Chika stared out of the small airplane window as the clouds floated by. His ten-year-old mind could barely grasp the magnitude of the change that was happening in his life. Leaving behind Enugu, the only home he had ever known, was hard enough. The sun-soaked streets where he had played football with his friends, the smell of freshly made akara from the street vendor, the sound of his grandmother’s voice telling him old folktales—all were memories that would now live only in his heart. Now, they were headed to a new country: France. His father, a skilled engineer, had been offered a job, and they had to move.
At first, Chika had been excited. He had heard many things about France: the Eiffel Tower, the delicious food, the beautiful cities. But that excitement soon turned to fear when they arrived. Everything felt different. The weather was colder, the buildings looked strange, and worst of all, Chika couldn’t understand the language. His parents tried to reassure him, telling him that with time, everything would get better. But it didn’t feel like it.
The first day of school was the hardest. As he walked into his new classroom, he felt the weight of the other children’s stares. He was the only Black boy in the class. His heart raced as he took his seat at the back, trying to make himself as small as possible. The teacher spoke quickly in French, and though he had learned a few basic phrases before moving, it was impossible to keep up. When the teacher called his name to introduce himself, he froze. The words stuck in his throat. He tried, but his pronunciation was clumsy, and he could hear a few giggles from his classmates. His cheeks burned, and he sank further into his chair.
Weeks went by, and things didn’t improve much. Chika felt isolated. He would come home every day, retreat to his room, and sit by the window, watching other kids play from a distance. He missed Nigeria. He missed the warmth of his friends and family. He missed being able to speak without stumbling over every word. At school, no one tried to talk to him, and he felt invisible, like a ghost.
One day, during maths class, something changed. The teacher, Madame Laurent, wrote a complex problem on the board. She turned to the class and asked, “Qui aimerait essayer ça?”
The room was silent. The problem looked challenging, and no one raised their hand. But as Chika stared at the numbers, a strange feeling of familiarity washed over him. Back in Nigeria, maths had always been his favorite subject. His father would often give him difficult problems to solve, and Chika enjoyed the challenge. Without thinking, his hand shot up.
The teacher looked surprised. “Chika?” she said, raising her eyebrows.
Chika nodded, his heart pounding in his chest as he walked up to the board. He could feel the eyes of his classmates on him, but he blocked it out. Numbers were universal, and in that moment, he wasn’t afraid of making mistakes. He picked up the chalk and began solving the problem, moving quickly and confidently. When he finished, he stepped back, his heart still racing.
Madame Laurent looked at the board, her face breaking into a smile. “Correct!” she exclaimed. “Very impressive!”
For the first time since arriving in France, Chika felt a spark of pride. The class murmured in surprise, and a few kids even gave him a nod of approval. The teacher asked him to solve another problem, then another, and each time, Chika did it flawlessly. By the end of the class, Madame Laurent had a new appreciation for the quiet boy from Nigeria, and so did his classmates.
From that day on, things began to change. Madame Laurent took a special interest in Chika, helping him with his French during breaks and encouraging him to join a maths club after school. Slowly, Chika’s confidence grew. He still struggled with the language, but maths became his refuge, a place where he could shine. As he became more involved in the maths club, he began to make friends with some of the other students who admired his skill. Though he still missed home, France didn’t feel so foreign anymore.
A few months later, an opportunity arose that would change everything. The school was holding a regional maths competition, and Madame Laurent encouraged Chika to participate. At first, he was hesitant. Competing in front of a large audience terrified him, but Madame Laurent reminded him of how far he had come.
“You have a gift, Chika,” she told him. “Don’t be afraid to share it.”
On the day of the competition, Chika’s nerves were at an all-time high. His parents sat in the audience, beaming with pride, but all he could think about was how much pressure there was to succeed. As the competition began, the tension in the room was palpable. Each round brought tougher and tougher problems, but Chika remained focused. With each solution, his confidence grew.
By the final round, it was between Chika and one other boy. The question was announced, and Chika’s mind raced. For a moment, he hesitated. Then, remembering all the support he had received, he took a deep breath and dove in. The room was silent as he worked, and when he finally finished, the judges reviewed his answer. They whispered among themselves, and then one of them stood up.
“Chika Okafor is the winner!” she announced.
The room erupted in applause, and Chika’s parents rushed to the stage, hugging him tightly. He had done it. The boy who had once felt so lost and alone had found his place. He had proven that, despite the challenges of being a migrant, he could succeed. From that day on, Chika’s story became one of inspiration, not just in his school, but in his entire community. His journey was far from over, but now, he knew that no matter where life took him, he had the strength and determination to thrive.
The End.