MY FATHER'S SACRIFICE

Upon completing my paper, I eagerly submitted it, shouldered my bag, and embarked on the journey home. As I trekked, my mind dwelled on the unappetizing meal awaiting me. Ever since my father lost his job, life had become an arduous struggle for my family. We resorted to combining food items that scarcely made sense. One particular concoction, which my sister and I aptly named “watokro,” consisted of waterleaf and okro blended together. In his quest to stretch the soup’s quantity, my father mixed waterleaf with okro. More often than not, we didn’t even have garri to accompany these unpalatable combinations.

My house stood a considerable distance from the school—about four communities away, to be precise. I had to trek through one community before catching a bike ride home. Upon arriving that eventful day, I noticed my father preparing for work.

“Williams, how did your exam go?” he inquired.