I have always asked for help.

It didn’t make sense how we would leave the three bedroom flat we had at Abacha Estate to renting a two rooms apartment where the toilet and bathroom were miles away from the rooms we lived in.

I was 7 years old when my parents enrolled me at Christ Anglican Nursery and Primary School Makurdi. (CANPS).

It was an original experience for me. The memory hit me now how that’s where I learned my first pidgin English. That was also the beginning of my father’s work problems which spiraled us from the middle class to lower class. It didn’t make sense how we would leave the three bedroom flat we had at Abacha Estate to renting a two rooms apartment where the toilet and bathroom were miles away from the rooms we lived in.

It didn’t make sense that I would leave Abuja international academy where school buses came to pick us up to Christ Anglican Nursery and Primary school where I had to walk miles to get to school.

I didn’t understand why every term they would drive us home for school fees. I dreaded seeing the bursar lady. “Winifred Liam!” She would shout once she enters our class, primary 5D. “Tell your father to at least pay second terms fees or else you won’t be promoted.” She would say.

I was a brilliant student, ask my peers. I represented the school for competitions we even went to Jos for the first time in my life when I was in CANPS. I and my fellow science pupil, Abel Omanga.

I remember Kubura, our brilliant student who fell dangerously ill. She was always quiet, rarely spoke but often came first. Kubura died during the summer break. She did not resume primary 6 with us. She had a beautiful sister who also rarely talked.

The years that followed in that school was accompanied by the death news of either a teacher or student.

In that school I played a lot. People knew me as the brilliant girl who played so much. I was also tiny. “Is this Tiny Winnie,” my mates said when they first saw me after long years.

But that’s not the story today.

The story today is a memory I recall.

I was now in primary 6A. Having resumed the bursar resumed with her long list of school fees defaulters. My name on the very top of it because my father could not pay the second and third term’s school fees of Primary 5.

She drove me out of class and told the gate men to not let us who owe over three terms school fees into the school premises.

I couldn’t go home. My mom was pregnant for our fifth then and the lines of worry etched perpetually on her face. We had not heard from our father in three months.

Her little business was what kept the feeding and the rest of the home management expenditures going.

I couldn’t go home.

Opposite our school was a big Catholic Church. St. Theresa’s Catholic Church. I crossed the road and went into the church. After all I was Catholic and now this was the time the Jesus on the cross needed to show me that he indeed listened to the prayers of little children.

I entered the church, kneeling down on the pew and started praying and crying loudly. The gateman came to check in on me thrice.

He knew me. I and my peers usually attended evening block rosary crusade. We were also a part of the legion of Mary society.

I finished praying and went to greet him as usual.

“Why were you crying?” He asked.

“My school fees is unpaid for two terms now and even this term is unpaid.”

“Where are your parents?”

I told him my father worked in Abuja at a federal ministry. My mother was pregnant at home and owned a small business. I told him I knew my father would pay but he needed time. That’s what he told us.

He looked at me and asked, “are you sure?”

I said yes. I am sure that I came to pray for help. I needed help so I could attend classes. I told him I was a brilliant student and could bring all my results to show to him. I told him he could ask my teacher, Mr. John about me, that I was the schools shingling star.

People said I had a sharp mouth. I did. I used to brag to my cousin, Soo, who is now late. He was in primary 4. Together we had dreams of being big people. He finished his waec and passed on while I was doing my A levels in Ilorin.

The gateman looked at me. He said, “I know you, you greet so loud. I know your aunty too, you are in legion of Mary.”

“Oh yes,” I said.

“I will help you. Whether you pay back or not I don’t mind. You are bright and I like bright children.” The gateman said.

He went into his room and brought out 7500. My school fees was 2500 naira per term. I collected it and thanked him profusely and told him I would recite 20 decades of the rosary for him.

I crossed the road back to my school gate and knocked.

“You don get the school fees?” Our school’s gateman asked.

“Yes sir.” He opened the gate

I went to the bursar with a newfound confidence. I paid the primary 5 outstanding school fees and the primary 6 first term fees. And kept the receipt in my bag.

Normally, a child would jump with glee telling their mother of this story. But I feared to tell mine. I could not explain that I went out and shared my family’s story with the church gateman.

She would suspect him of touching me or doing something to me. She didn’t trust people with her children.

I kept quiet.

Soon my pa returned and gave me money to pay for my outstanding school fees and my first and second term’s school fees. He gave me 10,000 naira.

The next day, I arrived school very early—before school assembly since the gate was still open then before they lock it for late comers. I rushed to the gateman at St. Theresa church and gave him 7500 naira. He was shocked. He blessed me and told me to be well.

I went to the bursar after the school assembly with the 2500 clenched tightly in my small fist. I paid for my second term’s school fees. I felt rich. The bursar looked at me suspiciously.

“Your papa don hammer ahbi?” She asked slyly.

I said nothing awaiting my receipt. Once she handed it to me. I took it from her hands with a force that shocked her and ran to my class.

I never told my parents this story.

The gateman at the church died. I remember my mom speaking praises of him and I could not still say that he helped little Winnie then.

I hope he’s with the angels because he was a good man. He was said to once jump into a well to save a baby who fell in by mistake.

I was thinking about how many “No’s” and rejections I’ve received this year and even when the few yes came in they could not bring up excitement in me. And my mind brought up this long memory that I have always asked for help. So I can’t stop here. I will ask till I reach the one who is to tremendously cause lasting impact.

I was never afraid as a child and even now I should not be afraid of mere No’s. They do matter in the journey but not to serve as a stop.

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Thanks for reading.

Shallom.