The school bell rang, the little boys and girls skipped down the hall, shouting and chanting, “The day is here. It’s time to vote!” The school band began to play. The boys played the drums, and the girls played their recorders. Pace Setters Academy was holding its yearly election for class officers. Those of us who were running for office were invited to the podium, one person after the other. It was not exactly high stake politics. A week earlier I could not imagine speaking in an auditorium, or even a classroom.
Politics has been passed down in my family for generations. Several years before my showdown in the auditorium, I vividly recall my father’s campaign rally for governor of the Edo state of Nigeria. I was six years old, carrying a four-foot placard and cheering my father’s name. I was so caught up with the rally that I did not realize I had lost my voice until I got back home. As my father made his way out of the stadium, a wave of supporters crashed against us, reaching out to my father and trying to touch him as if he were a celebrity. One of his bodyguards swung me up on his shoulders to keep me from getting hurt, giving me the best seat in the house. I felt like I was the candidate. At that moment I thought I was destined for a career in politics, but part of me feared that my shyness would always hold me back.
I had been painfully shy for as long as I could remember, too self-aware and unconfident to connect with my classmates. Near the end of my fifth-grade year, I was called in front of the class by Mr. Abaeze, my English teacher, to spell “butterfly”. With my knees knocking together, I could only make it through “b...u…t…” before I ran off out the room in tears. During lunch, my classmate Daluchukwu singled me out. Walking to my seat, he flipped my tray, filled with pounded yams and egusi soup, onto my school uniform and taunted me, saying, “Are you going to run for bathroom minister?” I balled up my little fists, determined to prove that I could run for office.
It was not until I got home that I realized what I got myself into. I rushed upstairs to my father’s bedroom to tearfully ask for his help. He sat me on his lap, smiled at me and said, “My dear daughter, I believe you have the strength you do not know. You can accomplish anything you put your mind to.”
The next day, I found myself standing on a stage in front of my whole class. My shy, nine-year-old heart raced. I heard my name called out, amplified by the loudspeaker: “Please welcome Emmanuela Imansuangbon.” My legs almost buckled together in fright as I waited to present my manifesto for the position of the school vice president. Then I remembered the words of my father. He always told me to overcome my fears by facing them head-on. I looked above the crowd of students, parents, teachers, and the entire staff of Pace Setters Academy. I began my speech by saying, “Pace Setters,“ and the whole student body chanted back, “Setting The Pace,” our school’s favorite slogan.
At the end of the campaign, after the votes had been tallied, all I remember was the announcement by the school principal that I won the post of the vice presidency. I recall a crowd of teeming supporters and cheering pupils running me around the school and shouting, “You won!” “You won!” I still remember this moment any time I am faced with a challenge. I have learned to never back down and to be confident in myself and I am thankful I attended Pacesetters’ Academy "Where the stars belong”.
By Ms. Emmanuela Imansuangbon
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