Becoming a lecturer was more than just a career for me; it was a calling. I believed that through teaching, I could contribute to shaping the future of my community. But from the very beginning, my journey was tested by challenges that many would consider unbearable.
Maiduguri has long endured the scars of insurgency. When I started lecturing, the environment was already unstable. At times, we would begin a lecture and hear distant gunshots or explosions, forcing students to flee for safety. There were days the classrooms were almost empty, not because the students lacked interest, but because fear and displacement had scattered many families.
Facilities were another challenge. We had no functional laboratories, very few textbooks, and at one point, our library was destroyed. Even the most basic tools of teaching, such as boards, chalk, and chairs, were scarce. I often found myself writing on broken walls, sitting with students under trees, or improvising with handwritten notes because there was no access to printed material.
The challenges went beyond teaching resources. Salaries were irregular, and many times I went months without pay. Feeding my family became a heavy burden, and friends advised me to abandon the job for something more “stable”. Some of my colleagues could not withstand the pressure, so they relocated to safer places or left academia altogether.
But for me, the thought of leaving was harder than the suffering of staying. I knew the value of education in Maiduguri. If we all left, what hope would remain for the young people who dreamed of becoming doctors, teachers, nurses, or engineers? I decided I would stand, no matter the storm.
There were nights I went to bed questioning myself: “Is this worth it? Am I risking too much?” But each time, I reminded myself that education is the only weapon that can fight ignorance and rebuild a broken community. That thought gave me strength.
Over the years, I learned to motivate my students beyond academics. I told them stories of resilience, encouraged them to dream despite the noise of war around them, and reminded them that the situation would not last forever. Some of them studied by lantern light in camps, while others walked miles just to attend lectures. Their courage fueled my own.
Today, when I look around, I see hope sprouting where despair once ruled. Some of my former students are now professionals serving within and outside Maiduguri. They often return to thank me for not giving up, and every time I hear their stories, I feel a sense of fulfilment that cannot be bought with money. I remain in Maiduguri to this day not only to lecture, but to prove that education can survive even in the darkest of times.
As narrated by: Musa (Maiduguri, Nigeria).
This snippet is published as part of a series, The Day Boko Haram Attacked.
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