Chasing Greatness :A Journey Of Hope

chapter 5: miracle

My little sister in my mom’s womb was eager to come into the world, but her pregnancy was far from easy. It was a critical one, full of challenges. The stress on my mom was overwhelming—raising us on her own, with my dad still struggling to settle down in Italy, made life incredibly hard.

But despite the difficulties, my mom pushed through. She prayed constantly, not just for herself but for my dad, too, hoping for brighter days.

My sister arrived earlier than expected, surprising everyone. There was nothing prepared for her arrival—not a single baby item, nor any money for hospital bills. But just when things seemed impossible, my dad’s cousin, who had been staying with us, stepped in to save the day.

We called him Brother Adonis. He was a good man, but incredibly strict. Just hearing his voice was enough to send us scattering like mice. Still, despite his strictness, he was my mom’s savior during that tough time.

When my sister was born, she was a bundle of cuteness, a spitting image of my mom’s close friend—my aunt. The irony wasn’t lost on us.

From Italy, my dad called to name her Angel. Life wasn’t perfect, but we were growing, moving forward, and holding on to hope.

One day, my dad called my mom with exciting news. He told her he was planning to move us out of the cramped "face me, I face you" house my aunt had built. He had rented a flat for us.

To this day, I’m not sure why he did it. Maybe he wanted us to experience a better life now that he was starting to earn a little money. Whatever the reason, my mom was overjoyed. At last, it seemed like life was taking a turn for the better.

How I wish she knew what was coming.
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Moving to the new house brought us so much happiness—or at least most of us. My aunt, the one my mom called her best friend, was far from happy. I don’t even want to mention her name because, honestly, she doesn’t deserve it.

She was jealous, bitter even. In her mind, she thought, So these people have started enjoying life without me? What about me? Am I not his sister? After all, I suffered with my brother. And now some woman is coming to take everything!

It wasn’t just her. Many people around us felt the same. You know how it is—when someone has a family member abroad, people automatically assume life must be easy and full of riches. They don’t realize it’s not all rosy.

When we moved to the new house, it felt like everyone abandoned us. People assumed we were settled, enjoying some imaginary good life. They didn’t know the truth. My mom was struggling. She was begging just to feed us.

My dad, who had been sending money regularly before, suddenly stopped. Maybe he used all his money to rent the house—I don’t know. I still don’t understand what went wrong.

I remember seeing my mom walking past a store more than four times, pleading with the shopkeeper to sell her food on credit. I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I was in JSS2, old enough to notice everything. I saw it all with my own eyes.

When my dad did send money, it wasn’t enough. Sometimes it was ₦10,000, or ₦15,000 if we were lucky. On a good month, he’d send ₦20,000. But with a family of seven, how far could that go?

To make things harder, one of my mom’s sister’s daughters came to stay with us. She was sent to live with us because her family was even poorer than ours. My mom, being the kind-hearted woman she was, took her in.

That was the thing about my mom—no matter how little we had, she always helped others. She trusted people so easily, never thinking that anyone could have ill intentions toward her. She didn’t believe in enemies.

But life was about to teach her otherwise.---

Moving forward, life wasn’t going so well. One day, my dad sent some goods from Italy, but surprisingly, he didn’t send them directly to my mom. Unbeknownst to her, the trust and love in their marriage were already fading. Instead, he sent the goods to his elder sister, the one married to a pastor.

My mom was overjoyed when she heard about the gifts. She didn’t care who received them; she was just happy my dad had remembered us. With excitement, she went to her sister-in-law’s house to collect her share—the first gift my dad had ever sent us since traveling.

When she got there, she realized the gifts had already been shared among the family. What was left for her was little, but she didn’t mind. She took it gratefully and returned home.

Among the items was a large bus my dad had sent for them to sell on his behalf. When the bus was sold, the money was handed to my mom. At the time, it felt like a blessing, but looking back, I realize it was a test—or maybe my dad was just too relaxed about the situation.

My mom used a small portion of the money to buy chairs for our parlor, just as my dad instructed. The rest was kept in a bank account opened in my name. I was so happy! I remember dancing around the house that day, feeling proud and special. My cousin from my mom’s side accompanied me to the bank to open the account, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

But that joy was short-lived.

For reasons I still don’t understand, my dad stopped sending money entirely. Maybe he was testing my mom, or perhaps he thought the money from the bus sale would sustain us. Whatever his reasons, it left us struggling.

The hunger was unbearable. My mom had no choice but to start withdrawing from the account to feed the family. Each time she sent me to the bank, I felt a mix of anger and helplessness. That was my money, but what could I do? We had to survive.

Looking back now, I wonder if things could have been different. Maybe if my mom had used the money to start a business, things might have improved. But the thought never occurred to her, and we kept withdrawing until the account was empty.

Life had a way of testing us, and this was just one of the many trials we faced.