The crowd inside the convocation hall roared like thunder and kept clapping. Cameras flashed and the voice of the announcer shook the air and the award for the best graduating student of the department of mass communication goes to a damma obi. For a second the world stood still.
Then the whole erupted in cheers. Students clapped. Lecturers smiled. Parents screamed with pride. Adama, dressed in her graduation gown, walked slowly to the stage. Her eyes glistened with tears, her lips trembling as she received the golden plaque. The young woman who once hawkked detergent in the streets of Aeri now stood tall, celebrated as the brightest star of her set.
But miles away in a small compounding emo state, a different sound filled the air. Ruth, Adama’s stepmother, who had once sworn that Adama would never make it in life, sat by her shop with a small radio pressed to her ear. Her rapper was loose, her hair uncomed. She wasn’t expecting much from the broadcast. She only wanted to distract herself while she counted her meager earnings. Then she heard it. Best graduating student, Adanma Obi.
The radio slipped from her hand. Her eyes rolled back. With a heavy thud, Ruth collapsed to the ground. Neighbors rushed in, shouting, “Jesus! Mama Kingsley, what is it?” They poured water on her face, fanned her with wrappers, shook her arms. Minutes later, she coughed, gasped for breath, and opened her eyes.
But the shame in her chest was heavier than any sickness. Because the name that had just shaken the whole school, the name on every tongue was the same girl she had once starved, beaten, and sent into the streets with a tray on her head. Her stepdaughter, Adama. The story began years earlier when Adama’s world was still bright before wickedness turned her childhood into ashes. Adama was born into joy.
Her mother Uneti was the kind of woman whose laughter filled a house like music. Her father Obi was a cocoa trader, always traveling, always working hard. But whenever he returned, he brought gifts, biscuits, toys, even little dresses, and he would lift Adama high into the air, calling her the jewel of my crown.
Life was sweet until sickness came like a thief. One night, Enetchi’s body burned with fever. The cough followed, then weakness, then endless hospital visits. Within months, the woman who used to dance in the kitchen while cooking jolof rice was lying on a bed, her voice faint. On her last night alive, she held a damma’s hand tightly. “My Adah,” she whispered.
“Live will test you. People may hate you, but never forget who you are. You must rise no matter what happens. At dawn, Neti was gone. Obi wept like a broken child. Adama, only five, felt her world collapse. The house that once echoed with laughter became cold and quiet. For 3 years, Obi tried to raise Adhama alone.
He loved her but work took him away orphan and soon his relatives began to pressure him. “A man cannot stay without a wife,” they told him. “Who will care for the girl? Who will cook for you?” Reluctantly, Obie agreed. And that was when Ruth entered their lives. The first day Ruth came, she pretended to be kind.
She bought a DMA meat pie, rubbed her hair, and smiled at Obie like a beautiful wife. Everyone said Obie was lucky, but masks do not last forever. Soon after the traditional marriage, Ruth’s true color appeared. She was cold, harsh, and full of envy. When Obie sent money for Adama’s school fees, Ruth pocketed it. Teachers chased Adama from class. When Obi asked, Ruth lied. The girl is lazy.
She doesn’t want to study. When Noi opened a mini shop for Ruth in front of their house, she forced Adama to hawk detergent, sugar, and Milo in the hot Sunday. When Adama returned hungry, Ruth denied her food. “Did you drop all the money?” she would bark. “Yes,” Adam whispered. “Then go and wash plates.
Don’t touch that pot of soup.” Adama often sneaked into the neighbor’s house begging for leftover rise. Ruth gave Obie two more children, Kingsley and Adora. Kingsley, the boy, loved Adama. He would sneak her bread when Ruth wasn’t looking. Adora, however, was a copy of her mother, wicked, mocking, always laughing at Adama’s suffering.
One evening, Adora smirked and said, “When I enter university, I’ll be big. You You’ll still be carrying Omo on your head.” Adamar’s heart bled, but she kept silent. One hot afternoon, with a tray of Milo balanced on her head, Adama heard a voice. “Adama, is this you?” she turned.
Standing there was Chidera, her old classmate from secondary school. Chideda’s neat dress, polished shoes, and sparkling iPhone made her look like she had stepped out of another world. Adama felt her heart sink. Shame burned her cheeks. She wanted to hide her tray, to run away, but Chidera rushed forward and hugged her tightly.
It’s really you, Jedera said, smiling brightly. My goodness, you haven’t changed at all. I was just telling my driver that I might see some of my old mates today, and here you are. Adama’s lips trembled. She managed a weak smile, but her eyes filled with tears. How could she explain the years of pain, the hunger, the hawking? Jera studied her closely, her smile fading into concern.
Adama, what happened? You were always among the best in class. Why are you hawking on the road? Adama swallowed hard, her throat tight. She wanted to speak, but words refused to come. Chidura sighed softly, almost as if she already knew. She placed a gentle hand on Nadama’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we will talk,” she said. “I’m not going anywhere. I want to know everything.
” Her words felt like a small light in the middle of Adama’s dark world. For the first time in years, Adama felt seen not as a house girl, not as Ruth’s victim, but as herself. That night, lying on her mat, Adama remembered Chidera’s eyes full of concern. A tiny spark of hope flickered inside her chest.
Maybe, just maybe, my story is not over yet, she whispered to the darkness. Days turned into weeks. But the memory of meeting Chidera refused to leave Adama’s heart. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw that concerned look in her old classmates’s eyes. A look that said, “You don’t belong here.” But reality was merciless.
Every morning, Ruth’s voice thundered through the compound. Adama, carry that tray and go out now. Don’t come back until everything is sewed. Under the burning sun. Adama kept hawking Milo detergent and peak milk. Sometimes people pied her and bought. Other times they ignored her completely. One Saturday afternoon while Ruth was away at a women’s meeting, Adama heard a soft knock on the gate.
She opened it and there was Chidera standing tall, her car parked outside. Adama, she said with a smile, “I told you we would talk.” Adma’s heart raced. She quickly pulled her inside before Ruth’s neighbors could see. The two girls sat in the corner of the sitting room whispering like old friends. Chedara listened as Adama poured out her story.
The unpaid school fees, the hawking, the hunger, the fear of Ruth. When she finished, Chidera’s eyes were wet. Adama, this is too much. You were one of the brightest in class. You deserve a future. Adama shook her head sadly. How? My stepmother will never allow it. My father trusts her lies. I am trapped. Cheda leaned closer. No one is trapped forever. Listen.
Admission forms for the polytenic are out. Have you thought of applying? Adam’s chest tightened. Yes, but where will I get the money? Even if I get it, Madame Ruth will destroy the form. Chideda looked at her firmly. Don’t worry about that. I’ll handle it. Just promise me you won’t give up. Adama felt tears sting her eyes.
For the first time in years, someone spoke to her as if she mattered. She nodded quickly. I promise. A week later, Chedera gave her the money secretly enough for the polytenic form and transport. Adama hid it carefully inside her school books, praying Ruth would never find it, but wickedness has sharp eyes. One evening, while Adam was fetching water, Ruth ransacked her room and found the form receipt.
Her scream shook the house. Adama, she roared and angry as she entered. So you think you can be clever? You think you can use my husband’s money to go to school? Over my dead body? She tore the paper into pieces and flung it in a dama’s face. You are nothing but a house girl in this family.
If I ever see you try this again, I will throw you out of this house naked. Adama collapsed on the floor, her body trembling, her tears soaking the torn paper. Ada stood at the doorway, smirking. Didn’t I tell you? You will never be more than a hawker. Kingsley, unable to bear it, slipped into the room later that night. He touched Adama’s shoulder gently. Don’t give up, sister. You’re not meant to end like this. One day you’ll shine.
His words comforted her, but the pain was heavy. That night, she cried herself to sleep. The next morning, Ruth thought she had crushed Adama’s spirit. She ordered her to carry a heavy tray of provisions and leave the house. But fate had other plans.
As Adama walked the streets, head bowed, she almost collided with a car that stopped suddenly in front of her. The glass rolled down. It was Chedera. Seeing the tears on her friend’s face, Chidara pulled over immediately. Adama, what happened? Through sobs, Adama told her everything. The form, Ruth’s beating, the shredded receipt. Chidera’s eyes blazed with anger.
No, this will not end here. I will not watch your life waste away. I’ll tell my dad to take the full responsibility for your admission. Stop crying, my dear friend. Adama froze, overwhelmed. But Ruth will kill me if she finds out. Ava owes Chadera smiled gently. Then she won’t find out. Some destinies cannot be stopped. Yours is one of them.
From that day, Jadira became Adama’s secret angel. She got back home and told her dad about Adama. Without hesitation, her father agreed to handle the registration, paid for the acceptance fee, and made sure Adama got all the information she needed. Adama would sneak out at dawn pretending to hawk, but instead she would go to the poly techchnic for registration and lectures. It wasn’t easy.
She studied with hunger in her belly. Sometimes she begged for food from her coursemate. She often wore the same clothes, drawing pity from classmates. But her brain shone like fire. Her lecturers noticed. Her coursemates respected her. While Ruth thought she had clipped her wings, a Dunmar was quietly building a future behind her back.
One night as she lay on her mat after finishing her first semester exams, she whispered into the darkness, “Mama, your daughter is still standing.” They tried, but they could not break me. And for the first time in a long while, she slept with a smile. The news came like a whisper across the Polytenic campus. Have you seen that girl Adama? She’s always topping the class. Yes, the one with only two pairs of clothes.
I heard she doesn’t even eat sometimes. Each time Adama tried to talk to her father Obi. He always tell he Ruth go and meet Ruth, she will handle it better. People watched her with awe, not pity. In her eyes burned something rare, a fire that no hunger, no insult, no wicked stepmother could quench. But back at home, Ruth was blind to it all.
Adarah had once laughed at Adama, saying, “You never go to school while I become a lawyer or a doctor.” But pride has a way of melting. She gained a mission into a university. True. She strutted around the compound with her emission letter, mocking Adama every chance she got. But just one semester later, Adara’s world turned upside down.
She returned home, her stomach swollen, not from food, but from pregnancy. The boy who promised her heaven vanished like smoke. Ruth wept bitterly, not because of Adora’s shame, but because the news spread quickly in the neighborhood. People whispered, “So the woman who malt treats her husband’s daughter cannot control her own child.
” Ruth locked Adara inside the house for weeks, but the truth was already dancing on every street corner. Meanwhile, Adama, the one she despised, was moving quietly from one success to another. Kingsley had always been kinder to Adama than Adora was. He sometimes gave her food, sometimes shielded her from Ruth’s insults.
But when he entered the university, he let bad company ruin him. parties, alcohol, girls. He drowned in the mall. One night the call came. Kingsley had been rusticated. The shame nearly killed Obi. Adama’s father. KKingsley. Kingsley. He shouted in despair. I gave you everything. Why would you throw your life away? Kingsley could only bow his head. Guilt crushing him. and Ruth.
She wailed and cursed, but deep inside bitterness grew. Both of her children her pride had fallen. All the while a Danmar kept her secret. Her lectures, her tests, her victories, Ruth never suspected. Sometimes when Ruth sent her to Hawk, she would pass by the polytenic gate, hiding her books in the bottom of her tray.
She learned how to live with one leg in the fire and the other in the stream. But Destiny was stubborn. You cannot hide the sun forever. One afternoon, Obie returned home earlier than usual from his cocoa trip. As he sat in front of the house, he saw something that froze him. Adama came walking down the street holding books from the polytenic. Adama, come here. Her heart jumped.
She thought Ruth’s lies would now ruin everything. But Obie looked at her with suspicion, not anger. Where are you coming from? Her lips trembled. Papa from school. school. Which school? For the first time, she told her father everything. How Ruth denied her education, how Tedera helped, how she had been secretly studying.
Obie’s face turned pale. He sank into his chair, both hands on his head. So Ruth, all these years, that night, Obie did not eat. He just sat silently replaying every moment in his head. The next morning he called Ruth. His voice was thunder.
Ruth, is it true that you have been lying to me all these years? That my daughter has been suffering, hawking, starving while you deceived me that she is unserious. Ruth trembled, but her tongue was sharp. Obie, don’t mind that girl. She is manipulating you. She is ungrateful. But for the first time, Obie saw through her. His silence was heavy. His eyes avoided hers.
And from that day, their marriage was never the same. By her third year, Adama was a star in her department. She represented the polytenic in competitions. She won awards. Her name appeared in newspapers, though she always hid them before Ruth saw. But the neighborhood knew. Women whispered at the bho.
That girl Ruth maltreated. See how she’s shining now. Others shook their heads. This life eh you can never stop destiny. Adama walked with humility greeting everyone never showing pride but inside her heart she carried a burning prayer. Mama I will make you proud no matter what. I will make you proud.
Ruth watched as her own children sank deeper into regret adora with a child she could not care for. Kingsley roaming aimlessly after rustication and every time she looked at Adama something inside her boiled. Why should she be the one to succeed? Why not my own blood? But deep inside fear began to gnaw at her.
fear that the very girl she had tried to bury would one day rise so high that she Ruth would be left in the dust. She had no idea destiny had already begun its final dance. The evening air in Oeri was heavy with silence. Obie sat on the old wooden chair in front of the house, his eyes fixed on Adama.
She had just returned from school, her books clutched tightly to her chest. For the first time, Obie truly looked at her really looked. Her shoes were worn thin, her gown patched, and yet her face shone with brilliance. His heart twisted. How could I have been so blind? He remembered in Ketch’s last words before she died. take care of our daughter.
Don’t let her suffer. But he had failed. Tears gathered in Obie’s eyes. He called her softly. Adama. She came closer, nervous, expecting another argument stirred by Ruth, but instead Obi reached into his pocket and brought out a bundle of notes. He pressed it into her hand. From today you will never lack again. You are my daughter.
Forgive me for the years I let you suffer. Adama froze unable to speak. She had dreamt of this moment but never believed it would come. Obi stood up and placed his hands on her shoulders. His voice broke. I am sorry my child. I failed you. But no more. From today, every money meant for you will pass through my hand to yours. No one will stand in between us again.
Her tears fell freely. But this time, they were not tears of pain. They were tears of healing. True to his word, Obie began to send money directly to Adama. He took her to the market himself, bought her new dresses, proper shoes, and a bag worthy of a student.
The first day, she stepped into her department wearing neat clothes, heads turned. Her classmates whispered, “Is this the same Madama?” She looks like a queen now. Confidence bloomed in her heart. No longer did she have to shrink into shadows. She walked tall, her books in hand, her head held high. At home, however, Ruth fumed like a pot left too long on fire. She watched Obie’s sudden devotion to Adama with bitter jealousy.
She spat one night as she confronted him. “So this is what you are doing now? Abandoning me and my children for that girl?” Obie’s eyes, usually soft with patience, turned like steel. That girl is my daughter, my first child, and I will not watch you destroy her any longer.
One Sunday afternoon, Obie dressed neatly and told Adama to follow him. They drove to the grand compound of the Okafur’s Chideras family. The gate opened and they entered into a world of wealth. Cars parked in their compound. Flowers bloomed on both sides. Obie’s heart thudded with both shame and gratitude. When Chadera’s father, Chief Okafor, welcomed them, Obi fell to his knees before the man. Sir, I am ashamed.
I did not know the treasure I had. While I was blind, it was you and your daughter who carried my own child. May God bless you forever, Chief Okafor, moved by the humility, lifted Obie up. No, my brother, the glory is still ahead. Your daughter is a shining star. Let us only keep supporting her.
Adama’s eyes filled with tears. To see her father bow in gratitude for her sake was a healing she had never imagined. That day marked a new chapter. Obi not only became supportive but also proud, prouder than ever. He would often say loudly in the compound, “Adama is the pride of this family. She will go farther than I ever dreamed. Neighbors began to respect her openly.
Some even whispered, “If Ruth had known, she would have treated her well. But inside the house, Ruth burned with bitterness. The love and respect she once commanded from Obie had disappeared. At night, when she tried to speak sweetly to him, he would turn away. When she tried to discuss money, he ignored her.
When she tried to complain about Adamma, his voice thundered. Don’t mention her name with your venom again. The woman who once strut it with power now walked with a shadow of defeat. By her final year, Adama was unstoppable. She had not only passed all her courses with excellence, but she had also let her department. Her name had become a symbol of hope.
The girl who rose from hawking Milo and matches to becoming a beacon of brilliance. Obie watched her in wonder. Every chance he got, he told people, “That is my daughter. That is Netchi’s child.” Sometimes he would sit alone at night staring at the sky. Kchi, my love, I failed for a while, but I have corrected my mistake.
Our daughter will carry your name beyond the stars. The atmosphere in the house grew unbearable. Every conversation ended in quarrel. Sometimes Ruth would mutter curses under her breath. Sometimes she would throw things around in anger. But deep inside she knew she was losing. Her own children were drowning. The girl she had tried to bury was becoming a queen.
And worse, her husband now looked at her not with love but with disgust. Night after night Ruth lay awake staring at the ceiling, her heart filled with regret. She dared not confess. She didn’t know it yet, but the day of her humiliation was fast approaching. The day when the whole of Emo State would hear a Danmar’s name, and that name would bring Ruth to her knees.
The convocation hall of Emo State Polytechnic glittered with color. Parents, students, lecturers all came dressed in their finest. The school band played. The air was thick with excitement and everywhere buzzed with laughter and pride. In the front row sat of the parents sat Obie, dressed neatly in a flowing white captain. His eyes never left his daughter.
Beside him sat Chief Okafur, tall and commanding, his Akbada shimmering under the lights. Next to him was Chidera, radiant and smiling, her hands clasped together in joy for her friend. Together they looked like one family, one united front. Noticeably absent was Ruth. Pride and bitterness had chained her at home. She had refused to come, saying coldly, “I will not sit there and clap for the girl who wants to disgrace me. But destiny doesn’t need everyone present.
It shines even brighter without those who try to bury it.” The recctor stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand. The hall fell silent. Ladies and gentlemen, today we celebrate excellence. Today we honor resilience. The award for the best graduating student in the department of mass communication goes to a pause. The hall held its breath. Miss Adanma O.
The room exploded in cheers. Students screamed. Lecturers clapped. Parents stood on their feet. Obie shot up, tears running freely down his face. He clapped so hard his palms stung. That’s my daughter, my Adama. Chidera hugged Chief Okapor tightly. Both of them greening with pride.
Adama rose, her graduation gown swaying as she walked to the stage. She tried to hold back tears, but they betrayed her. Sliding down her cheeks, as she received her certificate and a golden plaque, she lifted her eyes toward the sky. “Mama, this is for you.” The applause seemed endless, echoing through her bones. For the first time in her life, she felt fully seen, not as a hawker, not as Ruth’s victim, but as Adhama, the shining star.
Meanwhile, at the graduation reception, Obi held his daughter’s hand like a trophy. His voice was thick with emotion. Adama, you have wiped away my shame. You have brought honor to my house and your mother smiles from heaven. Forgive me for the years I failed you. From today the world will know you are my pride.
Chief Okaful raised his glass of wine. His baritone voice carrying weight to a dumbar proof that no wickedness can bury destiny. May her light never dim. Everyone clapped. Chideda hugged her friend tightly. You did it, Adah. I told you you were never meant to remain in the shadows. Adma smiled through her tears. I couldn’t have done this without you.
You were the friend who saw me when no one else did. Together, they laughed, their joy filling the air. Later that night, Ruth sat alone in her dark room. The sound of drums and laughter floated from Obie’s compound where the celebration was still going strong. Her eyes were hollow. Her face stre with dried tears. Adara sat quietly with her baby. Kingsley leaned against the wall, lost in thought.
The house felt heavy, suffocating. Ruth whispered to herself. Her voice cracked with pain. I destroyed myself with my own hands. I thought I was punishing her, but it is me who is punished. I should have treated her like my own. Now my children, my pride have fallen. And the girl I hated has become the child I wish they could be.
She pressed her hands against her face, sobbing bitterly. The truth was now carved deep in her heart. She had not just maltreated Adam. She had fought destiny and destiny had won. Life has a way of rewarding patience and punishing cruelty. Adhama’s story reminds us that no matter how deep life buries you, destiny will always find its way to the light.
