“I am too far behind, Papa. Other girls my age are already in university. I have forgotten too much.”
“You have not forgotten everything. I saw you reading old newspapers last night.”
She looked surprised.
“I read sometimes when everyone sleeps.”
“Then you have not given up.”
She looked down.
“Reading newspapers is not becoming a nurse.”
“When I was young,” Obinna said, “people said I would become nothing. I did not finish school. I could barely write my name at fifteen. But one day I decided I was worth more than what people thought of me.”
He looked at her.
“If you could truly choose, what would you want?”
After a long silence, she whispered, “I would like to wear a white coat.”
“Then you will wear one.”
“It is too late.”
“It is not too late.”
“What if I fail?”
“Then you will try again.”
“What if people laugh?”
“They may laugh. But they will not live your life for you.”
Then she asked, “Do you truly think I can still become someone?”
Obinna gently lifted her chin.
“You are already someone, Adaeze. You always have been.”
Her eyes filled with tears, but she did not look away.
The next morning, Obinna took her to Sainte Bernadette Training Center. Adaeze wore the yellow dress and new sandals, still walking slightly behind him as if afraid to take up space.
At the entrance, she stopped.
“Papa, I cannot go in.”
“Why?”
“Because this is not for me.”
“You cannot keep saying that.”
Inside, they met Madame Ngoma, the director. Obinna explained the situation: Ifeoma’s death, his absence, the lost years, the abandoned schooling.
Madame Ngoma looked kindly at Adaeze.
