Obinna swore he did everything right this time. He read like his life depended on it—because it did. Morning, afternoon, even when his eyes were begging for rest, he pressed on. Last year, he scored 297. Sharp boy. People called him “Doctor Obinna” in advance. But medicine in Nigeria? Na another politics. He no get godfather, so he no enter. Simple.

This year, he came back stronger. His mother even sold her last wrapper to enroll him in a special lesson center where they promised “sure A1 package.” His father? That one borrowed money from that wicked microfinance bank people who dey embarrass you in public if you default one day. All because of Obinna’s dream.

He sat for JAMB again this April. As usual, he carried his confidence into the exam hall like a soldier. The questions? Abeg, wetin be that? He scattered it. Physics? He could answer it in his sleep. Chemistry? He dey chop am like biscuit. Biology? Na him field.

Obinna already saw himself at UNN next year, fresh lab coat, stethoscope for neck.

But life has a way of humbling person wey too believe say e don get sense.

When the result dropped, Obinna opened the portal with shaky hands but big expectations.

144.

He refreshed the page. Same thing.

He closed the browser, opened it again. Same bloody thing.

Maybe na glitch? Maybe na wrong upload? Maybe JAMB server dey play April Fool? He prayed. He even cried that night, begging God to tell him it was a mistake.

But the mistake didn’t clear.

His mother almost collapsed when she saw it. His father slapped him the way only poor frustrated fathers slap. Neighbors mocked. The boy that was supposed to lift the family was now the family disgrace.

“Obinna, no dey waste my money again o,” his uncle shouted when they came begging for help. “Na Yahoo fit you, no be medicine.”

People started pointing at him on the street. Girls wey dey trip for his bookish swag last year now dey avoid him like leprosy.

Nobody believed his side of the story. After all, JAMB don talk say the result dey accurate. Who was he to challenge them?

But Obinna knew something wasn’t right. Online, he saw other candidates complaining too. Results not matching their performance. Some even said they saw strange errors when checking. But in Nigeria, who your papa be? Even if you shout from now till next year, nobody go hear you.

Obinna locked himself inside for weeks. He stopped eating. His dreams? Shattered. The pain? Too loud for tears. He deleted all the medicine videos on his phone, the motivational quotes, the future plans. All gone.

All he had now was bitterness. Against JAMB. Against the country. Against life.

And as he lay on his small mattress that night, hungry and broken, he whispered the only prayer he had left:

“God abeg... no let this country finish me.”