the poor child

chapter three

Chapter Three – The Beginning of Change

Morning came with the sound of roosters crowing and the faint smell of smoke from nearby cooking fires. Ada woke up before Mama Ifeoma and quietly swept the compound with a short broom. The morning air was crisp, and the sky was streaked with faint orange. Today was the day they would visit Madam Chika, and Ada felt both nervous and excited.

Mama Ifeoma soon stirred, tied her wrapper securely around her waist, and said a short prayer of gratitude before starting the day. She noticed the compound was already clean and smiled at Ada.

“You are truly your mother’s daughter,” she said softly. “Always hardworking.”

Ada blushed. Compliments like that warmed her heart. She missed her mother dearly, but each time someone reminded her that she was like her, it felt like her mother’s spirit was still with her.

After a light breakfast of watery pap, the two set out for Madam Chika’s compound. The road to her house was a long, dusty path lined with mango trees. Along the way, Ada saw other children laughing as they ran to school, their slates and books tucked under their arms. Her heart ached as she remembered the last time she had been in a classroom.

It had been two years since her mother’s death forced her to drop out. That day, she had cried as she packed away her school uniform, knowing she might never wear it again. But now, maybe—just maybe—this visit would be the beginning of a change.

When they reached Madam Chika’s compound, they were greeted by a young housemaid who led them inside. The compound was large, with a painted fence and a beautiful garden. Chickens clucked in a corner, and there were baskets of fresh vegetables neatly arranged near the kitchen.

Madam Chika came out to meet them. She wore a clean iro and buba and smelled faintly of talcum powder. Her presence was warm but commanding.

“You must be Mama Ifeoma,” she said kindly. “And this is Ada, right?”

“Yes, ma,” Mama Ifeoma replied, bowing slightly in respect.

Madam Chika smiled and gestured for them to sit on a wooden bench.

“I have been looking for trustworthy people to help me with my farm,” she said. “Planting season is almost here, and there is a lot of work to do. I cannot manage it all by myself. If you are willing, I will pay you weekly. You can start today.”

Mama Ifeoma’s face brightened. “We are willing, ma. Thank you for trusting us.”

Ada could barely contain her joy. This was the chance they had been waiting for.

Their work began immediately. The farm was just behind Madam Chika’s house, a large piece of land with yam heaps, cassava plants, and vegetable beds. The soil was dark and rich. Ada loved the smell of the earth when she dug with her small hoe.

At first, the work was hard. The sun was hot, and Ada’s hands soon became blistered. Sweat ran down her face, soaking her dress. But she did not complain. She remembered Mama Ifeoma’s words: Hard work never kills; it only makes you stronger.

By noon, they had weeded three rows of cassava and watered the vegetable beds. Madam Chika’s cook brought them cold water and roasted plantain for lunch. Ada ate slowly, savoring every bite. It felt good to be useful.

Over the next few weeks, Ada and Mama Ifeoma worked faithfully for Madam Chika. Every Friday, she paid them their wages, and Ada would hurry home to count the money carefully. Each coin meant hope—hope for food, hope for clothes, hope for school.

One evening, after receiving her wages, Ada sat under the big mango tree in front of the hut and began to dream aloud.

“Mama Ifeoma,” she said softly, “do you think I can go back to school if we save enough money?”

Mama Ifeoma looked at her for a long moment. “My child,” she said gently, “yes, I believe you can. Education is the key that opens many doors. If you continue to work hard and save, we will make it happen.”

Ada’s heart swelled with determination. From that day, she worked even harder. She woke earlier, fetched more water, and even offered to sell vegetables at the market after farm work. People began to notice her diligence and good manners. Some neighbors praised her, saying she was a blessing to Mama Ifeoma.

But life was not without challenges. Some children in the village mocked Ada, calling her “the poor girl” whenever she passed. They laughed at her patched dress and bare feet. At first, Ada felt ashamed and would hide behind the bushes until they were gone.

One day, after a particularly bad encounter, she came home in tears.

“Why do they call me names?” she sobbed. “It’s not my fault that I am poor.”

Mama Ifeoma pulled her close and wiped her tears. “Listen to me, Ada,” she said firmly. “Being poor is not a curse. It is only a season. What matters is who you are inside. You are honest, kind, and hardworking. That is what makes you rich in spirit.”

Ada nodded slowly, taking the words to heart. She decided she would no longer let their words hurt her. She would prove them wrong one day.

Soon, Madam Chika began to take a special interest in Ada. She noticed how the girl was always the first to arrive at the farm and the last to leave. One day, after work, she called Ada aside.

“My child,” she said, “you remind me of myself when I was young. I, too, was once very poor. But through hard work and determination, I became who I am today. If you are serious about going back to school, I will help you.”

Ada’s eyes widened. “You will?”

“Yes,” Madam Chika said with a smile. “I will pay for your uniform and books. You can start school again next term.”

Tears of joy ran down Ada’s cheeks. She could hardly speak. “Thank you, ma. Thank you!” she said over and over again.

When she told Mama Ifeoma, the old woman wept openly. “God has answered our prayers,” she said, hugging Ada tightly. “This is the beginning of your new life.”

That night, Ada could not sleep. She lay awake, staring at the thatched roof above her, imagining herself sitting in a classroom again, writing neatly in her exercise book, answering questions, and making her teachers proud.

For the first time in years, Ada felt truly happy.

But deep down, she knew that her journey was just beginning. There would still be trials ahead—people who would doubt her, struggles to overcome—but she was ready. She had faith that with hard work, courage, and determination, she could rise above her circumstances.

And so, as the moon rose high over the village, Ada made a silent promise to herself:

I will not waste this opportunity. I will study hard. One day, I will be great, and I will help other children like me.

Her heart was at peace. The poor child was no longer just poor—she was rich with hope and drams.