CHAPTER FOUR

Growing up, I was never the best student, but I wasn’t the worst either. My sister, on the other hand, was a star; she could take home eight awards out of ten without breaking a sweat. Everyone in our school knew her, and by extension, they knew me. I was “the sister of the smart girl,” a title I wore with pride. My sister and I adored each other, so the comparisons didn’t bother us. I cheered the loudest and clapped the hardest whenever she won awards, basking in her glory. I loved being my sister’s sister. She always knew she was going to be a doctor like our dad. As for me, the sight of blood made me queasy, so medicine was out of the question. I was still figuring out my path, but two things were clear: I loved to write, and I loved helping people solve their problems.

One day, our librarian, Grandpa, affectionately named for his full head of grey hair, called me over during library period. I was chatting with friends and assumed I was in trouble for talking. Wondering why I was singled out, I approached with an innocent smile. “What do you want to be when you grow up?” he asked. I was 12 and had no clue. “I don’t know, Grandpa,” I admitted. “I think you will be a great lawyer,” he said, smiling warmly. At the time, all I knew about lawyers was that they were prestigious, with a respected status and special car stickers, much like doctors. As I walked home, I realised that’s what I wanted to be, a lawyer. I had found my path.

My sister had attended the best secondary school in Ghana, a place reserved for the “crème de la crème.” Naturally, I dreamed of following in her footsteps. During the school selection process, parents met with the headmaster to ensure the chosen schools matched their child’s strengths. I remember sitting there, my heart pounding, as my headmaster confidently declared, “Nelly will definitely qualify. You can rest assured of that.” The relief and joy that washed over my parents and me were palpable. Securing a spot at this school wasn’t just about prestige; it was my golden ticket, the first step toward becoming the lawyer I had envisioned. My future felt bright and within reach.

I wrote the exam with unwavering confidence, certain I had aced it. My friends and I began planning our adventures at the school, eagerly anticipating our new lives as boarders. It would be our first time away from home, and the excitement was electric. We were elated, filled with dreams of independence and new experiences. But my joy was short-lived.

The results finally came out, and to my utter shock, I did not make the grade. What?! Daabi, no, this cannot be real. The realisation hit me like a ton of bricks: I hadn’t made the grade to get into the best school, the first crucial step towards my dream of becoming a lawyer. I was devastated. As my friends left for school, I was stuck at home for months, a mix of happiness for them and sadness for myself. I watched my friends don their new uniforms, their faces glowing with excitement and anticipation. The house that was once filled with the chatter of school plans now felt eerily silent. I would sit in my room, staring at my books, wondering where I had gone wrong. What was I going to do? How could I have failed?