THE ROAD TO ME

After secondary school, when the WAEC exams were behind me and the freedom of no uniforms, no morning assemblies, and no punishments settled in, I felt a mixture of excitement and fear. I was just 17-young, curious, and full of dreams, yet terribly confused. My heart was like a house with many rooms, each room holding a different dream: a courtroom where I imagined myself standing, defending the innocent with boldness; a classroom where I saw myself holding a piece of chalk, shaping young minds with knowledge; and a grand movie set where I stood in bright lights, acting alongside legends.

One evening, after dinner, my parents called me to the sitting room. My father, a stern man who rarely smiled unless he was watching football, sat upright. My mother, gentle but cautious, sat beside him, her eyes silently scanning mine.

"Now that secondary school is over, what do you want to do with your life?" my father asked.

It was a question that pierced deep. I sat quietly, my fingers twitching. I didn't have an answer. Not a clear one. My thoughts were a jumble of dreams, fears, and uncertainty.

"I-I don't know yet," I replied honestly. "Can I have some time to think?"

He nodded, though his expression hinted at impatience. "Don't take too long. You can't stay idle."

In the days that followed, I took long walks, stared into the sky at night, and wrote in my notebook. I imagined myself in each of those dreams. Being a lawyer felt powerful, but also distant. Teaching felt natural, but something about acting set my soul on fire. When I watched movies, I didn't just enjoy them-I studied them. I mimicked the actors, practiced their lines, and often imagined myself on screen.

A few days later, I sat my parents down.

"I've made my decision," I said, my voice shaking slightly. "I want to be an actor."

The silence that followed was deafening.

My father stared at me like I had just confessed to a crime.

"An actor?" he asked, the word sounding strange in his mouth.

"Yes," I replied, trying to sound brave.

He leaned forward, his brows furrowed. "Is that even a career? Do you see anyone from this village doing that? How do you expect to make a living?"

I swallowed hard. "People act and make money. I love acting. I've always loved it."

His voice rose. "Acting is not a real job! And as long as you live under my roof, you will never be an actor."

His words felt like a hammer smashing my dream to pieces.

"I want you to be a nurse," he said firmly.

I was stunned. "A nurse? But Dad, I'm an art student. I don't even know how to mix chemicals, and I hate blood!"

"That doesn't matter. You'll start by learning at a chemist. Then we'll find a way to advance from there."

Tears welled up in my eyes. "I don't want to be a nurse. I'd rather teach."

"You'll be a nurse," he said and walked out.

Left with my mother, I burst into tears. "Mum, I hate needles. I can't even look at wounds without feeling sick. How can I be a nurse?"

She held me close. "I'll talk to your father. Just give it some time."

Time passed. Days turned into weeks, then months. Nothing more was said about the chemist training. I began to wonder if he had changed his mind, so I asked my mother.

"What's happening with the nurse plan?"

She looked tired. "The chemist said the training will cost ₦150,000. Your father and I don't have that kind of money right now."

I blinked. Then, out of frustration, I said something I shouldn't have. "The money will never come. No matter how hard you try, it will never come. Amen!"

Her eyes widened, and she broke into tears. I felt guilty but said nothing.

A month later, something unexpected happened. A man came to our compound. He introduced himself politely to my father and explained that he had recently opened a nursery and primary school in our community. He was looking for young, smart people to join his team.

He said he had asked around, and many recommended me.

My father was quiet. We needed the money. I had finished secondary school and had just completed a computer training course. I was doing nothing at home.

"I'll get back to you," my father said to the man.

That night, he turned to me. "Can you handle teaching children?"

I nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I can."

He frowned. "You'll only do it until I get the money for your chemist training. Then you'll stop."

"Okay," I said, hiding my joy.

The next day, I visited the school with the man. It was still under development, but I saw potential. I invited some of my friends who were also jobless. We started together.

A few weeks later, the man's wife appointed me as the second-in-command-the head teacher. My salary jumped from ₦4,000 to ₦5,000. I was overjoyed! I felt like I was finally doing something meaningful.

At the school, I met other teachers who loved drama and storytelling. We started a small drama group for the pupils. During the school's first Parents' Day celebration, we presented a drama written by me. I also acted the lead role. The applause that followed was like music. Even the community chief stood up to clap.

After the event, the headmistress called me into her office. She smiled warmly.

"Why don't you pursue acting? You're gifted. Remember the play you performed? Everyone was amazed. Don't let anyone stop you from following your dreams, not even your father."

Her words struck a chord in me. That night, I couldn't sleep. I stared at the ceiling, imagining myself acting beside Genevieve Nnaji, Mercy Johnson, and other Nollywood stars. I dreamed of lights, cameras, scripts, and awards.

The next day, I searched through some old movie packs in our living room drawer. I had seen something once-a number printed on the back of a movie jacket with the caption: "For those who want to join Nollywood."

My hands trembled as I found it. I copied the number into my small notepad. The following day, I summoned courage and dialed it.

A man answered. He spoke confidently and said he was connected to a movie marketer. It wasn't a movie school, but it was an opportunity to meet people in the industry.

I was excited. I shared the news with my friends, and we agreed to visit the location secretly. We planned everything for a Saturday. I told my father I had a teachers' meeting in the city. He didn't suspect a thing since my colleagues were with me.

That journey marked the beginning of a secret pursuit. A quiet rebellion. A step on the road to me.