​My mother used to say that those who stayed in the country loved how things were going. She would say,” Shiorr, they are the ones enjoying the money and the corruption.” 

That’s why she did everything she could to leave Nigeria.

Including swallowing little balls of cocaine and travelling across the sea.

My father, Baba-for-the-girls, left as soon as a white woman looked his way.

But this isn’t about my dysfunctional family.

But about how I am still choosing to stay in a system that doesn’t favour me because I believe things can be better. 

It was the 4th of July, 2021, and a Monday morning, meaning it was a day for hustle. I had allocated five hours in my fashion designer business’ modern woman’ before my son would be done with school, but unfortunately, I was called to my son’s school for a short meeting. 

But it had been thirty minutes of waiting. I swatted a fly from my face and immediately grew impatient, wondering when I would be allowed to see the Principal.

I looked towards the secretary, Jojo, who was on her phone. “I spoke up.” “Sorry.”

She looked up from her phone; her eyes slid from my face to my skirt. She grimaced, clearly not liking what she saw. Subtly, I pulled down my skirt and asked, “Is she going to be busy for long?”

Instead of a response, she gave me a chuckle. I opened my mouth to tell her she was very unprofessional, but the Principal’s voice was heard. 

“Jojo!” I heard the Principal’s high-pitched voice; the judgmental secretary rushed inside to answer her master. She opened the door, and a father walked out. He was holding hands with a young boy wearing headphones. The young boy had a colourful sheet of paper in his hands. I locked eyes with the man and gave a small smile. He returned it and walked away. I realised the Principal was busy because she was talking to a new student. 

The Principal said to the secretary,” Let her come in.”

I stood up before Jojo could say anything. You can’t blame me. Being called to your child’s school on short notice is something many parents don’t look forward to. You’re plagued by anxiety because you wonder, ‘Why?’ What could have possibly happened?

And when I stepped into the Principal’s office, the smile on the Principal’s lips vanished. Principal Jaiyeola was a woman in her mid-fifties. In her words, she loved education and impacting people, but based on the notion of ‘gifts and chi-exotic’ by her table, I knew she only loved what brought the gifts. 

“Good afternoon, ma.” I was greeted as I entered the office. She nodded at me,” Miss Olakunle, how are you? How is everything?”

I nodded,” We thank God. What is going on?” I went straight to business.

She sighed heavily, and I knew what it was about. 

“What did he do again?” I asked about my son. She smiled and shook her head,” Oh no, it is not that.”

“Please,” I asked, “cut the pretence.” 

She took a deep breath and placed her knotted fingers on the table.” Madam, I don’t think Bode can cope here.” 

I narrowed my eyes,” What happened?”

“He is not learning or improving.” She said. 

“But that is the school’s duty, to make sure he learns,” I said.

“We have tried all we can, but he is not learning.” Principal Jaiyeola shrugged. 

I sighed and sat down on the shaky chair,” What happened? Did he do something wrong? Three months ago, you told me that he could stay here and improve. What is happening?”

The woman rested her back on her swivel chair,” Madam, he doesn’t stay in class, he got into an altercation with a teacher when he was scolded, he drools, he yells-’

“He has a disability!” I cried out to stop her. 

She clammed up, and I exhaled, trying to cool off. I explained gently,” I told you that Bode has cerebral palsy and possibly, undiagnosed autism.”

“It is diagnosed. Bode has autism.” 

“When and where?” I fired back,” And by who?”

“Our teachers.”

I chuckled humorlessly,” The same ones who can’t teach a child with a disability here?” 

She immediately grew offended and leaned forward,” Madam, I will not take it. I will not take you insulting my teachers. They are the best, because they cannot deal with that boy.”

“That boy is my son, and you said your school will be able to handle him.” I cut off rudely,” You mentioned that you had people who could teach him, and he will learn, and now, you’re telling me he can’t cope here?”

She pacified me,” Don’t be angry.” 

Angry was an understatement. I had put in thousands of naira to send my son to school, only to be told he couldn’t learn. This wasn’t just heartbreaking. It was the fact that I would have to continue my search for a good school for him. A school that could manage everything. 

It wasn’t fair.

“So, what do you want me to do?” At this point, I was ready to bargain and ask that they reconsider and try harder.

“Maybe if you paid another-”

“Another fee?” I scoffed,” I paid 350 thousand naira for a term, and you want me to pay extra?”

“Just 80 thousand, and we can maybe find a new teacher for him.” The woman innocently shrugged. I bit my lip to avoid calling this woman what she really was.

A cheap and opportunistic woman who doesn’t understand what quality education means. 

She explained,” I heard that there is this teacher in the north who handles cases like this, but we need to be sure that he can be compensated well.”

I exhaled,” Is it just my son who needs this teacher?”

The Principal shrugged,” Eh… maybe. There is a boy in grade 3 who cannot see.” 

“And you don’t have teachers to help these children learn. What is the point of your school, then?” Anger surged through my body,” Why admit children of special needs when you cannot cater for them? When you cannot teach them well?”

She pursed her lips and looked me up and down before saying,” Who else will pay the bills?”

That just meant that my bills were used for bills, not for my son’s education. Tears filled my eyes, and I recongised that this was another picture; when I found out Bode had Cerebral palsy in the doctor’s office, I had cried; when my husband couldn’t bond with Bode like a normal father could do to a son, I cried, but the most tears I had cried is when I had taken Bode from town to town, school to school, places to places for help.

All I kept hearing was “This place is not built for him.” 

The Principal’s door opened, and I turned, looking at my boy’s beautiful face. I sighed; he deserved better. I stood up with the bit of dignity I had, knowing that I had failed my son many times by compromising on his situation.

The Principal stood up and said,” Think about it, ma’am.” 

I snarled,” Please, stop talking!”

She clammed up immediately, shocked by my audacity. 

“You are not a mother, you are a miserable, old woman who doesn’t care about her students or their growth, and I’ll be sure to tell everyone about how this school runs.” I threatened,” On vibes, because nothing can be taken seriously here and the staff…” I spat out the last sentence,” Empty barrels with nothing to offer....”

I could tell she was insulted because she didn’t say anything. I took my son’s hand and nodded at the woman. I turned around, ignoring every word or promise she had to say to me. It didn’t make any sense to give her a chance. Just like a girlfriend who had given her boyfriend five chances after cheating, I was done. 

I was done, allowing these schools to give me false hope and then halt my son’s life. I opened the door and walked out. I was going to make sure my son would get the best education.

As I drove, I thought about my life and my parents’. I didn’t have their zest for the abroad life, but at this point in my son’s education, will the other option of leaving the country be better?

And what’s the assurance that leaving the county will make my son with cerebral palsy better?