’t grasp a basic chemistry concept, he laughed and said jokingly, “Just go back to Commercial, Happy. Your dad won’t even know. You’re wasting away here.”

I laughed too, but deep down, his words echoed the thought that had been haunting me all along.

I didn’t belong here. And maybe I never would.

To him, it was a joke. But to me, it was a message. Yes, that’s true. Who will tell him if I chase my dream while he still thinks I’m a science student? It felt like someone had just woken me up from a long sleep. I rushed to meet Mrs. Uyai.

In her office, I explained my idea: I could follow my passion and dad wouldn’t know. He wasn’t coming to school after all. If I presented my WAEC result to him as a commercial student, he’d have no choice but to accept it.

She smiled at me. “That’s smart,” she said.

But then she added, “Happy, disobedience is something we teach students to avoid both in school and at home. And every act of disobedience comes with consequences. Your idea is smart, but it’s disobedient, and your dad might react strongly. He could see it as poor training on our part, and the school might even have issues with him. He might go as far as suing the school for going against his will. And worse, he might refuse to sponsor your future education.”

“My advice,” she continued, “don’t stay away completely from commercial classes. Attend one or two—especially English and Literature. But stay in Science, as your father wants. Whatever the future holds, it shall unfold in due time.”

I couldn’t help it—I cried. I cried bitterly. My tears moved her and the other commercial teachers so much that they all decided to help me.

I could still act in drama, write for the school magazine, and be a part of the Media and Entertainment Club. They would talk to the school authorities. And because the school already understood my situation and passion, they granted me access.

And they truly did. I became partially a Commercial student and still remained a Science student. It was the perfect plan.

Saviour didn’t stop being my saviour in Science classes—he continued teaching me practicals and calculations. Mrs. Uyai didn’t stop guiding me in English and Literature. The combo made a whole lot of sense. I literally became the first “Sci-Com” student. Funny name, but I enjoyed it.

Everything seemed perfect and was going so well—until my final year in secondary school. Nigerians will mostly understand what this means: WAEC and NECO examinations—the only results that determine where you're heading after secondary school.

This was a tough one. Reality finally surfaced.

I didn’t even know what I had been thinking all this while—prioritizing commercial activities over the science path I was supposed to follow.

In a bit of panic, I ran to Mrs. Uyai again.

“Ma’am, WAEC is coming o!” I blurted out. “We’ve been asked to start preparing for registration and to get money from our parents.”

She looked at me calmly and said, “Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“Is it possible to register as both a Commercial and Science student in one school?” I asked Mrs. Uyai. She was confused.

“No,” she said. “Maybe in different schools, but then you’ll miss some important subjects. And WAEC won’t allow that either.”

“Why did you ask?” she continued, looking at me closely.

“It’s about my choice of studies,” I said quietly. “Remember, I wanted to go for Commercial, but Dad chose Science for me.”

She nodded, listening.

“I don’t know how to escape this,” I added, my voice trembling slightly. “What will happen to my dream of being a writer and an actor if I write Science in WAEC?”

She suggested, “Why not do WAEC as a Science student—since that’s your dad’s priority—and NECO as Commercial, your choice?”

“Mmh,” I hesitated. “That won’t work, ma. Dad will want to see both my WAEC and NECO results.”

“Oh yes,” she realized. “Then sit for Science, Happy. I don’t want to come between you and your father. And besides, you’re doing great in both areas. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll eventually like Science.”

“Me? Like Science?”

“Ma’am, I don’t know anything about Science, and right now, I don’t even think I can write Science subjects in WAEC. This isn’t what I want at all.”

Me—who almost drank acid during a pipette lab practical.

Me—who ran away from a biology practical because it involved dissecting a frog and bringing it back to life.

Me—who accidentally killed a millipede while trying to count its legs.

I told her all this. She laughed.

But it wasn’t funny to me. “I don’t belong there,” I said.

“But you can’t disobey your dad,” she replied. “Just register for Science. Whatever the future holds will unfold by itself.”

I begged her to please talk to Daddy for me one last time. Maybe—just maybe—he would understand better coming from her.

But she advised me to try speaking to him alone first. I did. And it didn’t go well.

He looked at me, cold and firm, and said, “No, Happy. You’re doing Nursing.”

That was it.

Eventually, Teacher Uyai agreed to visit. I brought her home, and she pleaded with him—again and again. But Daddy still said no. He even gave her his reasons, and to be honest, they made sense.

But what does his desire have to do with my destiny?

Gosh, this man is tough. And I wish—just once—I could follow my will.

With tears and a heavy heart, I registered as a Science student for both WAEC and NECO and sat for the exams, graciously.

Was it difficult? Very, very.

Did I write it successfully? Yes—thanks to Saviour’s lectures before and after each subject.

After the exams, we all graduated and left school and our coursemates behind. Now it was just us—and life.

I returned home smiling on the outside but unhappy on the inside. Congratulations to me: I had just graduated from secondary school, and now I was about to face the reality of life—the real battle.

I waited for months for the results. Whether I would further my education depended solely on them.

Then—boom—the results came.

Shockingly, I failed.

F9 parallel.

I only passed English, C.R.K, and Mathematics. All other subjects were F9. Not even E8.

Dad was furious. I cried my eyes out.

“How was I supposed to pass Science when it’s not even where my passion lies?” I asked him again. “Please let me study Commercial.”

He was shocked. “So after three years, you’re still hoping to be a Commercial student?” he said.

“Nice dream. But bury it. Put your failure aside,” he continued—referring to my result as my failure.

“You’ll resit WAEC next year. For now, let’s think of what trade you’ll learn.”

Gracious Lord… Resitting WAEC as a Science student?

God, I wish my daddy could just see my brain—how empty and resistant it is to Science subjects. I don’t understand anything. No matter how much effort is put into teaching me, it’s like my brain is blocked.