Chapter 9 The Setback

By the beginning of the new year, Faith's house was filled with the smell of fresh books and silent determination. Her parents had gotten her some past JAMB questions and registered her for a reputable tutorial center not too far from the house. Unlike before, this phase didn't feel like "just another exam" to her it was serious. Life changing serious.

Every morning, she packed her slim jotter, a blue pen, and her renewed sense of purpose before heading out for the JAMB lessons. The sun barely kissed the sky when she left home, and sometimes the street dogs would still be yawning as she crossed the bend by Mama Njide's akara stall. She didn't mind. She was going to university that year, and that was all that mattered.

Her chosen course? Opticianry. She had quietly settled on it after being fascinated by an eye doctor she met during a school screening two years back. The precision, the calm, the quiet authority it called to her. The idea of restoring or improving people's vision just... felt right.

The University of Nigeria, Nsukka was her dream. She had researched it, followed student vloggers on YouTube, even memorized some hostel names and course codes. It was almost as though she had already enrolled in her mind. Her walls bore printed pictures of the faculty buildings. That was how deeply she saw herself there.

Still, she didn't let her JAMB preparations consume her entirely. She remembered her promise to herself during the long holidays she'd vowed not to waste time. And she didn't. Her afternoons were for her writing lessons. She practiced constructing clean, persuasive sentences and trained her tongue to speak clearly, fluently, and confidently. It started with her recording herself reading children's stories aloud, correcting pronunciation, emphasizing the right syllables.

"Good English can open doors. You can make money helping others speak and write better," she had told herself one evening, echoing the encouragement from one of her lesson tutors. The plan was to eventually tutor others when she got into school maybe proofread assignments, help with CVs, even host paid mini writing sessions.

Faith's parents noticed the change in her rhythm. She was more focused than ever, yet more mature in her balance. It wasn't just about scoring high anymore; she was building herself layer by layer.

When the day for JAMB finally came, Faith walked into the exam center with calm nerves. Her eyes scanned the room and settled on her system. She whispered a quick prayer and got to work. Questions in Use of English, Biology, Physics, and Chemistry fell before her like dominoes. She left the hall hours later, drained but not defeated.

Two weeks later, the result came: 315.

Her mother screamed. Her father couldn't stop smiling. Calls were made. Aunties and uncles sent messages like, "You too much!" "See this girl oh!" "Na you go give us eye glass soon." Faith was overjoyed, but deep down, a quiet voice whispered: "We're not done yet."

By mid-March, she began mentally preparing for university life. Shopping lists were scribbled on the back of old notebooks. Suitcases were brought down from the wardrobe. Faith started following UNN aspirant groups online, eager to bond with people she would soon be classmates with.

But just as the air started smelling like new beginnings, the world held its breath.

It started as whispers something about a virus from China. Then a few cases in Lagos. Then Abuja. Before Faith could piece it all together, COVID-19 became a household name. Markets began shutting down. Schools suspended activities. Flights were cancelled. And then came the ultimate heartbreak the university calendar was paused indefinitely.

What was supposed to be a triumphant journey into her new life suddenly became an endless waiting game.

Faith felt like someone hit pause on her future.

A New Kind of Waiting

The days began to stretch.

Faith had always thought holidays were fun, but not this kind. Not the kind where no one knew when it would end. Not the kind where even her parents were worried about their jobs, where hand sanitizers sat beside the family Bible, and everyone flinched when someone sneezed.

At first, she tried to keep her study routine alive wake up early, revise her JAMB subjects, practice some writing. But over time, her motivation started to wobble. There was no entrance exam to prepare for anymore. No admission date. No clear path forward.

"Faith, read your books o," her mum would say while sweeping.

"I've read it already, mummy," she would reply, tired of flipping through the same pages without direction.

She missed the structure of school. Missed having goals with deadlines. Even her writing practice felt blurry. What was she preparing for? How long would this go on?

Then came social media her only window to the outside world. There, she saw people baking banana bread, starting new businesses, doing home workouts. Others were complaining about boredom or just disappearing from timelines entirely. But what stood out most were people learning things. Skills. Languages. Ideas.

Faith made a decision.

"If the world is on pause," she told herself, "then I'll press play in another way."

She reopened her writing notebook. Not to revise but to create. She started journaling her lockdown experience. Writing short pieces about fear, hope, and waiting. Some made her cry. Some made her smile. But every word reminded her of who she was becoming.

And this time, it wasn't just about JAMB, or UNN, or even opticianry.

It was about growth even in stillness.

The Girl Who Wouldn't Rust

Faith had heard her father say once, "An unused blade still rusts."

That stuck with her.

And now, more than ever, it made sense.

Yes, the world was quiet.

Yes, schools were shut.

Yes, everything seemed stuck.

But Faith refused to rust.

Every morning, she woke up and dressed like she was going to class even though there was none. Her study table remained organized. Her timetable was handwritten and taped to the wall. She alternated between old JAMB questions, English writing drills, and watching YouTube tutorials about optometry and eye health. She was still fascinated by the human eye how something so small could hold so much vision.

But more than the books, Faith began finding joy in using her skill to help others.

Her younger brother, who hadn't resumed nursery school due to the pandemic, became her first "student." She taught him sounds, numbers, colors, and how to write his name. Then, word spread.

A neighbor dropped by one day:

"Aunty Faith, I hear you teach small children how to read... Please, can my daughter join?"

And just like that, her quiet gift turned into a mini learning hub.

Two students became four.

Four became seven.

Faith didn't charge anything at first just wanted to help. But parents began insisting. "At least for recharge card," they'd say. And over time, she started making small money from what she loved doing.

When she told her parents about it, her father smiled with quiet pride.

"You've turned delay into discovery," he said. "That's rare."

Still, in all her productivity, Faith had moments of sadness. Days when she stared out the window wondering when life would feel normal again. Nights when she missed her school friends and the thrill of classroom competition. Some evenings, she'd hear her classmates' voices in her head Pearl from primary school, Frank from JSS, Blessing from SS2.

But every time she felt like she was falling into a hole, her pen pulled her back out.

Faith had learned how to wait without wasting.

And for a girl once called "Lazarus," even lockdown couldn't keep her buried.

Letters to the Future

By mid-2020, the world still hadn't found its rhythm.

Faith had now created a structure out of the chaos.

Her makeshift "lesson center" was running three times a week from the front corridor of their house. She used old benches, a whiteboard borrowed from her dad's friend, and markers that were already drying out but the children still came. And they learned.

Her English writing skills had taken a beautiful turn too.

She was no longer just studying how to write she had started writing.

Letters. Stories. Journal entries. Motivational quotes.

Sometimes they were addressed to "Future Me."

Other times to girls like her quiet, bookish girls who feared the world might never notice them.

She wrote to remind them that silence doesn't mean smallness.

One day, she posted one of her pieces on her WhatsApp status:

"To every girl who had to pause her dream this season-don't panic, sharpen your tools. Sometimes the slow season is the sharpening season."

She didn't expect much from it.

But her inbox lit up.

Classmates, neighbors, even old teachers messaged her:

"Did you write that yourself?"

"You should be publishing."

"This is exactly what I needed to hear."

It felt surreal.

She wasn't yet in the university.

She wasn't practicing as an optician.

She didn't even have a school ID card anymore.

But somehow, her words had started creating space for her.

Her parents, once worried about the delay, had come to respect the way she handled it.

They didn't have to push her she'd become her own engine.

Even her younger brother, who once interrupted her lessons with cartoons, was now helping her take attendance and arrange pencils before classes.

That year, Faith didn't wear any school uniform.

She didn't sit in a real classroom.

She didn't hear the bell ring or write notes while hiding chewing gum.

But that year, she grew.

Not upward like a student, but inward like a seed.

Stronger. Deeper. Wiser.

And when September came and passed again with no university admission in sight, she didn't cry.

She just wrote another journal entry titled:

"Delay Is Not Denial."

Because she still believed.

Still prepared.

Still... Becoming Faith.