I had just finished my evening prayers when the notification hit my phone like a bolt from heaven:  

“We are thrilled to inform you that you have successfully made it to the second round of the Blogshop Story Contest! ...”

At first, I blinked. Then I screamed. My roommate rushed in, thinking someone had died.  

“No o,” I said, breathless, clutching my chest like a rosary. “Somebody has just been born—my chance!”  

As a 300-level Medical Radiography student at Nnamdi Azikiwe University, my life is usually buried beneath textbooks, practicals, and prayers. But writing? That’s been my secret haven—my therapy when stress gnaws, and my escape when life feels heavier than lead aprons in the X-ray room.  

So, when I got that usual reminder that the Blogshop Story Contest, this time for March, had begun, I whispered a prayer, submitted my first story, and let go.  

Round One:

There were over 15 to 17 entries or thereabout, and only 10 would make it to the next. I wrote with trembling fingers, pouring every drop of sincerity into a story about a mother who had to break her morals for the survival of her children. It was raw, emotional, and painfully true of some.  

When my name appeared in the Top 10, I was really happy. Not just because I had made it, but because somehow, my voice had mattered.  

Round Two:

This was war. I thought that just like it usually was, that this would be the final stage. Only five would move on, according to the new development. I prayed. I sought inspiration. I brainstormed. I wrote. This time, I told the story about Campus, though fictional. My characters bled with grief and almost no hope. Some friends jokingly claimed I was heartless for putting the character through such injustice.

Blogshop rewarded me with a spot in the Top 5.  

Final Round:

Three stories. Three warriors. One crown.  

This time, I wrote about the girl who wouldn't keep quiet. Ada made her voice matter for her sake and for those who couldn't speak out. I wrote it like I was there. Like I was her. Because in some ways, I was.  

Submission day, I knelt in front of my bed. I didn’t pray to win as I knew others deserve to win too. I prayed to be equity, fairness, for the best story to emerge victorious as it should.

Days later, the result came in.  

First Place: 70,000 Naira.

I stared at my phone. Then I screamed again—this time, with joy that spilled like oil from a prophet’s jar.  

I had done it. A young Igbo girl. A medical student. A prayer warrior. A storyteller.  

Now I had 70,000 naira in my account, a greater confidence than I used to, and a heart bursting with gratitude.  

Blogshop didn’t just give me money. She gave me proof that my voice matters. That my stories aren’t too soft. That my spirituality isn’t a weakness.  

So to every girl writing in secret, to every student who thinks their voice is too quiet— don’t stop.

If God could bring me here, He can take you far beyond with Blogshop.