A Papa's Contribution

It was time to return to school after spending a few weeks with Nnayi, my beloved father. He made enough time for me during the holidays. I had everything I needed to get back to school. Back at home, he had taken me to the open-air marketplace, where he had gotten me food supplies of all kinds to last me until the end of my final term in 10th grade. My father bought me the school's highly recommended textbooks and new writing materials. He was a loving father, very compassionate, and, most importantly, protective. I can't wait to show off what I've acquired to my classmates. 

"Daalu Nnayi." When my father dropped me off at my boarding high school, I expressed my gratitude in my mother tongue. 

We used a variety of modes of transportation to get me back to my boarding high school the same day I was scheduled to leave. It was a long trip from my hometown to my boarding high school in Anambra State. We couldn't stop by Auntie Rita'shouse. My father ensured that he personally dropped me off at my school gate. He wanted to ensure that I was safe and did not sustain any accidental injuries on my way to school. 

My arrival at school that term was quite productive. Despite my limited time, I performed admirably in my studies. I was proudly appointed as the head girl in my class. That was the first time I felt truly alive at the boarding high school. I promised to make good use of the position I was given in the classroom. It was the second missionary high school in that state, overseen by Catholic priests and Reverend Sisters. Every student in the school must follow the laws of the school. My position as the head girl appeared to spark an ugly argument between Anna and me. She was against me being our class's head girl. She would try to frame me or accuse me of random offenses that I had never committed in order to get me punished. I was glad I had a group of friends who were always there for me during these trying times. 

The third term was when I learned a lot about the school and its surroundings. Life at the boarding high school was very different from the day high school where I studied from grades 7 to 9. It appears that you are living in your own home, with numerous obligations awaiting you in every direction you turn. There were set meal times, and each student had to gather in a dining hall to eat whatever meal the kitchen staff had prepared for them. Most of these meals have an unpleasant flavor that can make one feel nauseous just looking at them or after eating them.

The school grounds were large and included a variety of educational facilities. Every first Saturday of the month, we were required to clean up the school environment by removing any unwanted weeds that had grown or might be growing on the school field, scrubbing the dormitory lavatory floors, and cleaning our dormitory rooms. We would always get up as early as possible to take a bath before attending the morning class. I had adapted to the boarding high school lifestyle and was starting to enjoy it.

The school premises has a big field where different sports and activities were being carried out randomly. Following the end of our school test week, the school principal had organized a sport competition for us. This was between our class and the grade 11 students. We were to have a football match together. This was an aim to keep us physically fit.We were guided through the football practice by our school male sport coach for a week. I was a non-sporty person. However, I was selected as one of the participants to represent my class during the sport. I had to put in my best during the practice forthe upcoming football match. Our parents were invited, but only a few people showed up to watch us play the football. I had added Auntie Rita as my guardian and the closest person to meto the list of people I wanted to invite, but she called in sick, leaving me disappointed.

On Wednesday, the scheduled day for the event. We held a pep rally, during which the team leader led us in chants and performed stunts to get everyone excited for the football game. Jogging onto the field a few minutes before the game began, I was in the game spirit and ready to demonstrate the new football skills I had learned during practice.

"PEEEEEEEEP!" The sound of the referee's whistle signals the start of the football match.

We swung into action, sprinting towards the ball with a burst of speed and agility, chasing it down, making a run for it, fighting for possession, diving for the tackle, competing for control, and screaming at the top of our lungs. Many of us were tripping over our own feet, becoming entangled, losing our balance, stumbling, and stuttering while fumbling with the ball. It wasn't long until I tripped and collided with my opponent, our knees banging together. We both fell to the ground and landed on our backs. I rolled on the field and winced in pain. Suddenly, I heard my name screamed among the crowd that was watching us, and it turned out to be my father. I was shocked to see him while I was growling in pain. He rushed through the canopy, past the invited guest, and towards me. He didn't care about the people who surrounded us and picked me up. I and my opponent were both transported to the nearest clinic, where we were both treated and cared for.

He later told me that Auntie Rita had asked him to represent her at the event before the scheduled date. He left his business at home to come and support me. He spent the rest of the week caring for me until I felt better and could get back on my feet. My classmates couldn't help but feel envious of how well my father looked after me.