I've always been naturally intelligent for as long as I can remember. The turning point, however, happened in kindergarten — specifically during the third term. Before then, I wasn't exactly the brightest in class. I had ranked 34th out of 35 students. But something changed that term. Somehow, I jumped from 34th position to 3rd place in class. It felt as though a switch had been flipped in my brain — like a part of me suddenly awakened.
I still recall how thrilled my mom was. She was so proud that she bought me banana milk as a treat — a big deal at the time. It was a moment of pride for both of us. From that day on, it felt like my mind had opened up ten times more than before. I could remember anything I was told, especially in school, without needing to reread my notes or even revise. Learning became natural — effortless.
One vivid memory I have is from 1st grade. My friend Rosette and I were eager to know our results. On one result day, we were the first to enter the class and found out we ranked 1st and 2nd respectively. We were so excited and thought our success had something to do with entering the class early. So the following term, on result day, we sprinted to class like lightning, thinking it would guarantee us top spots again. But when we got there, the class was already filled — and needless to say, things didn't turn out the same.
Unfortunately, when Rosette and I arrived at the classroom that day, it was already filled with students. If I remember correctly, we were devastated — convinced that we'd be at the bottom of the class since we didn't enter first. But when the results were finally announced, to our complete surprise, I came first again and Rosette came second.
That moment taught me a valuable lesson — it wasn't about who entered the class first or who ran fastest on results day. What truly mattered was your performance throughout the entire term. That's what determined your position.
From then on, I continued to thrive academically. Throughout elementary and middle school, I consistently ranked first in class. However, things took a small turn when I entered high school. I started coming second. But I wasn't bothered. I knew the girl who always came first studied relentlessly, always buried in her books. I, on the other hand, was carefree. Many of my classmates assumed I must have been reading late into the night, burning the midnight oil. But in reality? I slept like there was no tomorrow.
Whenever I saw her results, she was always just a few marks ahead — maybe two, sometimes three — but never by a wide margin. Still, I never made any real effort to overtake her. My intelligence felt like a gift, something innate, and I couldn't bring myself to use it as a weapon to outshine someone who was clearly working so hard. I always believed that if I ever accidentally picked up a book and studied seriously, only God knows what heights I'd reach. First place would be mine without question — of that, I was certain.
After I graduated from high school, I received immediate admission into one of the most prestigious universities in the state. That should have been a moment of joy, but instead, it was where reality hit — and it hit hard. We didn't have the money. I had known it deep down, growing up in a public school system, watching my parents stretch every naira just to make ends meet.
If I were to describe my family's financial status, I'd say we were well below average. We couldn't even afford a television, let alone a decent apartment. We'd moved from one run-down apartment to another like nomads — six different places and counting. Each move came with its own struggles, yet we kept pushing forward.
The place we're staying now is the sixth apartment we've moved into since I can remember. It's a rundown two-room flat. My five siblings and I squeeze into one room, while my parents share the other. I won't go into the details of their profession, but just know — they aren't financially stable.
Since I couldn't rely on my parents to pay my tuition fees, I decided to take matters into my own hands. That January, I began job hunting. But without a bachelor's degree, my options were limited. I applied for anything — house help, lawn mower, anything legal that could earn me money. Still, no one hired me.
Maybe it was my size. I was 17, but I looked more like a 10-year-old. That's how tiny I was back then. Employers probably looked at me and doubted I could handle anything at all.
On the 20th day of my fruitless job search, I was heading back home when I bumped into one of my high school classmates.
She told me she'd just been accepted into one of the average universities in another state and would be leaving next month. I was genuinely happy for her — and relieved that she didn't ask which school I was attending. She mentioned she was only around to drop something off for her elder sister who worked at a nearby factory.
The moment she left, curiosity took over. I rushed to the factory she mentioned. I was stunned — I had walked past that place countless times and never once realized there was a factory there. I stood outside, frozen with hesitation. *Should I knock? What if they chase me away? What if they say I'm too small for the job?* My head swirled with doubt.
Just then, a lady stepped out and asked how she could help me. I quickly told her I was looking for a job. To my surprise, she didn't hesitate — she invited me inside. There weren't many workers, I could count: 1, 2, 3... in total, just 27 people.
After a brief interview, I was accepted. When I asked why, she told me it was because I showed up — and because I looked determined, even though I had no prior experience. She hesitated, then asked me
"How good are you in chemistry?" she asked.
Without hesitation, I replied, "Very good."
She began throwing chemistry questions at me. I answered them all with ease. That was how I got the job. She told me to resume the next day. It turned out she was the supervisor, and there was an urgent demand for product.
My plan was to work there for a year, save up, and sit for the university entrance exam the following year. But after that year passed, I checked my savings — it wasn't enough to do anything meaningful. So, I decided to stay longer.
I worked diligently, had no problems with anyone. Everything was smooth — until Bryan showed up.
Bryan was hired as a truck loader. Unruly, untrained, and loud — he was the complete opposite of everything the factory stood for. I wasn't in his unit, so I ignored him. It wasn't my business.
But my peace shattered the day I heard he was transferred... to the packaging unit.
*Why? Of all places… why mine?
…to the packaging unit. Why?? Of all places, why the packaging unit? I just didn't get it. I decided to steer clear of him completely—no need to invite unnecessary trouble into my already complicated life.
But after about a month, I started noticing something… odd.
He was always around me. Always. Whether he had a reason to be or not, Bryan would find a way to talk to me, stand nearby, or throw in random compliments about himself—usually about how "ridiculously handsome" he thought he was. Ughhh… can I just have one peaceful moment without this self-proclaimed Adonis lurking?
Then came the lunch gifts.
Every afternoon, without fail, he'd bring me lunch. I never asked. I never even hinted. Who sent this guy?? Still, I accepted it (it was food after all), but I made sure to share it with the girls in the unit. That way, if he ever came back trying to act entitled or demanding, I'd have backup—"We all ate it , not just me!"
Then came the day everything changed We were called to assist the loading unit—apparently, they were short-staffed that day. I didn't mind helping. I mean, I was used to hard work. But that day was particularly hectic. I was trying to lift and place a heavy carton on top of a stack that was almost taller than me. I stretched, struggled, almost losing balance, when suddenly—
That buffoon Bryan (yes, buffoon!) decided it was the perfect moment to make a scene.
Instead of, you know, actually *helping*—like a sane person would—he grabbed me. Not gently. No. He *grabbed me by the buttocks* and literally *lifted* me, planting me right on top of the stack of cartons, like I was some kind of accessory.
ON. HIS. FACE.
I was mortified. And furious. And embarrassed.
Who even does that? Like—seriously—is there any *sensible* human being who would pull that kind of stunt?
I felt like strangling him right there and then, but he just stood there defending himself like an innocent child, saying, *"I was only trying to help you."* Help me?? By grabbing me like a forklift??
I gave him the deadliest glare I could muster and stormed off to finish my task, praying he'd vanish for the rest of the day.
What I didn't know was that he had somehow ended up inside the truck with me after we finished loading everything. I didn't notice him at first—I was too exhausted and baking in the suffocating heat of the enclosed space.
Later, while catching my breath outside, I joked with my colleague Vivian, "I nearly got roasted inside that truck o. The heat was mad!"
Before she could even laugh, guess who jumped into the conversation?
That buffoon.
With the most unserious tone, he said,
*"If you had been baked inside, I'd eat you all day."*
Vivian and I froze.
Wide-eyed.
Mouth slightly open.
Did he just say what we think he said??
Before we could react, he threw his hands up dramatically and added, "Wait! I was talking about my favorite bread ! What were you people thinking?? Dirty-minded humans!" He rolled his eyes and walked off like *we* were the problem.
Vivian burst into laughter.
I just stood there, baffled, wondering how this clown had managed to survive this long without getting slapped into another timezone.
Vivian nudged me with a sly grin and whispered,
*"I think Bryan likes you."*
I shot her a glare sharp enough to slice steel.
*"He'd better not,"* I snapped. *"Because if he does, he's going to meet his untimely end at my hands. That buffoon!"*
Vivian burst into laughter and took off, calling over her shoulder,
*"Chill, girl!"*
Her giggle echoed through the corridor as she ran off, leaving me shaking my head.
Honestly, working there had become an unpredictable soap opera —with Bryan starring as the main clown and me unwillingly dragged into every scene.