Life in Yenagoa was a constant battle—a place where dreams were often eclipsed by the harsh realities of survival, but hope was the thread that held everything together. My family lived in the heart of that struggle, where every day felt like a test of endurance. My father's health was deteriorating, and the illness drained not only his body but also our savings. The responsibility of keeping our family afloat shifted onto my young shoulders, but I was determined not to let it crush me. My mother worked harder than ever, running a small market stall that barely covered our basic needs. No matter how many hours she toiled, there was always a gap between what we earned and what we needed to survive.
Even as a child, I understood that every moment counted. Each day began before the first light of dawn. I would help my mother arrange the tomatoes, peppers, fish, and fruits on her stall, carefully stacking them to attract buyers. The scent of fresh produce mixed with the bustle of the market, where vendors shouted and haggled to sell their goods. It was a chaotic but familiar world, one I had known since I was old enough to walk. Yet, my heart was always somewhere else—on the football field, chasing a dream that felt both distant and real.
Once the stall was set, I would dash off to practice with the local football team. Football wasn't just a sport to me; it was my escape, my solace, and my lifeline. On the field, I was free from the weight of responsibility, if only for a while. The ball at my feet made me forget about bills, illness, and hunger. I played like my life depended on it because, in many ways, it did. With every sprint, every goal, and every tackle, I saw a future beyond Yenagoa, a life where I could lift my family out of the endless cycle of struggle. My dream was to play on the world's biggest football stage—not just for me, but for my mum, for my dad, and for the life we all deserved.
After practice, reality would come rushing back. I had to find ways to earn extra money, taking on odd jobs wherever I could. Sometimes I hauled heavy bricks at construction sites under the scorching sun, my hands blistered and calloused from the rough cement. Other days, I swept floors at small shops or ran errands for neighbors, earning just a few naira at a time. The exhaustion was overwhelming, but I told myself that each small task, no matter how menial, was a step closer to my dream. I knew that I couldn't afford to stop—not when my family depended on me and not when the future I envisioned seemed just within reach.
Despite the challenges, my parents never discouraged me. My mum's tired but loving gaze reminded me that she believed in me, even though she rarely said it aloud. My father, though weakened by illness, remained my biggest supporter. He couldn't join me at the market or watch my matches, but his words carried me through the toughest days. "Your legs will carry us out of this one day, son," he whispered, his voice thin but steady. "Keep running." Those words became my mantra, echoing in my mind whenever I felt like giving up. They reminded me that my struggle wasn't just for me—it was for all of us.
By the time I turned 12, my talent on the pitch began to shine. I wasn't the biggest or strongest player, but my speed, quick thinking, and relentless passion set me apart. During local tournaments, I played with everything I had, determined to stand out. Coaches and spectators took notice, and soon I earned the nickname "Favour the Wonder Kid." People came just to watch me play, cheering me on as if I was already a star. Their encouragement fueled my belief that I could make it—that I could turn this dream into a reality.
Then one day, after an especially exhausting tournament, I met Mr. Ebuka—a retired footballer and now a scout for a local football academy. He approached me as I wiped sweat from my brow, his sharp eyes assessing me with the precision of someone who had seen greatness before. "You've got something special, kid," he said. "If you're serious about this, I can arrange a tryout at the academy. But it won't be easy. You'll need to push yourself harder than you ever have before."
His offer was a lifeline, a golden opportunity that felt like the answer to every prayer I had whispered late at night. But there was a problem—the academy was located far from home, and we couldn't afford the transportation costs. With my father's medical bills piling up, every extra naira we earned went toward keeping him comfortable and fed. My mum was already stretched to her limits, and I knew I couldn't ask her for more.
Still, I wasn't about to let the chance slip through my fingers. If I couldn't pay for transportation, I would find another way. Each morning, before the sun even rose, I laced up my worn sneakers and ran the miles to the academy. The road was long and tiring, but I didn't mind. Every step brought me closer to the life I dreamed of. I trained hard, determined to prove myself to the coaches. After hours of grueling practice, I would run all the way back home, just in time to help my mum at the market. My legs ached, and my body begged for rest, but I knew that every ounce of pain was a sacrifice worth making.
There were nights when doubt gnawed at me, whispering that I might never make it. What if all my hard work was in vain? What if the dream I held onto so tightly slipped away like sand through my fingers? But in those dark moments, my father's voice would come back to me: "Keep running." And so I ran—not just to chase my dream but to outrun the fear that tried to hold me back.
Day after day, I kept pushing, through rain and heat, through fatigue and hunger. There were no shortcuts, no easy way out, but I believed that if I just kept going, I would reach the future I had envisioned. I told myself that one day, my legs would carry me—and my family—into a life where struggle was just a distant memory. A life where my mum could finally rest, and my dad's faith in me would be rewarded with pride.
Every drop of sweat, every aching muscle, every difficult choice—it all became part of the story I was writing for myself and my family. I ran because I knew that dreams don't die as long as you keep moving toward them. And so, with hope burning bright in my heart, I kept running, believing that somewhere along the road, the life we deserved was waiting.