I was sitting with my fellow graduating students by the side of the podium. In front of us in the auditorium were parents, guardians, and well-wishers. I scanned my eyes through the hall, and I couldn't find my parents.
"If 15 graduating students could pull this crowd of well-wishers, it means that there are some students whose whole household members came to celebrate with them," I told myself.
My parents didn't deem the attendance necessary.
The event progressed, and soon the head of the Catholic Church-owned school, Sister Catherine, took the microphone to deliver her speech.
"My joy knows no bounds today," she began. "There is something special about this set of graduating students. The final results were released about two weeks ago, and all of them passed the examinations at distinction and credit level. These are kids with a lot of potential. As we celebrate their graduation from high school today, I implore you, the parents, to do all within your power to help them harness their potential. If you check the yearbook they are holding, you will see potential medical doctors, journalists, lawyers, teachers, and other professions. Let's do well to assist them in actualizing these lofty dreams."
I opened the yearbook while sitting on my lap and saw what the school principal was talking about. Beside the picture of every graduate is the proposed course of study. A few weeks earlier, when a paper was passed around the class after writing the last paper of our examination for each student to write the course they would love to study at the university against their names, my hand was cold in filling anything in the column. Though it had been my dream to become a medical doctor, the tradition of my family was staring at me as an impediment. "No harm in dreaming," I told myself before writing medicine and surgery.
I looked at the page containing my information and smiled while the principal rounded up her speech.
"Before I drop the microphone, I wish to tell you that any child, irrespective of gender, can add value to society if well trained. The tradition of giving out the hands of girl children in marriage after high school should be discouraged. There have been improvements within the last three years since I assumed office as principal, but this retrogressive tradition has not been totally eradicated. If you are here today and your plan is to organize a wedding ceremony for any of these girls, please change your plan and embrace university education for them instead."
I wish my parents were in the hall to listen to the last statement from the principal. The more I think of the battle I was fighting with my parents, the more I feel broken emotionally and psychologically. While other students were full of smiles and joy, I made use of my handkerchief to clean my eyes several times.
At the end of the event, instead of going home, I was the last person remaining in the church auditorium where the event took place.
Sister Catherine, the principal, noticed my presence and asked what I was doing.
"Why are you still here? Didn't you follow your parents back home?"
I bowed my head throughout the questioning session. I battled tears from within in an attempt to talk.
"I have no home to go to," I finally let it out with tears flowing down my cheeks.
"What do you mean that you have no home to go to?" Sister Catherine drew me closer and rested my head on her bosom while she cleaned up my tears.
"My wedding is in a week's time. I want a university education, not marriage."
"This is not what we can discuss while standing. Let's go inside so that you can give me the details," Sister Catherine held my hand, and we trekked to her residential apartment behind the auditorium.
"What is the problem, Joy?" She offered me a seat in the living room and asked me for the details.
"My parents don't believe in educating a girl child. I am the last of three siblings. Both of my elder siblings stopped their education after primary school. My primary school teachers had to spend days pleading with my parents not to allow my potential to waste away by not enrolling me in secondary school. It was a tug of war between this school and my parents over the payment of my school fees in year 1. Luck came my way when the state government declared free education for students in elementary and secondary schools. In what was supposed to be my moment of joy, my father spoiled it for me when he accepted the proposal of a man who came to ask for my hand in marriage for his son three weeks ago. The wedding is next week. Since then, I have wished I never existed. I wish my roots were never in this family."
"Don't be harsh on yourself. The Lord, who helped you acquire secondary education, will not forsake you at this material time. I will personally take you home now so that I can listen to your parents side of the issue. The Lord will be our guide," Sister Catherine concluded before picking up her car keys, and we headed straight to my house.
"Women's education ends in the kitchen," my father said with a strange face when he was asked why he was averse to getting me educated.
My mom was nodding her head in agreement.
Sister Catherine let out a simile in her characteristic manner before responding.
"Have you heard names like Ngozi Okonjo Iweala, Amina Muhammed, and Folusho Alakija?"
"Who are they?" My father asked.
"Ngozi is part of the Director General of the World Trade Organization, while Amina is the Deputy Secretary General of the United Nations. Folusho is the richest woman in Africa. These women reached the peak of their chosen careers because they were educated. I see greater potential in this girl. Please, let's nurture it."
Sister Catherine went on her knees to plead with my parents. I joined her immediately.
"Please get up and sit down," my father gestured to her. "I learned that university education requires a lot of money. Where will I get the money from?"
"The Lord will take care of it. All I want from you is to call off the planned wedding and bless the education pursuit of this brilliant girl."
Sister Catherine was able to convince my parents to embrace education for me. My hope was partially restored. I was left with the thought of where the money to finance the actualization of my dream would come from.
Three days later, Sister Catherine returned with a letter that brought my dream to life. The church has awarded me a fully funded scholarship to the university.
I couldn't contain my joy. I picked up my yearbook and stared at the page containing my information.
"Is my dream really coming true?" I asked myself and closed the book.
I was admitted to one of the leading universities in the country to study medicine and surgery. The church gave me more than I needed in support.
Before I graduated from medical school, people began to call me by the title "Dr." My parents took pride in it.
I graduated and became the first female doctor from the village.
When my father became hypertensive and I was managing his health, he looked at me from his sick bed on a fateful day and said; "By stopping your education, I would have shot myself on the foot. The role that you are playing now wouldn't have been played by anyone else. Dr. Joy, please forgive me."
"It's alright, dad. You acted within the culture and tradition of your immediate environment. If you hadn't nurtured me as an infant and sent me to primary school, it would have been difficult for anyone to come in to assist me later in life. Your role is evergreen in my heart."
Sister Catherine, though retired, remained a friend to my family. I lacked words to appreciate her role in making my dream a reality.
My story changed the perspective of the villagers, and they embraced the education of girl children.
