The Unsuccessful Student

At age 15, I started writing a story titled  "The Unsuccessful Student," which was an altered story about me. My life as an individual has been the worst roller coaster though I have never been on one. In the earlier stages of life, life whipped and dealt with me that I felt the best solution was death. This was a story I started when I was fifteen.

The chirping birds' melodious sounds awoke me to a sunny day. Since I was on vacation there was no rush to start the day's activities. I was in primary six, and the previous term ended with our promotional results yet to be announced, unlike the typical end-of-term results, which were announced on "our day", the day of vacation.

As I went about my business, I heard a masculine voice say my name, and the way the "MAVIS" sounded told me it was my father. I yelled "Paaaa" and dashed over to him. My father was sitting beneath the mango tree, holding a white sheet in his hands, which I later learned was my report card. My hand was at my back as I watched him scrutinize it.

 He handed me the card, and I saw what was on it. I was in the second-to-last position, and I'm not sure if I should cry or ask for permission to faint.

I started sweating even though I was under a mango tree and the wind was trying to unclothe me.

"Mia me nenie le suku xorme?" asked my father.

To wit: "how many of you are in the class?"

I responded, and he inquired as to my position. I informed him.

He stated that your teacher brought that report and that you were given that position. He asked me to sit after a brief moment of silence. I sat quietly, not knowing what was in store for me because I'd never had that position or been called on because of a position I'd previously held.

My father after some talks asked what trade/skill I wanted to learn and said he was going to enroll me in a sewing class because I wasn't ready to learn in school. I'm not sure, but all I knew was that I saw and felt my world crumble. I expected a reaction, but not this strong.

The only thing that came to mind was that my father didn't love me.

 I began to consider what I would tell my classmates when I eventually dropped out of school, as well as how I would face a society that would conclude that I was dumb and that this was the reason I was withdrawn from school and forced to learn a trade instead. After a brief pause, my father replied, "You are on probation, and if you don't perform well in JHS One, I will have no alternative but to pull you from school." 

The holiday turned into a stressful period for me, but school soon started, and I was promoted to JHS one on probation, owing to my previous term's results, I guess. Even in class, I couldn't believe it and was embarrassed. This was/is how much we despise and fear failure. I was in third place at the end of the first term in JHS one, and I'm still not sure how it happened. 

My father praised my efforts. I still believed at the time he didn't love me enough, but as I grew older, I gained a deeper understanding of my father.

After linking the dots, I believe my father was in his "financial crucifixion stage." My older sister went to uni, my brothers(twin boys) to senior high school that same year, and my other brother to the JHS boarding house at the time. My father was on a shoestring budget and wasn't willing to put money into something that wouldn't yield a favorable result, especially paying fees in a private school. 

Later in life, when the reality of life dawned on me, I learned. My father wasn't a student who aspired to an A, yet he stayed up all night going over his papers to provide for us. I grew up with so much fear for failure,but today I sometimes see it as the stepping stone for greater success.