CHAPTER ONE THE SEED OF DREAM The morning sun broke through the thatched roof of their mud house, casting golden rays on the woven mat where Amaka knelt in prayer. Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from hope."Chukwu, bless my daughter. Let her rise where I fell. Let her see light where I walked in shadows. Let her be more."Chinelo, barely eleven, stood at the doorway watching her mother. Her thin frame leaned against the wooden door, school bag clutched tightly. She had memorized that prayer. Her mother said it every morning — like a ritual, like breath.Amaka rose from her knees, brushing flour from her wrapper. “Nelo baby, come eat. You’ll be late for school.”Chinelo walked in, her eyes shining. “Mama, one day I will become a nurse and buy you a house. A big one. With a white gate.”Amaka smiled, her face softening despite the lines of struggle. “I don’t need a big house. I just need you to become someone. Someone the world will respect.”She watched her daughter eat quickly, her school uniform already patched at the elbows. Still, she looked at Chinelo with pride, as if she wore a queen’s robe.As Chinelo skipped off to school, Amaka sat back and whispered to herself, “My daughter will not end like me. That is my dream.The morning sun broke through the thatched roof of their mud house, casting golden rays on the woven mat where Amaka knelt in prayer. Her voice trembled, not from fear, but from hope."Chukwu, bless my daughter. Let her rise where I fell. Let her see light where I walked in shadows. Let her be more."Chinelo, barely eleven, stood at the doorway watching her mother. Her thin frame leaned against the wooden door, school bag clutched tightly. She had memorized that prayer. Her mother said it every morning — like a ritual, like breath.Amaka rose from her knees, brushing flour from her wrapper. “Nelo baby, come eat. You’ll be late for school.”Chinelo walked in, her eyes shining. “Mama, one day I will become a nurse and buy you a house. A big one. With a white gate.”Amaka smiled, her face softening despite the lines of struggle. “I don’t need a big house. I just need you to become someone. Someone the world will respect.”She watched her daughter eat quickly, her school uniform already patched at the elbows. Still, she looked at Chinelo with pride, as if she wore a queen’s robe.As Chinelo skipped off to school, Amaka sat back and whispered to herself, “My daughter will not end like me. That is my dream. CHAPTER TWO THE SACRIFICE The sun was not yet fully up, but Amaka was already at the village stream, her bare feet firmly planted on the wet, cold earth. A faded basin sat on her head, filled with freshly drawn water. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but her heart was awake — always awake — burdened with the weight of a dream she carried for her daughter. After fetching water, she returned home, prepared pap with roasted groundnuts, and packed a small lunch of jollof rice into an old plastic bowl for Chinelo. Then she tied her wrapper tightly, grabbed her broom, and left for her first job of the day — sweeping the local primary school compound for a small token the headmaster sometimes offered. Her body ached from yesterday’s washing at Mama Okoye’s compound. They had a newborn, and Amaka had done everything from laundry to scrubbing floors. All for one thousand naira. But she never complained. As she swept leaves into a pile under the mango tree, a group of women passed by, their conversation loud. “Isn’t that Amaka?” one of them said. “Yes, still working like a slave for pennies. All for that daughter of hers,” another added, laughing. Amaka didn’t look up. She had long since trained her ears to hear mockery and ignore it. What they didn’t understand was that her daughter was her treasure — her greatest investment. Later that evening, Chinelo returned from school. Her uniform was dusty, and her face tired, but her spirit was lit with something new. “Mama! I got the highest score in class today! Teacher said I can represent our school in the inter-school quiz competition! Amaka dropped the pot she was scrubbing, wiped her wet hands on her wrapper, and pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. “I knew it. I knew you are meant for more.” Chinelo laughed. “But Mama, my sandals are torn. The sole is coming off.” Amaka’s smile faded, replaced by a thoughtful nod. That night, after Chinelo slept, Amaka opened her tiny savings box. Only three crumpled one-thousand-naira notes remained. She stared at them for a long time. The money was meant for garri and vegetables for the week. But in the morning, she would go to the market to buy sandals. She would fast if she had to. Her daughter must walk with pride. The next morning, as Chinelo laced her brand-new brown sandals, her eyes welled up with tears. “Mama… these are beautiful. But how…? Amaka knelt and adjusted the straps herself. “Don’t worry about how. Just walk tall. You’re walking into your future.” Chinelo nodded slowly, unsure why her heart grateful