Eric Nyarko was still just five years old, but his dream to make Ghana the greatest country in the world was no child's fantasy. Every day, he thought about how he could make things better. He was a small boy, but his heart was as big as the sky.
It wasn't easy, though. Everywhere he turned, people told him, "Eric, you're just a small boy. Focus on your studies, learn your ABCs, and leave the big things to the adults."
His friends at school would laugh when he told them about his plans for Ghana. "Eric, how can you make Ghana great?" they would tease. "You can't even tie your own shoelaces!"
But Eric didn't let their laughter discourage him. He knew they didn't understand. How could they? He was different. While the other children were content playing football or chasing butterflies, Eric would sit under the big mango tree in the schoolyard, daydreaming about the future of his country. He imagined himself standing in front of a large crowd, giving speeches about change, about hope, and about the strength of the Ghanaian people.
He decided that if he wanted to make a difference, he had to start small. There was a lot wrong with his village of Aburi—poverty, poor schools, and not enough access to good healthcare. He thought about what he could do to help.
One day, while walking to school with his sister Afia, he noticed something. The children at school were using torn books, some of them barely readable, with pages missing and the ink faded. "Why don't we have proper books like in Accra?" he asked Afia.
"That's the way things are," Afia replied with a sigh. "The school has no money, and our parents can't afford to buy new books. Just use what we have."
Eric wasn't satisfied with that answer. He knew that learning was important and that every child deserved the best education possible. "I'll fix it," he said quietly to himself, but this time, he meant it.
That afternoon, Eric went home with a plan. He didn't tell his parents or anyone else yet—he wasn't sure if they would take him seriously. Instead, he went to his grandfather. The old man was sitting under the mango tree, his legs crossed and a newspaper resting on his knee.
"Grandpa," Eric said, "I want to start a library for the children in our village. I want to bring books—new books, good books—so that we can learn better. I think it will help make Ghana great."
His grandfather looked at him, his eyes twinkling with pride. "Eric," he said slowly, "you're a young boy, but you have a big heart. A library in Aburi would be a good start. But you need to know, things don't come easy. People will tell you it can't be done, or that it's too much work. But if your heart is true, and you stay determined, you will find a way."
Eric didn't hesitate. The next day, he took a small box and went door to door, asking the people in his village to donate any books they could spare. "Even if they are old," he said, "we can still learn from them."
At first, people were hesitant. "But Eric, you are just a child! Why should we trust you?" they asked.
But Eric didn't give up. He spoke to the elders in the village, telling them that if the children had books to read, they would grow smarter, work harder, and help build a better Ghana. Slowly, they started to believe in him. After a week of collecting donations, Eric had a small collection of books—old, but useful.
He took the books to the school and started organizing them in a corner of the classroom, carefully stacking them on a wooden shelf. His classmates watched him in confusion at first, but when they saw how much Eric cared, they slowly started to help too.
Soon, the children of Aburi were reading books—real books—and Eric's little library grew. Word spread, and even the adults took notice. People started donating more books, and soon the small corner of the classroom became a place of learning, filled with stories and ideas that Eric had hoped for.
And just like that, Eric Nyarko, the small boy from Aburi, had taken his first step towards changing his world.
It wasn't much, but it was a start. He had shown that even the smallest hands could hold something powerful—like the books that would shape his future.