I was not born with a silver tongue or a mind that grasped knowledge like the wind catches leaves. For years, I stumbled through school like a traveller lost in the dark, unable to find my way. Numbers confused me, essays felt like tangled vines, and no matter how hard I tried, success remained a distant mirage. I was convinced that intelligence was a gift given to others, not something I could earn.
Then, in Grade 10, something shifted. A spark flickered in the shadows. I realised that if I wanted to shape my future and realise my dream of becoming a lawyer, I had to sharpen my mind. And so, I reached for a book—the first book I ever read: I Have Life: Alison’s Journey written by Marianne Thamm. I did not know it then, but that book would become the key that unlocked the doors of my mind.
Alison’s story of survival was more than just words on a page—it was a torchlight in my darkness. It showed me the resilience of the human spirit, the power of endurance, the sheer force of will. And as I turned each page at the age of sixteen years, something within me awakened. I was no longer content to drift like a leaf in the wind; I wanted to be the storm, the force that carved my own path.
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From that moment, books became my lifeblood. I spent every first break at the school library. I got a library card and took books home to read, to learn and to improve my vocabulary. I fell into the worlds of Jodi Picoult, where ethical dilemmas twisted like vines around my mind. Nicholas Sparks wove love and heartbreak into poetry, painting emotions with ink. Paulo Coelho whispered about fate and purpose, teaching me that the universe listens to those who dare to dream. Chinua Achebe’s words rooted me in the soil of African history, while Alan Paton’s Cry, the Beloved Country made me weep for my homeland’s wounds. Onyi Nwabineli’s prose felt like raindrops against my skin—soft yet powerful. Each book was a different river, and I was gladly swept away in their currents. I had found a home in these books. I was, and still am, never alone.
I now read not only to learn but to live a thousand lives. Books are my escape, my mentors, my sanctuary. They are the lanterns that illuminate the darkest corners of my mind, the wings that lift me beyond my own experiences.
As Carl Sagan once said, “A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic.” And truly, books are spells bound in ink and paper. They transport us across time and space, place us in the minds of strangers, and teach us to feel beyond ourselves.
But what of the children who are denied this magic? What of the students in impoverished schools, where books are scarce, and stories remain locked away? We expect them to dream in English, to think in English, to succeed in English—yet we do not give them the keys to the kingdom. It is an injustice so silent that many do not hear it. We must do better. We must fill their hands with books, flood their worlds with words. Take away the screens, the distractions, the fleeting entertainments, and give them the only true gift that will outlive us all—knowledge. A book is more than just paper and ink; it is a door, a bridge, a light. And every child deserves to walk through that door.
I am passionate about ensuring that children in disadvantaged communities have access to books because I know what it is like to be lost, to be adrift without a compass. Books became my anchor, my map, my home. And one day, I hope to pass down to my children the very books that shaped me, so they too can understand the beauty and depth of literature.
As Malala Yousafzai so powerfully said, “One child, one teacher, one book, one pen can change the world.” Let us be the hands that place those books into the grasp of children, the ones who give them a chance to dream beyond the boundaries of their circumstances. For within the pages of a book, entire worlds are waiting to be discovered.
