For years, I had waited for that single moment, my admission letter. When it finally came, I held it the way someone might hold a fragile trophy, afraid it would disappear if I blinked too long. After so many seasons of praying, hoping, and watching others resume school before me, it was finally my turn. I packed my luggage with excitement beating loudly in my chest, hugged everyone at home, and set out for Ibadan.
The park in Ibadan was full of noise, students, bags, and that familiar “resumption rush.” I didn’t have to wait long before the bus filled up. The driver collected our fare with a tired face and shouted instructions only he could understand. The engine grumbled to life, and off we went. But the journey was nothing close to smooth.
The road from Oyo State to Ondo State felt like it stretched into another continent. The bus moved slowly, as if dragging its legs like a stubborn old man. Sometimes, I wasn’t sure if we were on the road or stuck in one place. Maybe the load was too heavy, or maybe the bus had its own hidden problems. The heat inside was unbearable, and every bump on the road reminded me we wouldn’t be reaching any time soon.
When we finally arrived in the evening, after leaving in the morning. I almost knelt on the ground in thanksgiving. My legs were weak, but my spirit was high. I dragged my luggage to my friend’s place, where I would be staying temporarily. She welcomed me with a big smile. We talked, gisted, laughed, and imagined all the new experiences waiting for us.
The following week, registration began. I dressed neatly as a proud fresher, holding my file like it contained gold. The campus was buzzing with activity. Everywhere I turned, there were students rushing to different offices, complaining, celebrating, and comparing required documents. I joined the long registration queue, rehearsing in my mind how I would submit everything perfectly. Then my whole world shifted. When it got to my turn, I opened my file… and froze. My birth certificate was not there. My state of origin certificate was missing too. The two documents I needed the most.
My heart dropped so fast I felt dizzy. A strange heat rushed through my body. I checked again. And again. Nothing. My hands were shaking. My throat felt tight. I stepped aside before I embarrassed myself in front of everyone. I called home immediately.
The moment my mummy picked up and I explained, she shouted, “How could you forget that kind of certificate? Knowing fully well you needed it! What have you been packing since all this while? And I always shouted, ‘Pack your load! Pack your load!’”
I couldn’t even defend myself. She was right. I should have checked. I should have been more careful. My eyes filled with tears, and my voice was shaking. My friend noticed the panic on my face and rushed to my side. “What happened? Where is it?” she asked. I told her everything. She didn’t even waste time. She grabbed my hand and took me straight to a nearby café. "Maybe we can print another one,” she suggested softly.
But I shook my head immediately. “I’m scared. What if they find out it’s fake? I don’t want trouble. I can’t risk it.” She understood. We both stood there helplessly, staring at the computer screen, knowing that printing a fake certificate was a big risk. If registration officers discovered it, I could be disqualified. I could even face serious trouble. My stomach tightened at the thought.
That night, sleep refused to come. My head was pounding. Every scenario terrified me missing registration, going back home, wasting money, losing my admission. My heart kept beating fast like a drum. I prayed silently for a miracle. And God answered.
The next morning, my mummy called. She told me that another girl from our area was traveling to my school that week. Without wasting time, she searched for the missing certificates, tucked them into an envelope, and rushed to the park to give them to the girl. The waiting was torture.
For two days, I jumped at every notification on my phone. My friend kept encouraging me, but my spirit was restless. What if the girl misplaced it? What if something happened on the way? What if she forgot? But God does not fail.
When she finally arrived on campus and handed me the envelope, I almost hugged her like a long-lost sibling. I opened it immediately. My certificates were there, safe, clean, perfect. At that moment, the weight on my chest disappeared.
Crisis averted. Just like that. I returned to continue my registration, smiling like someone who had just escaped a great disaster. And as I walked out of the office with my documents stamped and accepted. I knew something deeply: sometimes life tests you not with storms you can see, but with quiet moments where one mistake can change everything. But help always comes.
Sometimes from the most unexpected places.
