When Aisha have grown to the age of understanding, her father called and gave her this pen saying These is my gift to you must must always be with these pen and never abandon it for it is your future.
She never understood what he said but just nodded and continued what she was doing.
She went to school the next day and the classroom floor was always dusty, no matter how often it was swept. Aisha knew this because she sat in the front row every day, close enough to see the chalk dust float like smoke when the teacher wrote on the board.
She attended a public secondary school in northern Nigeria. The desks were old, the windows broken, and sometimes lessons stopped because there was no electricity—or no teacher.
Still, Aisha came early every day.
Her friends often asked, Why do you stress yourself like this? School no even sure.
She never had a big answer. She just knew that education felt like a door one she was afraid might close if she stopped knocking.
One afternoon, during English class, the teacher asked students to write an essay about their future. Many students wrote carelessly. Some joked. Aisha wrote slowly, choosing each word like it mattered.
She wrote about becoming a teacher.
Not a rich one.
Just one who would stay.
When the essays were returned, her paper had a small note at the bottom:
You write with purpose. Don’t stop.
It wasn’t a scholarship. It wasn’t money. But it felt like someone had finally seen her.
Years later, when Aisha stood in front of a class of noisy students, chalk in hand, she remembered the dusty floor, the broken windows, and that single sentence of encouragement.
Now everything her father said to her has finally make sense.
And every time a student doubted themselves, she repeated the same words:
Don’t stop.
Image is AI-Generated
