Broken Pedal A Contour of Life Events Esther Ozioma Chukwuchebe   © Copyright 2024 by

Photo courtesy of the author.

My name is Ozioma, a beautiful name my mother gave me, and truly it is as beautiful as its meaning. ‘Good news’, a literal translation of the word, originates from the South Eastern part of Nigeria. One notable thing about the easterners is that they work, they really do work, both male and female. I would share a short story of a trip that this female, I embarked on.

I was only 19 years old, and I held the slip of my fourth JAMB results. ‘199 again!’ I sighed and right there I couldn't explain the emotions that rushed through me, was it anger, pity, confidence, shame. I couldn't quite understand, but I could understand the behavior that exploded right after.

‘My child, why are you crying’, my mom echoed very close to my ear. She has been reading the paper with me, the only difference was that I went straight to the bottom of the page where the results reflected. ‘Don't cry, you can try again next year. One thing I am sure of is that you would never bring me bad news, your name is good news and it will come’, she continued. The painful thing was that I held the paper and refused to open it –whether out of fear or conviction, I didn't know– until I got home.

Now I can understand why, it was fear. I slept through that night thinking of how much I would lose and how bad my future will be, maybe I may end up pushing the wheelbarrow in the market or sell plantain as my mother does, the thoughts were flooding and it didn't give me space to think, but I came to a conclusion, that I must live up to my name, I guess the thinking paid off.

I woke up the next morning drained by my emotions, but that fearful feeling was still gushing right through every step, every move, until I made a decision. On my way to work my brother called.

‘Ozioma, did you check your results?’, he asked, ‘Eyaa!’, was the exclamation that followed after I gave an affirmative response. ‘Just come down here and do a diploma, that what worked for all of us, I'll send you a link now’, he finished. I rushed quickly, opened the link and scanned the landing page of the link, and that was it, I got my fuel for the journey.

Six months later, I was seated in the third row of an eighteen seater bus, traveling to the glorious university of Nigeria, in the south eastern part of Nigeria, Enugu state. This was the beginning of my trip or so I thought. As I sat down, I retraced every of my decisions the past six months. I started saving 80 percent of my salary, made plans on accommodation, selected and stored up my finest cloth, prayed and waited. I stared through the closed window and saw very tall green grasses filling both sides of the road, almost touching the windows of the bus. I was so sure that we had left the borders of Lagos State where I grew up. The grass reminded me of the hard conversation I had with my mother before leaving as she was slicing the vegetables for dinner that night.

‘Ozioma, this journey you are about to take, are you sure you can handle it now? My business is failing and I can barely stay open, this money you saved up isn't enough to carry you, it will be difficult’, she began. Just as I was about to reply she continued, ‘You know……you are just like me and I have no doubt that you'll succeed, no matter what it is or how bad it is, I will always support you’. With tears in her eyes, she hugged me, and as I sat in the bus, I could feel myself almost washing up my dress with water from my tear spot.

This was the beginning of my post-independence program. I had my first quick study from the age of 16, I was just out of secondary school and my mother's bright business was already failing, it started failing when I was at senior secondary two. Those days were filled with school debts, house debts and trolls from the microfinance bank. Hence, I had to start working, and I picked the worst place for the first experience, it was an automobile spare part market. I grew up more quickly, my mother made sure of that, I can't say the same for my brothers.

I arrived at university of Nigeria (UNN) after securing a temporary accommodation, and diploma classes were already set. As seasons came and went by, wisdom taught me to create a plan B, which I did. I started preparing for another JAMB exam as I attended diploma class. As days went by, the money I saved up began to reduce. Feeding bills, class materials, transportation, accommodation bills, were sipping through, and just as I was thinking of a plan C, I was asked to use my remaining savings to assist my brother who was in his 300 level. With plan A shattered, I had to hold dearly to plan B, which wasn't new, it would be my fifth time and I may still fail. What I never failed to do was to make good friends and they were with me on this journey.

In a few months, my fate was decided, I got in as a full student of the university. Yes! That happened right after I aced my jamb exam. What was different this time, I couldn't place, but I was sure of my place this time. I was a lioness! and I continued devouring through every challenge of the jungle, two semesters of the first year, getting a remote job to pay fees since waiting for support from home posed little hope. Hence I continued, working as a student was not any young adult’s fantasy, but it was a price to pay and I was trained for it. I bet my mother would be proud of me, in fact she already was. living an independent life, working, schooling, serving God, sending little cash home to assist with the debts and passing my exams, she was so proud.

Mama was definitely praying for me, because there was no sign of derailing, or loss of focus. I was moving through every road, intersection, every junction of this journey without pressing a fast break. Every semester break was another time to work and learn new skills, from wig making, cake making, to tailoring. I never did forget to add a little professional experience, I joined clubs, honed my writing skills, volunteered, took leadership positions, and became one of the best in my final year project panel grouping. This achievement was surely a consolation prize to the sacrifice, hunger strike, bruised ego, shame, unhealthy feeding, lack and work, perhaps it will all be over soon.

‘You are a strong lady, Ozi. I can't imagine that you kept pushing till now’, a close female friend of mine said hustle after my final year defense.

'In my opinion, you should have demanded an explanation from those brother's of yours’. I could understand that it takes a while to set up, but seven years with no support offered to their sisters or mother! That is preposterous, you wouldn't keep calm about this would you?’, she continued. Her last sentence was a question and a thought I stopped exploring a long time ago. I have learnt pain not from strangers but from my closest family, and it was an issue I never waste ink on.

It's been a long seven years, and I stared wide-eyed at another level of responsibility in the year 2022. My sister who joined me in the university in 2018 was about to enter her final year, and things were all shades of black at home. I landed a good job as an assistant event planner after 6 months of abasing. So, I decided to place a few things in place, you know, take a little good news home. I rented a two bedroom apartment and brought my mother back to the east. It was a good plan, mum's business had been closed down and she was in debt, there was already a quick notice on the house in Lagos, and I was looking for a fresh start. I definitely got to a good spot on the journey, I wasn't even looking at when to take a break and reroute.

Working as a student as a writer with a printing press honed my writing skills, and this was the only skill responsibility allowed me to build. I was the jack of all trades and it made sense, everything about this worked well in the borders of the campus, but here in real life, a master of none is a liability. I dug deeper, and added freelance creative writing to my source of income until life became a boulder.

I lost my well paying job after seven months, with a backlash of scrutiny and accusations. Mama just came down to the east and my strengths had begun to dwindle. This path of unsolicited independence had to stop but I was far into this journey, life hasn't only molested me, people had too, but I was afraid to stop, afraid that if I pressed a break, no one would see the good tracks, they would only see the scars that stick. I needed to keep moving, in fact I had to, the fear of what lay behind was nothing compared to what was in front, until I realized that my past had always stuck with me, ever since this journey began.

I am at a cross road now, and now I don't think I can be a child anymore. That hood was stolen from me a long time ago, and it is a stage I may never go back to. Decisions were piling, and as I made I failed, even the very perfect decisions. It was not just working again, I was stuck. I pressed the reverse and I went into a skid. Nothing was as difficult as losing my very essence, the ability to write, my writing was my sound, that was what distinguished me as a singer, now it's all gone. Here I am now, a citizen of uncertainty, governing my thoughts to an ignoble cause. All my heart dreaded was the same very thing that fueled me as a student, “if you pursue perfection, you'll earn excellence”, but I am drowning in it.

It's another typical Tuesday and I couldn't help but stare in the mirror as the sunlight trickled down my face, 'do I press the pedal now’, I thought. ‘Ozioma you never took a break, to you a break was a limitation. You never paused to laugh, play, make cogent mistakes, or gain mastery, she just pursued perfection and now you are just a fiction’, I said rather loudly. A stream of tears rushed down my cheeks followed by an upheaval of palpitations, this time I understood the emotions underlying the behavior, it was nothing else but pity!