The Mischievous Bookworm
Daniel's lack of interest in sports was legendary. At Goodness Faith School, the weekly sports day held every Friday was the highlight of the week for most students. Boys and girls donned their sports kits with pride, eager to sprint, dribble, and score their way into glory. But for Daniel, Fridays weren't about triumphs on the field—they were an ongoing exercise in humiliation.
He often wondered why society seemed so obsessed with physical prowess. Why was the ability to kick a ball into a net glorified while knowing the exact date Nigeria gained independence was ignored? It seemed unfair to him.
"Maybe they just need to kick something to feel alive," he once muttered to Emmanuel, his older brother, after being teased for his awkwardness on the field.
"Or maybe you need to stop standing like a tree when the ball comes your way," Emmanuel shot back, laughing.
Despite his distaste for sports, Daniel's forced participation was a source of endless entertainment for his peers. One particularly fateful Friday, the senior house sports captain made a decision that would haunt Daniel for weeks.
"Daniel, you're playing today!" the captain barked, pointing at him with a smirk.
Daniel froze, his heart sinking. "Me? Are you sure you're not confusing me with someone who has actual talent?"
Laughter rippled through the group, but the captain remained firm. "Yes, you. Just stay in defence and… try not to embarrass us too much. If possible just defend... stand at the post ."
The game started, and Daniel's nervous energy was palpable. He shuffled awkwardly, praying the ball wouldn't come his way. But fate had other plans. A powerful kick sent the ball hurtling toward him, and in his panic, Daniel swung his leg with all the force he could muster.
The ball soared—not toward the goalpost, but straight into the staffroom window. The shattering glass was followed by a deafening silence. For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still. Then came the explosion of laughter, loud and unrelenting.
Daniel's face burned with embarrassment, but deep down, he couldn't help but find the situation absurdly funny. As he trudged off the field, the coach shook his head and muttered, "Stick to your books, boy."
And books were where Daniel truly shone.
At home, Abigail had long accepted that her youngest son wasn't destined to be a sports star. Concerned about his social awkwardness and tendency to retreat into his own world, she devised a plan to nurture his mind. Every Monday, she would take him to Lagadi Bookshop, a cozy little haven filled with colourful paperbacks and glossy hardcovers.
"Pick two books," she would say, her voice warm but firm.
Daniel's eyes would light up as he scanned the shelves, his small fingers tracing the spines of books that promised adventure and knowledge. His choices often leaned toward Nigerian folktales and fantastical stories, each one a gateway to a world far removed from his own.
But Abigail didn't stop there. "By Saturday, I want a summary," she'd declare, adding a touch of seriousness to her otherwise gentle demeanour.
At first, Daniel thought of the task as a chore. But as weeks turned into months, he began to see it as a chance to impress his mother. Her genuine interest in his retellings filled him with a sense of purpose he rarely felt elsewhere.
One Saturday, after summarizing a story about a clever tortoise who outwitted a greedy lion, Abigail smiled and said, "You know, Daniel, you have a way with words. Maybe you'll write your own stories someday."
Her words stayed with him, planting a seed of ambition that would grow quietly in the background of his young mind.
Back at school, Daniel's love for books became his defining trait. His classmates often teased him for being a "nerd," but their jabs were more playful than mean-spirited. Even teachers recognized his knack for storytelling and his ability to turn mundane class discussions into lively debates.
However, his intelligence didn't shield him from the occasional misstep. One Monday at Lagadi Bookshop, he picked up a horror book titled "Tales of the Haunted Forest" and handed it to his mother with a straight face.
"Mummy, I think this will be very educational," he said, feigning innocence.
Abigail squinted at the eerie cover, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "Educational, eh? You think I'll let you summarize ghost stories for me?" She replaced the book with a safer choice, much to Daniel's chagrin.
Despite her efforts to guide him, Abigail worried about Daniel's future. His reluctance to engage in sports or make friends easily set him apart, and she often found herself questioning whether she was doing enough to help him navigate the complexities of childhood.
Daniel, for his part, remained blissfully unaware of his mother's concerns. For him, life was simple: avoid footballs, read books, and occasionally pester his brothers.
One memorable afternoon, during a heated game of charades with Elijah and Emmanuel, Daniel mimed the act of kicking a ball, then falling dramatically to the ground.
"Football disaster!" Elijah shouted, doubling over with laughter.
"Wrong!" Daniel said, grinning mischievously. "It's 'Daniel's Sports Career.'"
The room erupted in laughter, and even Abigail, listening from the kitchen, couldn't help but chuckle.
Reflecting on her son's quirks, she realized that while Daniel might not fit the traditional mold of what society expected from a young boy, he had something far more valuable—a curious mind and a heart full of stories waiting to be told.
For Daniel, the world of books wasn't just an escape; it was a sanctuary. And though he might stumble on the field, in the realm of words, he was nothing short of a champion.