THE BROKEN SLIPPER (A Short Story)
The rain had just stopped in Ajegunle, leaving behind puddles on the narrow streets and the smell of wet sand mixed with fried akara from Mama Bose’s stall. Adaobi clutched her nylon bag tightly as she hurried along the muddy road. Inside the bag were her WAEC result slip and the letter of admission she had received only two days earlier from the University of Benin. She had been the brightest student in her class, the one her teachers always praised, and now her dream of becoming the first university graduate in her family seemed within reach.
But there was a problem. The admission letter demanded that she pay her acceptance fees in two weeks, and her mother, who sold vegetables at the market, had no savings left after paying her younger brother’s hospital bills. Adaobi had begged her mother not to worry, promising she would find a way.
That evening, while she washed plates in the small compound they shared with six other families, her neighbor Uche approached her. He was one of those boys who never seemed to do much yet always had money. His shirts were always new, his phone the latest, and his pockets never empty.
“Ada,” he said with a smile that revealed a golden tooth, “I hear say you don get admission. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she replied, rinsing the plates.
He leaned closer. “You know say school no be beans. If you wan pay acceptance fee, hostel fee, buy handouts, you need money. Plenty money. Me, I fit help you. You go just follow me run small work. Very easy. No risk. The kind money you go see ehn, even your lecturers go respect you.”
Ada looked at him and shook her head. “I cannot. My mother will kill me if I try any rubbish.”
“Forget that thing,” Uche laughed. “All of us dey this street dey hustle. Nobody dey carry book chop again. Shine your eyes. If you dey form good girl, na you go suffer.”
He left her with those words, but that night, Ada could not sleep. She thought of her dreams of wearing a graduation gown, her mother dancing proudly in the village square, and her father’s grave where she had once promised to make him proud. She also thought of the tears that would fall if she lost the admission.
The next day, she met her best friend, Titi, who sold recharge cards at the junction. Ada told her everything, and Titi frowned.
“My sister, no listen to Uche. You sabi say his brother dey prison for Yahoo matter. If you enter, na problem. Abeg, hold God. Something go happen.”
Ada smiled weakly, but her heart was heavy. She prayed silently for a miracle.
Three days later, on a Sunday morning, she decided to visit her pastor after service. She wore her old brown gown and her rubber slippers, one of which had a small cut at the side. As she hurried to church, the slipper finally broke. She bent down to fix it, but a car suddenly stopped beside her. The tinted glass rolled down, and a middle-aged woman with kind eyes leaned out.
“Are you alright, young lady?” the woman asked.
“Yes ma,” Ada replied shyly. “My slipper just cut.”
The woman smiled. “Enter the car. I will drop you.”
Ada hesitated, but the woman’s gentle look gave her courage. Inside the car, the woman asked her questions. Where was she going? What did she do? Why did she look so worried? Slowly, Ada opened up about her admission and her struggles.
By the time they arrived at the church, the woman touched Ada’s hand and said, “God sent me to you today. Bring your admission letter to my office tomorrow. I will pay your acceptance fee.”
Ada’s eyes filled with tears. She knelt by the roadside, thanking the woman who only smiled and drove off.
The next day, Ada visited the woman’s office in Surulere. She discovered that the woman was a senior lecturer at the University of Lagos. Not only did she pay the acceptance fee, she also gave Ada a scholarship from her foundation that supported girls in education.
Years passed. Ada studied hard at the University of Benin, resisting every temptation to follow the crowd. While others partied, she worked in the library. While others chased after sugar daddies, she remained focused. Her mother continued to sell vegetables, but Ada sent part of her scholarship stipend home every month.
In her final year, she won a national essay competition and traveled abroad for the first time. Her name appeared in newspapers, and even the governor of her state congratulated her.
When she finally graduated with first-class honors, she returned home to Ajegunle. That day, the whole street gathered. Drums beat, children danced, and Ada wore her gown proudly. Her mother wept tears of joy.
Uche, who had mocked her years ago, was nowhere to be found. He had been arrested again for internet fraud. Many said he would spend a long time in prison.
That evening, Ada sat in front of her father’s grave in the village, holding her certificate. She whispered, “Papa, I made it. I did not follow shortcuts. I walked the hard road, but see where it brought me.”
And in her heart, she knew that the broken slipper that had embarrassed her years ago had been the beginning of her miracle.
Moral Lessons:
Every temptation of quick wealth comes with hidden danger.
Education and integrity may take time, but they lead to lasting honor.
God can use the smallest moments, even a broken slipper, to change a destiny.
Patience and resilience bring rewards that shortcuts cannot give. #TheBrokenSlipper #Inspiration #Faith #Patience #Resilience #HardWorkPays #NoShortcuts #GirlChildEducation #AfricanStories #Hope #Integrity #Destiny
The rain had just stopped in Ajegunle, leaving behind puddles on the narrow streets and the smell of wet sand mixed with fried akara from Mama Bose’s stall. Adaobi clutched her nylon bag tightly as she hurried along the muddy road. Inside the bag were her WAEC result slip and the letter of admission she had received only two days earlier from the University of Benin. She had been the brightest student in her class, the one her teachers always praised, and now her dream of becoming the first university graduate in her family seemed within reach.
But there was a problem. The admission letter demanded that she pay her acceptance fees in two weeks, and her mother, who sold vegetables at the market, had no savings left after paying her younger brother’s hospital bills. Adaobi had begged her mother not to worry, promising she would find a way.
That evening, while she washed plates in the small compound they shared with six other families, her neighbor Uche approached her. He was one of those boys who never seemed to do much yet always had money. His shirts were always new, his phone the latest, and his pockets never empty.
“Ada,” he said with a smile that revealed a golden tooth, “I hear say you don get admission. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she replied, rinsing the plates.
He leaned closer. “You know say school no be beans. If you wan pay acceptance fee, hostel fee, buy handouts, you need money. Plenty money. Me, I fit help you. You go just follow me run small work. Very easy. No risk. The kind money you go see ehn, even your lecturers go respect you.”
Ada looked at him and shook her head. “I cannot. My mother will kill me if I try any rubbish.”
“Forget that thing,” Uche laughed. “All of us dey this street dey hustle. Nobody dey carry book chop again. Shine your eyes. If you dey form good girl, na you go suffer.”
He left her with those words, but that night, Ada could not sleep. She thought of her dreams of wearing a graduation gown, her mother dancing proudly in the village square, and her father’s grave where she had once promised to make him proud. She also thought of the tears that would fall if she lost the admission.
The next day, she met her best friend, Titi, who sold recharge cards at the junction. Ada told her everything, and Titi frowned.
“My sister, no listen to Uche. You sabi say his brother dey prison for Yahoo matter. If you enter, na problem. Abeg, hold God. Something go happen.”
Ada smiled weakly, but her heart was heavy. She prayed silently for a miracle.
Three days later, on a Sunday morning, she decided to visit her pastor after service. She wore her old brown gown and her rubber slippers, one of which had a small cut at the side. As she hurried to church, the slipper finally broke. She bent down to fix it, but a car suddenly stopped beside her. The tinted glass rolled down, and a middle-aged woman with kind eyes leaned out.
“Are you alright, young lady?” the woman asked.
“Yes ma,” Ada replied shyly. “My slipper just cut.”
The woman smiled. “Enter the car. I will drop you.”
Ada hesitated, but the woman’s gentle look gave her courage. Inside the car, the woman asked her questions. Where was she going? What did she do? Why did she look so worried? Slowly, Ada opened up about her admission and her struggles.
By the time they arrived at the church, the woman touched Ada’s hand and said, “God sent me to you today. Bring your admission letter to my office tomorrow. I will pay your acceptance fee.”
Ada’s eyes filled with tears. She knelt by the roadside, thanking the woman who only smiled and drove off.
The next day, Ada visited the woman’s office in Surulere. She discovered that the woman was a senior lecturer at the University of Lagos. Not only did she pay the acceptance fee, she also gave Ada a scholarship from her foundation that supported girls in education.
Years passed. Ada studied hard at the University of Benin, resisting every temptation to follow the crowd. While others partied, she worked in the library. While others chased after sugar daddies, she remained focused. Her mother continued to sell vegetables, but Ada sent part of her scholarship stipend home every month.
In her final year, she won a national essay competition and traveled abroad for the first time. Her name appeared in newspapers, and even the governor of her state congratulated her.
When she finally graduated with first-class honors, she returned home to Ajegunle. That day, the whole street gathered. Drums beat, children danced, and Ada wore her gown proudly. Her mother wept tears of joy.
Uche, who had mocked her years ago, was nowhere to be found. He had been arrested again for internet fraud. Many said he would spend a long time in prison.
That evening, Ada sat in front of her father’s grave in the village, holding her certificate. She whispered, “Papa, I made it. I did not follow shortcuts. I walked the hard road, but see where it brought me.”
And in her heart, she knew that the broken slipper that had embarrassed her years ago had been the beginning of her miracle.
Moral Lessons:
Every temptation of quick wealth comes with hidden danger.
Education and integrity may take time, but they lead to lasting honor.
God can use the smallest moments, even a broken slipper, to change a destiny.
Patience and resilience bring rewards that shortcuts cannot give. #TheBrokenSlipper #Inspiration #Faith #Patience #Resilience #HardWorkPays #NoShortcuts #GirlChildEducation #AfricanStories #Hope #Integrity #Destiny
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