The lessons we take from obstacles we encounter can be fundamental to later success. Recount a time when you faced a challenge, setback, or failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience? “Obstacles are designed to teach us, not to break us.” My physics teacher Kakai's motto has been reminding me about his strength and knowledge about life and study. I have always appreciated this phrase and whenever I failed, I always repeated it within. However, before his arrival at our school, I was losing my hope. I come from Uzbekistan where the President of the country Shavkat Mirziyoyev, established Presidential Schools in 2019 for youth in order to produce workforces who can compete with the other staff worldwide. Students were selected by testing their knowledge about mathematics, English, critical and logical thinking. As the education system was based in Cambridge there were several challenges for me to get used to having some insufficient results. Question types were strange and answering them in English was agonizing. My results were falling consecutively. Then one day, an international physics teacher arrived. He was Kakai Wasula which then became one of my best friends who is always with me when I feel depressed. The main point in which he helped me was changing my mind about failure. Before his advice, whenever I get low results, I used to get depressed instead of learning from my mistakes. However, after a talk with him, I changed up my mind. After that time, I started looking at my mistakes from the bright side. Instead of being upset, I tried to master the questions that I had made mistakes. Then my results started to show an increase in my worldview. He has been telling me that failing is part of success and plays a good role in life. This golden phrase was my motto if I do something wrong. After a while, there was a big test at school and all the students were stressed because it was the Educational Agency of Uzbekistan itself taking it. The test was the most serious one, as its results play a vital role in my graduation marks. I went to Kakai and asked for some advice. He repeated his words: “Failure is the part of success; it is what you are going to learn tomorrow and don't forget, you are not going to fail. There is something inside you telling you that you can achieve your target. I believe!” I was so proud. Maybe Kakai was lying – there was nothing inside me shining so bright. But, after his motivations, there was a fire burning inside my heart and its sparkles were illustrated by my eyes. That was the time when I learned to be motivated and unstressful. Because I experienced how both ways, being stressed and in opposite being motivated, might have an effect on future progress. Whenever I believed myself and did the test I got high results. With these thoughts in mind, I went to the hall, where all the students were waiting for their papers to arrive. I preferred to sit in front of the camera, while the rest were arguing to sit at the backside. It was lovely to believe in yourself and to know that at least a person believes in you. When the papers arrived, I happily turned the page and saw an easy problem there. I was passionate to finish the test with the best result and justify the confidence of all who believed in me. The test was over and the results were out. I started to search for my name from the bottom so my happiness will be greater if I find myself at the top. There my name was! At the top of the page! Just as Kakai told me, failures made me stronger than before. It was part of my success. From that time on, I get happy when I face some challenges or failures that now I can learn something new.

THE TEACHER There was once a small school, located right within the heart of a small yet endlessly flowery prairie. It was not something flamboyant, only a timid marriage of rocks and bricks, happily constructed and designed to serve as a cover for our heads, when it was raining or when the sun was attacking us with his love rays. That school only had one teacher, and its sole students was me and another girl. We were not always the best example of students, usually coming without having done our daily homework, or with albeit adequate preparation for our courses; though we always wanted to attend, because the teacher always had something new to present to us. He had his special way to make us feel right at home, his speech was magical, his manners were impeccable, his presence being monumental to our very souls. I can still remember the day he told us that we humans, are equal to the other beings of nature, and that we are the only ones who have the need to go to school, because we have to train ourselves to be polite and generous, whilst the other animals are being grateful from birth. At first, I was scratching my head when I tried to decode his message, but now that I am old enough, I know he was right. Another day, we were trying to do an exercise in mathematics. The girl right next to me, was excelling at it, and proudly answered with haste his questions, smiling cheerfully to his beaming visage. I was not doing so good, stuffed with stress and anxiety that I would probably fail. In the end, I also answered, but what surprised me was him announcing us that we both passed with flying colors. “But, we made very different choices and picked diametrically opposite answers mr. Alex” I told him. “How can this be possible?” The teacher left us speechless. “Every answer is a matter of perspective, my boy” said the teacher. “For example, your colleague wrote that 1+1 =2, which is correct, I ‘ll wager. I have to admit, though, that you, son, advocate that I+I = II, which is also right. Either you write that as 2, or as 11, I am only interested that you support your thoughts with zeal and reason. That is the meaning of life”, he pointed at us. Some other day in the calendar, he took us up to the hills that were overlooking the great blue lake of our village. His eye color was identical with that of the lake. The vista was mesmerizing, both in his eyes and in the scenery, and his teaching was so soothing in our hearts. He told us that we must love our family, and honor our mother, for she was the towering of our future, and would always be there for us. We took heed and as we walked back to our class, he stopped us and kneeled in front of us. “Take a flower from me, and put it each in your pockets, and when you go back to your mother, give it to her as a present, as I can't do that. Please remember that she is the garden with the roses, and you are the raindrops of water that this garden so desperately needs to flourish”. That afternoon, we returned home filled with joy, and sadness as well. Joy because we realized that the teacher was right, and we hugged our mother like octopuses that stick to a submerged anchor. She also seemed delighted to see us act like that. But, as our hands reached our pockets, we realized the roses were not actually there, at least in physical form. That is, because our teacher, was ethereal, invisible. What that means? In fact, he was not a teacher, but a captain. That was his real-life profession. But having sailed over all the corners of the earth, he always had great deeds to tell us. And, because our school needed a teacher, he gladly offered to be our teacher. Well, our school, that harmonious amalgamation of stones, bricks and a handful of concrete, in reality was our home. The girl next to me in class, my colleague, was my sister. And what about that captain, then? Who was he? That moustache wielding champion, was our father, who passed away years ago. However, his ethics and lessons were still following us, and his presence was right next to us, watching us over. His reign as a king to our hearts will still live on, and we will never forget him, as he captained our lives with wisdom and honor. A teacher, is a beacon of light and hope. We all need a teacher. We all need a father. Our father. And he was the best teacher of them all.

From liquidated friendships, to pure hardwork, to breath sucking laughters, to bundles of memories, to fufilled years. I made it whole out of the boarding house. Let me first clear up the popular stereotype you might have about boarding houses. I wasn't taken to a boarding house because I was ill mannered or behaved badly or my parents didn't have time for me, nope. I'm a Nigerian, I've lived in Nigeria my whole 17 years of existence, and in Nigeria most secondary schools have boarding house facilities and it is highly normal to start living in the boarding house once you start secondary education. All that being cleared it's time to move on. Before I started this write up, I was honestly confused. I couldn't actually make a decision on what to put down for my first bio page update, but as usual *eye roll* my brain went behind my back and consulted my traitorous heart and mind and made their decision. Can you imagine? No matter how long I thought about it, nothing else came up in my head than to share my boarding house life with you all. I'll just succumb this time but next time my organs must know who is in charge. My boarding house life was so *slight pause in my brain* I can't actually look for just an adjective to describe it. I will need like a gazillion. There are so many memories threatening to burst out with the help of my fingers, thank Goodness my fingers didn't join the rest to betray me. That being said, *drum roll* its time to pour out my tales from the boarding house. Wait. ALERT! ALERT!ALERT! There are so many stories to tell, and i just have to pick just one. Imagine! Sadly space is not on my side. The speed and force at which the rest are planning to come out is quite threatening.It might result into a volcanic eruption of words. Readers beware! Science inclined individuals please help in calculating the speed and force stuff. Kindly comment below in order to help new readers.*wink* Its time to splash a story that will get your eyes popping out. Due to space constraints, I will just center on one memory, just one story. I was in ss1 at that time, equvalent of grade 10. Inter-house sports was around the corner, this is a sport competition between the various houses in the school. Each house was meant to perform a march past and ss1 students were selected for that. Preparing for march was meant to be fun coupled with a lot of practice, but ours was quite a different story. Right from when i was in junior school, i knew how my school practiced for march past so it was something i was dreading and anticipating at the same time. March past was something only boarding house students in my school engaged in and practice was as well in the boarding house area. One normal saturday morning, the sun was shining, there was no power supply, trust me that was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything was going its normal way. Nothing pointed out that day would be the day march past practice will begin. I was in my dorm whiling away time with my friends, when one of the feared seniors in my house barged into my dorm shouting orders containing words which indicated us running down to her dorm. I was mixed with a pinch of fear and a full spoon of excitement. Few minutes later *sponge bob's voice* I was red faced, having troubles with holding back tears and in a whole lot of pains.So much for my full spoon of excitement. On my run to the senoirs dorm, i felt like mini Jesus carrying my cross to Golgotha. I fell, got flogged, stood up and kept on running. What was going on? I did not sign up to train to be a soldier. When i finally got to the dorm, it was beating, after training, after chanting so many songs and quick phrases that were honestly uncalled for, with a teeny tiny dose of fun. Note the order of arrangement, that was how the seniors prirotised it. We went back each weekend, and such was our story. Some students withdrew along the way and met their punishment. Finally the school management got a wind of it and cancelled it. I felt a mix of dissapointment and relief. Disaapointment because that was just part of the whole boarding house experience. That is just one out so many. Should I start about our dinning hall adventures or fight to get water or Seniors emphasizing their seniority *eye roll to infinity* or wait our struggle to go home or probably our legendary fights or boy trouble days or, at this rate I'll just keep on mentioning. There's still so so so much to say, but there is this thing called word limit that is posing as an ugly villain. Sadly I will have to stop here due to length of this write up. I warned you about the volcano eruption of words, guess it happened. Honestly, I don't want to stop writing. There are a lot of memories to share and I've not even scratched it. This is just beginning and I'm not planning to relent. Check out my bio to see what I have in store for you all. It's your favorite Nigerian Girl. Cheers!

Let's have a chat, shall we? We all hear the anti-bullying organizations saying how much they will crack down on bullying, how schools are putting a zero tolerance policy in place, and how teachers will be more direct in dealing with bullies. Do these tactics even work? Is bully even the right word? It makes it sound so trivial. When you hear the word “bully”, the image you conjure up in your brain is one of a tall middle schooler shaking you down for lunch money. Not of someone who harasses you day in and day out for every little thing you do. Someone who makes your academic life a living nightmare solely depending on what you are interested in and/or what you look like. Overweight? Look forward to people calling you fatty for years simply because the one person who did it has more friends than you. Like to draw? If you are seated next to anyone who has the slightest amount of hate for you, be prepared to block any so-called “accidental” pencil markings heading your way. Band? Maybe you can try to lessen the blows a bit by not trying out for marching. Combine all that and you're a walking, talking bulls-eye. At this moment, I have been out of high school for 6 years. While high school was indeed hell, the worst experiences I've had with “bullies” happened in middle school. May sound like a cliché, but gym class really can end up as a perfect opportunity for a “bully” to act. What is not cliché is while most of the class is running around barefoot on the court under the ever so vigilant gym teacher who is sitting in the corner with their nose in their phone, the “bullies” make their way to the locker room where they pour a cup of their own piss onto your tennis shoes. You find out at the end of class in the locker room along with everyone else and the only two people who are laughing at you. Despite being found out, they claim they did not do it so you go home with your shoes in a plastic bag like nothing ever happened. But as you know, one child out of a whole class walking out of the gym and onto the bus with their shoes in a bag is not a cause for any concern by a teacher. Let's fast forward a bit; my family moves to another state in my last year of middle school. I, of course, I am ecstatic at the idea of leaving my old middle school life behind and start fresh. So what happens? Singled out by a girl with a posse due to my weight issues and when I reach my limit, I make it physical and push her. Once again, this happened during a gym class. While there was a teacher present, the only thing they did was tell us to stop and to get back to our activities. After that class, the girl decided to tell everyone that, instead of a push, I touched her breasts. It spread like wildfire and for the next few weeks, nearly every girl I passed in the hall crossed her arms over her chest and/or called me a lesbian. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being a lesbian, but the fact is that I was being called something I was not and accused of something I did not do. When classes were over in this school, students walked to their next class in lines; teachers standing guard by their doors. Absolute negligence is the only reason something like this could have gone without action. It did go one step further with my mother arriving at the school and having a conversation with the guidance counselor about it, but the other girl was never brought in for the conversation. I don't recall much after that since my family moved back to our home state. From then on it was mainly being called fat; being asked out as a joke, and having multiple drawings messed with or destroyed for my four years of high school. Where am I going with all of this? Zero tolerance policies only work when the school has hired staff who actually care about the students, their mental well-being, and who continue to do so. During my time in the two middle schools and one high school I have attended, not a single teacher had interfered in a considerable way in any instances involving “bullies”. I get it, working with dozens of children for most of your days gets exhausting and annoying. But you have a duty to perform, not only as an educational provider, but as a caregiver. This sort of harassment cannot be completely avoided. But when it does happen and you notice it, or a child comes to you for help, the correct response is not simply “Knock it off and get back to your seat.” Telling that to students does not mean nothing will ever happen again after that or that something else between them is not going on. Harassment needs to be stopped at the source, which is informing the parents and having them take the action necessary to correct their child's behavior. Now not every parent is going to do this since every now and then you have those that believe their child can do no wrong, but the ones who do will make a greater impact in the nature of harassment and ending the instances nearly as soon as they arise.