Crouched in front of the screen, surrounded by three of her classmates and friends, she typed at the keypad—the index finger of her right hand finding one letter at a time. It wasn’t Deborah’s first time using a computer, but it was her first time having the freedom to do with it as she pleased.

“Uncle,” she had called out to me some time earlier, “can I use your laptop to write a story?”

I smiled. The request was unusual but not surprising. I had brought out my laptop to help make up for the lack of devices available at our summer school center in Ikotun. Their digital class was a bit scant, and I had noticed some of the children didn’t have anything to keep them busy.

Deborah’s request had come after their digital class was done. It was recess, and instead of heading down the steps of the two-story building that housed Isador Model College, she sat glued to the laptop, typing away at her story.

I had only helped her open up a blank Google Docs document and rushed out to oversee some of the other activities at the center.

I paid little mind to what she was doing. I reckoned whatever story she was telling was one replete with the imaginings of a 13-year-old’s mind.

About an hour later, as they wrapped up the summer lessons for the day, she sought me out and brought me my laptop.

“Thank you, Uncle,” she said. “I didn’t finish. Will you come back tomorrow?”

I smiled and shook my head.

“No, but I’ll save your story, and the next time I’m here, you can continue.”

She smiled warmly, gave me a hug, and headed off with her friends.

Two months later, while going through my documents in search of something else, I found it. Her story. Aptly saved as “Deborah’s Story.” And a wave of guilt hit me. Due to so many moving parts and unplanned changes, I never made it back to that center to ensure she was able to finish her story.

It reminded me of just why the work we do at The Special Foundation goes beyond mere declaration. It is work that demands follow-through. Educating a child isn’t just about paying their fees; it’s about ensuring that they are reminded of our ability to stay true to our promises. This is why we are always keen on lifelong development—ensuring that every child we come in contact with is left with a lasting feeling of knowing that someone, somewhere, cares enough not to forget to return for them to complete their stories.

I know I owe Deborah a sincere apology. And I’ll find a way to make it up to her. I’ve ensured her story remains saved on my laptop. And when I do get a chance to go back to Isador College, I can only hope that she’s just as ready and eager as I am to see her complete the story she’s telling. For what it’s worth, I read it, and I truly want to know what happened to the lion and the hunter.

| Written by Mifa Adejumo | Communications Lead, The Special Foundation