BETWEEN TERMS AND TRIUMPHS

Chapter One: The Beginning My name is Okoye Odinakachukwu Divine, and my story begins in Anambra State, Awka South Local Government, in a peaceful and vibrant town called Nibo. I was born into the family of Mr. and Mrs. Okafor Benjamin Alocha, a hardworking couple who believed in love, discipline, and giving their children the best foundation in life. I am the first daughter in a family of six children—two girls and four boys. Being the eldest daughter has never been just about birth order. From the very beginning, I felt a silent weight of responsibility. I was not only a child in the house; I was also a helper, a role model, and sometimes, a second mother to my younger siblings. I had to grow faster than my age because little eyes were always watching me, and little footsteps were learning to follow mine. Despite the silent responsibilities, my early years were filled with warmth, joy, and love. Growing up was smooth, cool, and lovely. My parents were doing well financially at that time, and they worked hard to make sure we lacked nothing essential. They made sure we had a good education, so all of us attended a private school named Living Faith International School. For me, that school was more than just a place of learning—it was a second home, filled with friends, games, teachers, and countless memories. Primary school was one of the most exciting seasons of my childhood. I loved learning, playing during break time, and sharing jokes with my classmates. I can still recall one incident that has stayed with me for years. I was in Primary Three when one of my classmates, Desmond, stole my pencil. To me, it was just a pencil, but to a little child, that was a big deal. Teacher Sarah, who was our class teacher at that time, wasted no time in disciplining him. Desmond was caught, flogged in front of the class, and returned my pencil. The whole class laughed, and even though I was shy, I couldn’t help but smile a little as I held my pencil again. To others, it might have been a small moment, but to me, it was unforgettable. That memory still makes me laugh whenever I think about it. But not everything was fun and games. During those same years, I started noticing a challenge with my eyes. It was a small problem at first, but it gradually grew, making it difficult for me to stay in class sometimes. While my classmates would run around during break time, playing games and chasing each other, I often found myself leaving school for eye checkups. Hospitals and waiting rooms became part of my routine. It was not easy for a little girl, but I had to adjust. Sometimes, I wondered why it had to be me. Why I had to miss out on fun moments with my friends. Why I had to carry the burden of eye problems at such a young age. But my parents encouraged me. My mother’s words especially stayed with me: “Odinakachukwu, your name means ‘it is in God’s hands.’ Whatever you are going through, God’s hand is in it, and He will see you through.” Those words became my comfort. Still, childhood in Nibo had its beauty. Afternoons after school were spent with my siblings, playing around the compound, sharing food, and sometimes quarreling like every set of children do. Evenings were filled with stories, laughter, and the kind of peace that only a closely-knit family can give. My father, strict yet loving, instilled discipline, while my mother balanced it with warmth and encouragement. Together, they painted my childhood with both correction and affection. Looking back now, I realize that those early days were silently preparing me for the woman I am becoming. The smoothness of life gave me memories to hold on to, while the small cracks—like my eye challenges—taught me patience and resilience. I didn’t know it then, but every little tear and every little triumph were shaping my story. My journey may have begun with pencils, laughter, and eye checkups, but I know it will not end there. This is only the beginning—because life had much more in store for me. Chapter One: The Beginning (Continuation) After every checkup, I always seemed to get a little better. The doctors gave me hope, and my parents encouraged me, but deep down, the worst part of having eye problems was not the medicine or the trips to the hospital—it was the reality of not being able to see far like others. Sometimes, it made me feel left out. But still, I chose to live my life with hope, believing that one day, everything would be fine. Life in school went on, and I was just trying to be myself. I remember one time when I wrote a tone paint and took it to school—I can’t forget how proud I was of that little work of art. I was always a little different in school, not only in my handwriting or reading but even in my dressing. There was always something about me that stood out, even when I didn’t try. By the time I reached the later years of primary school, something unusual happened. I jumped from Primary Five straight to Primary Six. Not because I was the most intelligent student in the class, but because I believed in myself and thought, “I can do it.” I was never the type to carry first, second, or third position. My results were usually between 4th and 10th place. For me, that was enough, because I knew learning was more than just a number. Still, school life was not easy. I had my struggles. I hated writing notes—just the thought of it tired me out. Spelling was another big problem. I could read well, but writing words correctly was always a challenge. And then there was my shyness. I hardly spoke up in class because I wasn’t confident in myself. Many times, I kept quiet even when I knew the answer. Despite all these, my heart was always soft. I remember one particular day that broke me. Uncle Joshua, one of our teachers, flogged Prisca, a girl in my class, because she had not paid her school fees. I cried as if it was me who was beaten. I couldn’t hold back the tears because my heart could not stand to see someone else suffer. That was who I was—a child who felt deeply for others. Another unique thing about my school days was Thursdays. Every Thursday was set aside for general fasting and prayers. My mom never allowed us to forget. Even as a little child, fasting was not easy for me at all. I would sit in class, my stomach grumbling, counting down the hours until we could break the fast. Yet, somehow, those Thursdays built something in me—a spiritual discipline I didn’t fully understand then but now treasure as part of my foundation. Primary school was a mixture of laughter, struggles, discipline, and growth. I, Okoye Divine, carried my soft heart, my shy nature, and my quiet determination through it all. And though I wasn’t the best in spelling, or the top in class, I was learning lessons that grades could never measure—lessons of resilience, compassion, and faith. Chapter One: The Beginning (Final Continuation) I have always been a person with a soft heart, full of compassion for others. I hated seeing people get hurt, whether physically or emotionally. It was part of my nature even as a child. I could cry for someone else’s pain as if it were mine, and sometimes people didn’t understand why I felt so deeply. But that was me—Okoye Divine. Primary school was not all play; it had its challenges. One of the most difficult parts was when I was asked to stay back after school. While the closing bell rang at 2:00 pm and my classmates happily rushed home, I often remained behind until 4:00 pm. The reason was simple: I didn’t know how to read or spell very well. Our headmaster made sure that every child left school with something new in their head, and if you fell short, you had to stay back until you caught up. Every Friday was “checking day.” Teachers would move around, inspecting notes and classwork. If your notes were not complete, or your handwriting was messy, you would be flogged. After the punishment, you would then stay back to complete it before going home. Those days weren’t easy, but they left memories that shaped me. Looking back, I can even say that those Fridays taught me endurance. Yet, it wasn’t all hardship. There were fun and sweet moments too. I have always loved food, and my parents never failed to make sure I had something to take to school. They would buy snacks for me and my siblings, and we would carry them proudly in our school bags. Sharing food, laughing during break, sometimes fighting over meat or puff-puff—those small joys made primary school beautiful despite the struggles. But as I completed my primary education, life began to shift. Things started getting tough at home. The country was changing—the Buhari regime brought serious economic hardship. The cost of living grew higher each day, and like many other families, ours began to feel the weight of it. Because of the situation, I could no longer continue in private school. That chapter closed, and another one opened. We moved from Awka to Asaba, and there I was enrolled in a government school called Okwe Secondary School. I had finished my primary education in Awka, but the realities of life had carried us to a new city and a new beginning. I never liked government schools. The lack of rules, the broken regulations, the disorder—it was all so different from what I was used to. But I had no choice. There was no money for private education anymore. I had to adjust, because education was still important, and whether I liked it or not, my mates were in secondary school, and I had to join them. So I started my journey in JSS1 at Okwe Secondary School, also called Basic Secondary School. I was a new intake—a total stranger in an unfamiliar environment. I was shy, quiet, and withdrawn. I hardly spoke to anyone, because I didn’t know anybody. I was what we call “JJC”—Johnny Just Come. I nearly said nothing most of the time. I kept to myself, trying to adjust to the new faces, new teachers, and new atmosphere. And just like that, my story moved from the sweet, painful memories of primary school into the unknown world of secondary school—a new phase of my life, filled with lessons, struggles, and the slow discovery of who I .. Chapter Two: Government School Days – A Life Between Dust and Dreams Starting my secondary school journey in Okwe Secondary School was like stepping into a different world. Everything I had known in private school—the rules, the order, the discipline—was gone. In its place was a system where almost anything went. In government school, it felt like “do as you like.” There were hardly rules, and even when rules existed, they were broken freely. Seniors fought with juniors, and sometimes juniors fought back. To us in JSS1, there was no real difference between our short-sleeved uniforms and the seniors’ long-sleeved ones. At the end of the day, all uniforms were just uniforms. At first, I was shy, withdrawn, and quiet. Being new was not easy, but slowly, I began to make friends. By the time my first term in JSS1 settled in, I had four close friends: Nnemekwu Glory, Kanu Chiamaka, and the twin sisters Azubike Jennifer and Azubike Genevieve. Adding me made us five—a small but lively group. Strangely, all my friends were girls. With them, I laughed, played, and found comfort. Later on, I even saw a few of my old classmates from primary school, and that made life better. My secondary school experience became bearable because of these friendships. But if I thought government school would make me a better student, I was wrong. Things became even worse. I often came late to school. Most mornings, I would wash my uniform in a hurry before going to class. We were required to wear white socks, but mine—and even those of my friends—were always dirty. Washing on time was something I struggled with, no matter how much my mother warned me. Sometimes, I would forget to wash at all. Other times, I would wash late at night, around 10 or 11 pm, and if the uniform didn’t dry, I would still wear it damp. Luckily, our uniforms were brown, and if you didn’t look closely, you might not notice the dirt. Only when you looked at the lines of the cloth would you see how dirty it really was. Academically, I was struggling. My spelling was zero. Reading was difficult, and discipline was far from me. I barely studied. During tests and exams, I was always looking for a way to copy. “Expo” became my closest friend. If you asked me about my true friend in JSS, I would say expo. I copied shamelessly, and my group of friends did the same. We would whisper answers, exchange papers, or hide notes. Somehow, we managed to pass. I knew my promotion to JSS2 was not by hard work—it was a borrowed result—but at that time, I didn’t care. Life in government school was a mixture of play, laughter, and dirt. After school, students stayed back to sweep the classrooms. School closed officially at 2:00 pm, but by the time we finished sweeping and playing, it would be 4:00 pm. We played in dust, rolled on the ground, and by the time we got home, our brown uniforms were covered with more brown dust. Our hair was rough, our bodies sweaty, and our lips dry and cracked from harmattan. We looked like “amaranth children”—dirty but happy. Play was my second name, and I enjoyed every bit of it. Food was also part of my joy. I loved eating, and school was full of small snacks that gave us energy. My favorites were soya milk and sausage. I also loved eggs—fried eggs from the Hausa woman who sold food near school. We had something called draw draw, which was our nickname for egg roll. Buying snacks was my happiness, but when money was not available, we managed. One unforgettable experience was with the government school borehole. It was our main source of water. Students had to “jack” the handle forcefully before water came out. We drank it daily, not minding the taste. But one day, as we pumped, a frog jumped out with the water. That day was the end of my drinking from that borehole. Many students still continued, but for me, it was over. Yet, in truth, water is life. When there was no money, many of us had no choice but to drink it again. My group of friends was not perfect. We had our quarrels and our fights. I remember one day I fought with the twins, Jennifer and Genevieve. I regretted it later, but at the time, I let anger win. Out of wickedness, I even forced them to buy me new textbooks, telling them it was a must. They did it, but after some time, we reconciled. That’s how friendship works—sometimes full of love, sometimes full of misunderstanding. Secondary school taught me many things, though at that time I didn’t value them. It taught me how to endure, how to laugh at pain, how to live without shame even when I was dirty, and how to hold on to hope when life felt unfair. I was always dirty, sometimes smelly, but I was still living, still learning, still moving forward. Indeed, government school life was tough, dusty, and undisciplined, yet it was fun, memorable, and full of stories. It was my world—a world where I was still searching for myself in the midst of play, hardship, and borrowed result. Chapter Two: Government School Days Continuation – A Life Between Dust and Dreams (Continuation: JSS3 and the Junior WAEC Journey) Indeed, my uniform was always dirty. My mother’s warnings never seemed to stick, and no matter how hard I tried, government school life had a way of leaving its mark on us. We rolled in dust, we played under the sun, and we went home looking like children who lived in the street. Still, those years passed, and before I knew it, my friends and I had graduated into JSS3. This was a special moment for me. After three long years, it was time to prepare for our Junior WAEC examination. I was so happy. The thought of leaving junior secondary behind and stepping into the senior section filled me with excitement. I told myself, “At last, three years of struggle are about to pay off.” But JSS3 was no joke. Everyone had to sit up. Teachers reminded us daily that this was no longer child’s play. We had to read, prepare, and act serious. The school even organized extra lessons after normal school hours, just for JSS3 students. While the rest of the school closed by 2:00 pm, we stayed back until 4:00 pm. We would sit in class, sometimes hungry, sometimes sleepy, and sometimes restless, but we endured because we knew the exam was near. Now, when it came to food and snacks, I was hardly ever the one bringing them. Most of the time, I came to school without lunch or even pocket money. But God blessed me with friends. Out of all of them, Glory stood out. She was the money-bringer in our group. She always had cash, and to be honest, we didn’t care how she got it. Whether she saved, begged, or even stole, we never asked questions. To us, what mattered was that we had food to eat. With Glory around, every day was a feast. We could spend money as if it grew on trees. Imagine us, small JSS3 students, spending ₦10,000 in one day just on snacks and junk food. Soya milk, sausage, fried eggs, egg roll, sweets, biscuits—you name it, we bought it. It didn’t matter that at home our parents couldn’t afford such luxury; at school, we ate like kings and queens. Food gave us joy, and we loved the feeling of being together, chewing and laughing, without a care in the world. As the exam drew closer, preparation became more serious. We all did our passports and filled out the necessary forms. Then the government released the sitting arrangements and locations. Because it was a public exam, students from other schools—especially private schools—were joined with us. It was a funny mix, because private school students always looked neat, polished, and confident, while we government school students came in dusty uniforms and cracked lips. Yet, on exam day, all those differences faded. What mattered was sitting down, facing your paper, and writing. The truth, however, is that our exam was full of malpractice. It was not hidden. “Expo” was everywhere. Some of the private schools even preferred joining us because they believed government schools always produced the best results—not necessarily because of intelligence, but because malpractice was easier. Teachers, supervisors, and even parents often turned a blind eye. For us, malpractice was a system. Before the exam, we even contributed money for what we called “cooperation fee.” This was like a payment made to ensure we had access to “expo”—the leaked answers or help from supervisors. We didn’t even hide it. To us, it was part of survival. We told ourselves, “If others are doing it, why not us?” I personally knew I wasn’t ready, because I had spent more time playing than reading. So when expo came, I welcomed it like a best friend. Despite everything, there was joy in the air. This was a milestone. We celebrated little things—buying snacks together, sharing jokes, dreaming about life in senior secondary school. Sometimes, we stayed late in school, laughing and imagining how big we would become as SS students. We promised ourselves we would work harder, be neater, and stop being “dirty children.” But then, in the middle of all the excitement, a painful moment came. The twin sisters, Jennifer and Genevieve, told us they would not be coming back. Their family was relocating, and they had to leave. The news hit us hard. For years, we had been together—laughing, playing, fighting, reconciling—and suddenly, it was all coming to an end. It felt like a piece of our group was being torn away. We tried to stay happy, but deep down, it hurt. We hugged, promised to keep in touch, and hoped to meet again someday. But as life goes, we didn’t know what the future held. Finally, the exam came and went. With expo here and there, we wrote with boldness. Some questions we knew, many we didn’t, but with the “help” we got, we survived. When it was over, we celebrated like champions. We took pictures, laughed, and counted down to the day results would be released. For me, those three years in junior secondary were unforgettable. They were dirty, dusty, careless, and full of laughter. They were also filled with weakness, mistakes, and shortcuts. Yet, they were mine—my own unique journey. I had lived through it all, and now, I was ready for the next chapter: senior secondary school life, where the stakes would be higher and the lessons deeper. Chapter Three – The Journey Into Adulthood After the Junior WAEC, my joy could not be contained. The results came out and to my surprise, I had A’s throughout. For a girl who once stayed back after school because of spelling and note writing, it was a testimony. I was happy, my parents were happy, and in my heart, I believed another three years journey was about to begin. But like every journey, people come and people go. Two of my friends left after JSS3, and suddenly SS1 began with a smaller circle. At the beginning, we all offered every subject—science, arts, and social science—so that we could discover our strength. Expo never ended, and truth be told, physics and chemistry were like mountains I could never climb. Whenever tests or exams came, I copied ooooo! Sometimes out of fear, sometimes out of survival. As the days turned to terms, things changed. Glory, my closest companion, left school. It was like I was left empty, remaining only me and Kanu Chiamaka. But nothing lasts forever. Soon she made a new friend, and I too found mine. My new friend was Ayisha, a Yoruba/Hausa girl. She was a dark beauty, very lively, but unserious with school. She was different from my old friends, but she filled my empty space. We shared secrets, we talked about family problems, and most importantly, she was my helper in terms of food. Lunch time was never dry when Ayisha was around. We were promoted to SS2. At this stage, the line was drawn—we had to choose where we truly belonged. Social science was my home. Chiamaka went her way, Ayisha remained with me, but life was not stable. Second term came, and to my surprise, Glory returned! The reunion was sweet, laughter filled the air, and we became friends again. But secondary school was no longer the same—every step we took reminded us that the future was drawing near. I hated Geography with passion. No matter how they tried to make me offer the subject, I refused. I did not understand it, and I was determined not to waste my energy on it. SS2 passed, Life is not made up of years alone — it is made up of terms, the seasons we pass through on our way to destiny. Each term teaches us something new, and between those terms lie our greatest triumphs. “Between Terms and Triumphs” is the true story of a young girl whose life journey began with struggles, hope, and unshakable faith. Born into a humble family, she faced hardship early — from school days filled with challenges to moments of loneliness and silent tears. Yet, she refused to give up. Every failure became a lesson, every delay became preparation, and every heartbreak became a new beginning. The story follows her growth from childhood to adulthood — through the halls of school, the pressure of exams, the sting of mockery, and the quiet strength found in prayer and perseverance. With each “term” of her life came trials that tested her character and faith, but through it all, she discovered that every storm hides a purpose. This memoir is a testimony of transformation — from a young girl who once doubted her worth to a woman who learned to believe in herself. It is a story of faith, courage, and determination in a world that often overlooks the quiet fighters. Between the pain and the progress lies the truth that life is not about how fast you move, but how strong you stand when everything falls apart. Through family struggles, school challenges, and moments of personal awakening, she learns that triumph is not the absence of trouble — it is the strength to keep moving forward, even when no one believes in you. “Between Terms and Triumphs” speaks to anyone who has ever felt forgotten, lost, or broken. It is an inspiring reminder that no matter your background, you can rise above your circumstances. Life’s terms may be hard, but your triumph will surely come if you never stop believing. This is not just a story — it is a journey of growth, resilience, and victory. It is a reflection of every dreamer who has faced life’s tests and come out stronger. Between every term, there is a story to tell. Between every fall, there is a reason to rise. And between every pain, there is a hidden triumph waiting to be revealed. and we were promoted to SS3, the final stage of our secondary school journey. Then life threw me another twist—Ayisha left when we entered SS3. I was left with Glory once more. Glory, the unserious girl, the funny girl who always had gist and jokes, but could never stay focused. To make matters more complicated, she switched to the science class. So, in the final year of my secondary education, I was almost alone. Preparing for Senior WAEC was like preparing for war. We all feared failure, so “co-operation fee” became the order of the day. Money was paid for expo, teachers gave instructions, and students like me simply followed. My godmother, Mrs. Faith, was one of my teachers. She had taught me since JSS1, and now in SS3, she was still there. But truth be told, I never liked her. She was a nice woman to many, but to me she was harsh, insulting, and wicked. She would tell me, “If you like, don’t co-operate, be acting dull,” and her words cut deep into my soft heart. When the WAEC exam came, we were divided into different halls. I wrote mine with courage, mixed with fear, but to the glory of God Almighty, I passed. Not as perfectly as I dreamed—because in my main subjects, I had a D7. Our set of 2020 was not so successful, despite all the co-operation fee we paid. My godmother did not spare me; her insults came heavily. But I reminded myself, “God knows the best.” Mom, being my greatest supporter, registered me for NECO. I wrote the exams, and this time, I came out with flying colors. God turned my shame to testimony. I finished my secondary school at the age of 16. January 3rd, 2005 was the day I was born—just a little girl with a big God, navigating the ups and downs of life. Indeed, life is not easy. There are challenges, disappointments, insults, heartbreaks, but there is also growth, laughter, friendship, and most of all, God’s faithfulness. This is just the beginning of my story. The next stage of my life—the university journey, adulthood, responsibilities, heartbreaks, dreams, and the pursuit of destiny—is waiting to be told. My next novel will dive deeper into the struggles of youth, the temptations, the failures, and the triumphs. This novel is for youths above 16, because it is real, raw, and true. It is not just my story—it is the story of many, a mirror of what young people face in a world that does not always understand them. My life is a true life journey, and what is coming next will be amazing, touching, and unforgettable......... Dear Reader, Welcome to Between Terms and Triumph, a journey of my life, my struggles, my victories, and the lessons I’ve learned along the way. This is not just a story; it is a reflection of resilience, faith, and the power of never giving up. So dear reader, stay with me. The story is not over. The best—and the toughest—chapters of life are yet to come.❤️