“Papa, here’s my school list,” I said, handing him the neatly folded paper.  

“Let me see it,” he replied, adjusting his glasses as he began to read. “Three hundred and fifty thousand naira for tuition? In UNIZIK?”  

I shifted in my seat. “The fees have gone up, Papa. The economy’s rough, and Radiography isn’t cheap anymore.”  

He frowned, tapping the paper. “Economy or extra zeroes, Lamma? Last semester, you paid barely over a hundred thousand.”  

Before I could explain, Mama entered, wiping her hands on her wrapper. “What’s all this fuss?”  

Papa slid the list over. “Your daughter’s list. It claims fifty-five thousand for departmental dues, two hundred thousand for lab fees, and one hundred and fifty thousand for equipment.”  

Mama’s eyes widened. “Fifty-five thousand for dues? Is your department building a palace?”  

I cleared my throat. “It’s the new levies, Mama. They say it’s essential for advanced studies.”  

“Two hundred thousand for lab fees?” Papa pressed. “Are you studying to buy a machine for gold extraction?”  

I mumbled, “It’s research materials, Papa… just the new standards.”  

Mama crossed her arms. “And one hundred and fifty thousand for equipment? Lamma, you live off-campus, yet you claim a hefty hostel levy too.”  

I felt my heart sink. “That’s… compulsory, they say.”  

Papa’s tone grew stern. “You know our finances are stretched thin with that village project. We’re barely making ends meet.”  

I lowered my eyes. “I have to manage, Papa. Campus life is brutal—food prices double every month, transport fares eat away my savings. I’m juggling studies and side gigs just to survive.”  

Mama’s voice softened. “We know it’s hard, but if you tell us you’re earning extra, we’ll tell you to stop. We expect you to focus on your grades, Lamma.”  

I exhaled, frustration mixing with sorrow. “But how can I focus on lectures when I’m starving? When every extra naira is a fight against poverty?”  

Papa shook his head. “Stop inflating these figures like a contractor on steroids. We know the truth. You’re not extorting us, but these numbers must be honest.”  

I hesitated before confessing, “Maybe I added one or two extra zeroes… to cover the extra costs, Papa.”  

His eyes narrowed. “One or two? Our money isn’t endless, Lamma.”  

Mama sighed, “We always expected you to handle campus life on your own. But you must be truthful with us. No more deception.”  

I swallowed hard. “I understand, Mama. It’s just… the struggle is real. I’m barely keeping up with studies, and I can’t reveal my side business. They say good grades come from dedication, but when you’re busy fighting hunger and financial ruin, it’s nearly impossible.”  

Papa’s voice softened a fraction. “We’re proud of you for trying to make it work, but you must learn to ask for help. We’re here, even if we seem strict.”  

Mama added, “Let’s sit down and work on your list together. We need accurate numbers if we’re to support you through this.”  

I nodded, feeling both relief and the weight of my responsibilities. “Alright. I’ll fix the list. I just… I want to survive, Papa. I want to succeed, but the campus is a battlefield. I don’t know how else to manage.”  

Papa handed me back the list. “Then be honest with us, Lamma. We may not have much, but we’ll do what we can. And remember, no matter how tough it gets, your studies must come first.”  

I took a deep breath. “I promise. I’ll focus on my lectures."

And as I walked toward the kitchen, I vowed silently that I would overcome the chaos of campus life and the constant battle against poverty. My story wasn’t just about numbers on a list—it was about fighting for my future, one honest step at a time