In a society where ownership was seen as the crown of age, not effort, the sight of a thirty-year-old woman running a school was almost a scandal wrapped in admiration. Women were mostly encourage to marry first, have children, then can they comfortably start their life with their spouse. Memedoh believed in partnership but never believed it should be one's livewire because it can fail without warning.
She believes success is a product of building up value and every one has that value in them lying as dormant potential, waiting to be cultivated then released. But too often she finds that the cultivation of this potential is often fueled by obligation and not conviction and that was why she found mostly men playing in the field of outstanding success because they're the ones always obligated to fend for others. She sought for a female row model but could find only very few releasing that transformative impact she desired.
So she knew that trailing this path will attract condescension, whispers from average minds thinking she was either doing too much, competing with men, or building a platform just to nurse her pride. She knew her motive will be highly misconstrued but regardless she moved. What is true never stays hidden for long and when it's shines, it never ever fades as long its integrity remains uncompromised.
One time, Tehila and Latifa—her friends in school—wondered what kind of person Memedoh really was.
They were in their student flat that morning, the floor scattered with drawing boards, rulers, and paper rolls as they tackled their Engineering Drawing assignment. Faith, their coursemate from next door, had joined them to share in the morning's stress.
"Oh God, these lecturers won't kill me — I quit!" Tehila moaned.
"Omo, I follow suit (I'm quitting too)," Faith said, drained and annoyed. "I hate this course," she added, tossing her drawing pen aside and reaching for her phone.
Memedoh had started much earlier than the rest. By the time they were still complaining, she had already completed her drawing for the morning, working from the pictures she'd snapped from Tehila's textbook since she couldn't buy her own. No one noticed she was done.
A moment later, Tehila heard the roar of spectators from the football game playing on Memedoh's phone. "So, Memedoh, you're playing match again?" she asked, feigning disbelief.
A mild grin curved the side of Memedoh's lips.
"How did you come to like football stuff? Tehila asked." Is it everything guys like that you must like too?" She teased, stepping out to get something to eat from the kitchen.
"Have you finished drawing?" Latifa asked, creeping towards Memedoh's table. Tiredness had already driven them all from their seats to the floor.
"No wonder! You've drawn this much?" she said, scanning through Memedoh's work. "You can really draw o, and you're quite fast," she added, impressed.
Just then, Tehila jumped back into the room as though she had seen a rat in the kitchen. She set down her bowl of cereal and leaned toward Memedoh, who was fully absorbed in her game.
"So why don't you ever dress like a proper human being sef (really)? You dey always wear cloth like officer (you always dress like a military officer)," Latifa said.
"I swear, since we entered this school, I've never seen you wear a skirt," Tehila chipped in.
"The fact sey she no fat (that she's slim) come make her look like one fine boy with her haircut (coupled with her haircut, makes her look like a fine boy)," Faith added.
"I swear," Tehila confirmed with a laugh. "My friend, answer me!" she pressed humorously.
Memedoh smiled faintly but said nothing, her eyes still fixed on the screen. They have no idea the kind of style I crave — nothing noisy, yet out of this world. They talk because they have people funding their wardrobes. Let me just reach my goals first, she thought quietly.
"Chai, God. Tehila, allow me finish the match na (please, Tehila let me finish the game)," Memedoh complained.
"Pause it!" Tehila ordered.
Memedoh couldn't handle her persistence. She paused the game and covered her smiling face with her palm.
"So, you still won't answer me?" Tehila asked, raising a brow.
"What if I tell you there's this guy disturbing me about you?" she said, trying to pique Memedoh's interest.
"Dey whyne yourself (keep deceiving yourself)," Memedoh replied dryly.
"I'm serious," Tehila pressed. "You'll not dress well this evening? Let's go and see him."
"Tell him to give up," Memedoh said, folding her body to face the wall.
"What are you hiding your face for? My friend, face me! The guy is not a student o — he's not a small boy. You need to see him. The guy hold (he's financially buoyant). Will you come with us? We're all planning the outing," Tehila convinced her.
"So, Latifa, you're going too?" Memedoh asked, turning slightly.
"Yes na (of course)," Faith answered for her.
"Nna (my dear), then introduce him to Latifa na. Omo, I no get all this guys their strength (I don't have the energy for all these guys). I dey think of wetin to eat this morning (I'm more concerned about what to eat this morning)," Memedoh said, settling back.
"She already showed him Latifa, and he's still insisting on you. You won't come and help us spend this guy's money if it's you he's looking for," Faith teased."
"Nna, so as all of you fine reach (so as beautiful as all of you) —even Chioma that rows with you guys—he no see any of you (he'snot seeing any of you)? It's me? Omo, find another beautiful girl and show to the guy. That's if he doesn't already have nine others and maybe wants to complete it ten," Memedoh said, shaking her head.
"Omo, why your life dey like this sef? Which kain seriousness you dey form? Na seriousness you go marry ?" ( Honestly, why are you are like this; always so serious? Are you planning to date seriousness itself?") Tehila asked with a hint of mock disappointment.
" No be like that na (it's not like that). It's just that this relationship thing is too exhausting for me. I don't have the grace right now," Memedoh said softly.
"Maybe somebody don break her heart before," Latifa concluded, smirking.
"I don't even understand which one you're in," she continued. "If it's not marketing your products, it's either reading or writing. Don't you get bored?" Tehila said, playfully exasperated.
"Nna, Madam, you dress well make that guy fall for you (my dear, madam dress well let that guy fall for you). I need friends with rich babes to patronize my business," Memedoh replied, chuckling as she returned to her game.
Memedoh sold jewelry in school as one of her ways to support herself. She had never always had it as easy as others.
"We're talking real stuff, and you're talking jewelry business. How much will your jewelry business give you that this guy won't give you if he likes you?" Tehila said, rolling her eyes. "Later you go dey complain "Omo, I wan chest big block" ( "Later, you will be complaining "Honestly, I want to make real money.")
"I'm not looking for who will give me money," Memedoh yawned, her voice faint with hunger. "I'm looking for how to get it myself. Besides, is relationship now because of money?" She waved it off.
Memedoh never believed dependence was the design for women. To her, it wasn't a bad choice, but she knew walking that path wouldn't lead her where she wanted to go. It was one of the reasons most of her friends weren't really close to her—she simply thought differently from them.
______
Not long after her graduation, Memedoh found herself reconnecting with familiar names — some from the bustling corridors of her university days, others from the unpredictable paths of post-school hustle. She was already venturing into business, juggling ideas and building small systems that hinted at what her mind could one day manage. That ambition made her both approachable and intimidating, depending on who met her.
She first reconnected with Elvis and Chikamso, fondly called Kamsy, two men she had once encountered back in school through the ever-lively circuit of student politics. They weren't coursemates; their faculties were worlds apart. But school life had a way of threading paths together — especially when opinions, intellect, and activism crossed. Kamsy had been part of the student union council, and Elvis, his close ally, was one of those calm, observant figures who said little but read people deeply.
They had noticed her even then — the woman who could argue a point with reason and confidence, always opposing unjust views and concepts, yet withdrew the moment the conversation descended into empty talks. Her firmness, though unsettling at first, had stayed with them. Back then, it was the kind of confidence that drew whispers. Generally as societally woven, a woman that opinionated was not easily found, so they were either admired or misunderstood when encountered. But seeing her again after school, clearer in purpose and calm in tone, they realized she had only grown into what was already budding.
Their friendship after school evolved effortlessly, anchored by shared business interests. They were men of drive and rhythm — ambitious yet still in touch with the lighter joys of youth. They would talk about business and policies one minute, then switch to football or social gist the next. They were men trying to balance responsibility with self-enjoyment — a duality Memedoh glided quite well with them in .
Still, not everyone handled her assertiveness with such ease. Her paths with Jerome and Bassey came differently, independent of each other, and in more personal contexts. Jerome, married and composed, whom she met through a business community forum, was intelligent — analytical in thought, polite in speech — but something in him recoiled from her as she was one the very few women who led their own pace, the kind he had never met before. He admired her intellect but wrestled with it too, as though it made him question his own. Over time, his courteous admiration retreated into a quiet distance, far from the vigor that marked their beginning."
Bassey, on the other hand, came later — full of confidence and charm, the kind of man who thrived in social spaces where laughter and praise met halfway. He spoke like someone convinced the world owed him ease. To Bassey, her composure was challenge; to Memedoh, his attention was noise. He mistook her courtesy for interest, her patience for softness. But she had seen enough of such men to know the pattern — the bright smiles, the studied gentleness, the subtle attempts to frame power in affection. It didn't take her long to read the signs. His mindset didn't align with hers, so she eased into silence and stepped back.
It was easier for to step back a bit from him. He was one guy quite infatuated with ladies, he believed his polished charm and performative kindness were irresistible currencies. But Memedoh saw through that eventual façade. She wasn't going to be one of his indulgent tales.
Her connection with Kamsy, however, deepened with time, naturally and without sentiment. They had spoken over the phone few weeks earlier. He sounded different — more grounded, more certain of his path. He told her about a business training that had redefined his strategies, about new partnerships, about how life was teaching him to build rather than rush. He thought it might interest her.
"It's really enlightening," he had said, his tone buoyant. "You meet serious minds — people thinking beyond the surface. I kept wishing you were there."
She had smiled to herself, appreciating the thought but quickly measuring the cost when he mentioned it. It was beyond her present capacity, not out of fear, but practicality. Interested though, she had to tell him she'd plan toward it later.
Then, as they reminisced, he brought up something from the period after they had graduated — when everyone was still trying to chart their path forward. It was a small but defining moment. He'd once been in a tight corner, overwhelmed by an entrepreneurship project with an impossible deadline. Panic had almost frozen him. He had shared his frustration with her, and though she had her own demands pressing, she helped him reorganize his data, streamline his findings, and draft the key report points that helped him deliver on time. That project had later opened doors he still walked through.
He paused and asked that familiar question again — "Why did you even help me like that, then?"
Memedoh had laughed softly, squinting her forehead. "Ask Elvis why he helps you the way he does."
Kamsy had smiled over the phone, momentarily speechless. She had caught him there.
"I'm just being who I am," she'd said with a mild laugh. "Nothing extra to it."
"That was really something I still appreciate till now," he replied. "If people had more friends like you and Elvis, life would be a little more content."
Her response — the simplicity, the ease of it — settled him in a way he couldn't explain. It wasn't charm; it was clarity — the kind that leaves a quiet imprint.
Days after that call, she found herself thinking of him again. Kamsy sounded like a man who had grown — one who had learned to walk his lane with peace. She wondered where men like Jerome might be now — that guy who had pursued digital brand consultancy with relentless effort. Perhaps he was still that composed fellow, somewhere making real progress.
She thought of how she would appear before them now. "All those guys don blow by now (Those guys would have really made it by now) ," she muttered under her breath, half amused, half thoughtful. Her mind resettled on her present reality.
Kamsy had mentioned in passing that Elvis was now married and living in Europe. The news stirred something within her — a little jealousy, but more of reflection. These were the same young men she had first drawn her progress chart with — the ones many dismissed as unserious dreamers back then. Yet, look where life had carried them.
Her thoughts drifted briefly to Bassey — the one she'd known from a prestigious telecom corporation . He worked there and earned well but wanted to establish something of his own. Maybe he was searching for a marital partner — perhaps she had once been someone he considered." But his mentality had never resonated with hers. He was still that lively talker who had a compliment ready for every woman in sight.
She smiled faintly. "He must have finally established that plan he always had — or at least still be basking in attention," she mused.
Despite everything, she had learned a lot from those friends of hers. Working with them had broadened her exposure to diverse investment ideas, business dynamics, and strategies that could prove useful when one stood at a crossroads.
She also had other friends — Agnes, Oferikah, Favour, and Jesse — each helpful in their own way, though not particularly in business or the kind of pursuits that fueled her passion — except Jesse. Jesse was different — an artist and storywriter with big dreams of working with thriving animation studios. She shared that same hunger for creation, that same stubborn insistence that purpose must find expression, one way or another.
Then silence folded around her — the kind that lets reflection breathe.
She sensed that Kamsy and the others had found balance and advanced significantly in their paths. For a fleeting moment, she felt as though she was still finding her footing, even though they had all started together. But she quickly steadied herself, choosing to trust in the integrity and genuineness with which she worked.
She was grateful, but never content. To many, Diamond Path was proof of arrival; to her, it was only soil — the beginning of a long season of cultivation. She admired men who built without excuses, and though society measured her against them with surprise, she measured herself against them with determination.
She thought deeply about how far she had come — and though she hadn't yet arrived at where she wanted to be, she appreciated the grace of still moving, still becoming.
___________
It was 11:30. She had just stepped into her store, shoulders slumped under the weight of the morning at school. The visit from the Ministry of Education's representative had ended with a receipt in her hand and a quiet sigh on her lips. Another legal bill paid — money she had imagined would go into something warm and simple, like fixing the small fridge she'd long wanted for the school's staff use, or perhaps buying herself and the kids new paira of shoes that didn't squeak on wet ground.
But she thought less of that now. A bigger concern loomed before her.
"I have no caretaker for the store and getting one will another another salary disbursement on the list, " she muttered under her breath. "Now I don't open early, yet I pray for bumper sales." The irony wasn't lost on her. The store was meant to amplify the school's income — a backup stream that would help sustain the children's needs and her teachers' stipends — but so far, it was barely serving its purpose. Still, she tried to believe in its potential. She always did. It only needed consistency — and consistency was what she had to give, even when it demanded more than she had.
Yet, the more she thought about it, the clearer it became that the school, not the store, was her heartbeat. Teaching was her calling — her reason. And so she found herself in a constant wrestle: how could she make the business work without betraying that sacred part of her that lived for the classroom?
Partly drenched from the morning's downpour, she began arranging the store, her lips quietly forming prayers that now came as naturally as breathing. Her hands moved from shelf to shelf — wiping, sorting, setting things in place — until she finally sat, pulled out her notepad, and began reviewing her findings from her last visit to the library.
Then, almost unbidden, her thoughts drifted. Jude.
Who was that man? She wondered.
She remembered catching a glimpse of him once — just once — from a distance at the library parking lot. That was on her second visit. He had been leaning against his car, talking on the phone, his voice calm but firm. She had overheard snatches of his words — something about a "supply contract" and "closing a deal before the quarter ends." The kind of talk that made him sound like one of those men whose world revolved around figures and influence. She hadn't seen his face then, but now she could connect the voice, the posture — that air of quiet assurance.
"The way he spoke with me," she thought, her brow tightening slightly. "What interest would a man of such seeming status have in me?"
Memedoh did not want to indulge any sentimental perception. She refused to be carried away by charm or curiosity. Whatever it was, she believed it had to be business related — after all, that was what they had discussed. Still, her mind toyed with the thought: If it's business, then what about me drew his attention?
She leaned back, exhaling quietly. Maybe he's another channel God wants to work through to help me advance business wise, she thought. Maybe?