My Uncle Sold Me Out For ₦80k And I Called It Scholarship

Third year, second semester, UNN. The day that man called me to his office I thought God had finally remembered my name. He said he had a scholarship for me, that my name was shortlisted, that I should come back on Friday with my details.

I called my mother that night from the hostel corridor. She cried on the phone. She said she would tell the whole village. I was the first person in my family to enter university and now this. My roommate asked me why I was smiling like a mad person. I told him God did it.

Friday I went. He said the fund was from a foundation, but there was a small processing fee. ₦80,000. I asked my mother for half, she borrowed from a cooperative, I added my tutorial money. I gave him everything. He gave me a receipt with a fake stamp. Three weeks later his number was off and his office had a new person.

I never told my mother the truth. I told her the scholarship people changed their mind. She said God knows. That is the thing about our people, we cover shame with God's name until it becomes normal.

I finished that semester on garri and borrowed handouts. But I learned something that year that no Economics lecturer taught me. Any money you must pay before you receive help is not help. It is business, and you are the product.