Everyone who knew me back home must have been proud of me in one way or another. I had a beautiful, sonorous voice that touched the heart—one of the reasons I joined my town church choir.
Back in school, I was made the leader of our dance group because I was quite good at it too. It would be no exaggeration to say I was also considered an epitome of beauty.
The way my male peers tried relentlessly to befriend me could attest to that. To crown it all, my brilliance knew no bounds when it came to academics. In fact, my parents and everyone who delighted in me held me in high esteem because of my performance.
It seemed I was everyone's favourite, as I received favour from all who knew me.
Most times, I was used as an example by mothers to counsel their wayward daughters to emulate. On the other hand, this caused rivalry between those girls and me, but that was one of the least problems I had then.
My ambition was to become a renowned lawyer and take good care of my parents, just as they had cared for me—lifting them out of poverty into affluence and a life of luxury. But who would have thought that I, Natasha, would end up living a difficult life to make my dreams come true in a distant city?
It all started one day…
The year I turned eighteen, my parents borrowed money from friends to register me for the JAMB examination. My father was a civil servant, while my mother was a petty trader. Both made very little from their jobs, but they always ensured my welfare. As their only child, I was their top priority.
Rumour had it that my parents had waited a decade before they had me, and after my birth, they had no other child. That was why they cherished me so much.
At last, I sat for my JAMB exam. When the results were released about a week later, I scored 292. To say my parents were overjoyed would be an understatement. Neighbours trooped into our house to congratulate me.
But then, a problem arose—who would sponsor my university education? As this question troubled me, I became restless.
One of my closest friends, Emerald, listened to my plight and promised to help me. She told me about one of her big aunties, Lady B, who resided in Lagos State and had made a name for herself in the fashion and modelling industry. She even gave me her aunty's home address and contact details, in case I ever wanted to travel to Lagos.
While I kept this plan hidden from my parents, they too had already begun making arrangements for me to live with my father's elder sister, Aunty Jane, who coincidentally lived in Lagos.
My father pleaded with her over the phone to accommodate me in her home while she made arrangements to help me secure university admission with ease.
I particularly remember how my mother borrowed a large sum of money from the women's association. The church also donated some money, in addition to what Reverend Father Simon gave to my father to support my education. My secondary school also contributed a significant amount of money to top up whatever we had. This was their way of appreciating me for being the only one who scored close to 300 marks in the entire school.
That was not the first time I had been rewarded. I had received cash prizes before—once when I emerged overall winner in a National School Quiz, and again during my send-off, when I was awarded as the best graduating student of the year. Truly, I had brought my school honour and recognition.
The night before my departure, my mother sat me down and counselled me, as every responsible mother would. She told me to always remember who I was and where I came from. She asked me to remain humble and obedient to Aunty Jane and her family. I nodded affirmatively. Then, she advised me to be cautious and mindful of how I lived in the city, and especially of the people I associated with. She ended her counsel by reminding me to always put God first in everything I did.
Aunty Jane arrived the next morning, having travelled overnight by bus. For reasons I could not explain, I suddenly became nervous. I vividly recalled that the last time she had visited was some years ago during Christmas, when she came back for my late grandmother's funeral anniversary.
At exactly 10 o'clock, Aunty Jane and I set out for the motor park to board a commercial bus to Lagos. She paid our fares and secured us good seats.
Throughout the journey, I remained quiet, since I had never in my life travelled so far, let alone planned to stay in such a distant place.
When we finally arrived at Aunty Jane's house, it was almost midnight, but her family was still awake waiting for us. She had three children—two girls and a boy. Ruth, the eldest, was my age mate. Daniel, fondly called Danny, was the second child; I had heard he was quite naughty and stubborn. The last born, Purity, took after her father, Uncle Joe.
After the usual welcome, Ruth took me to her room and helped me freshen up before I joined the family at the dining table for a decent meal. I was very hungry. Later that night, Ruth and I returned to our bedroom, where we began to chat. She was a lively cousin I knew I would always enjoy being around.
I learnt that she was in her final year of secondary school and served as the head girl. On the other hand, I told her about the simplicity of rural life. After a while, we both fell asleep.