Thursday afternoon.

I receive a message : the results are in.

I stood there still, digesting the message, growing nervous each passing minute.
Checking the results of one’s final exams was like undergoing a heart transplant, a delicate affair.

“Should I check that same day or the next?” I contemplated.

Then I thought of an idea. Neither my friends nor my parents must know that I was going to check my results. That way, if it’s terrible, I keep it to my self till the appropriate time to disclose the skeletons in my results slip.

The internet café was the place for checking examination results, though others prefer to buy the scratch card and check on their phones or laptops at home.

By this time, I was doing two jobs. Selling airtime from morning to afternoon and towards evening, work as a cleaner in a hospital.

One church member announced that there was a job opening and those interested should write their names. My mom wrote mine without my consent. And when I heard it, I was excited, thinking this was going to be some fascinating job that will probably turn me into some young billionaire.

When I discovered it was a cleaning job, I was furious. My parents tried to dissuade me with a lot of difficulty. Finally, I accepted.

The manager of the cleaning services used to insist that we wear the branded T-shirts carrying his company name and logo. I still remember the tagline : cleanliness our priority.

How I used to find all that disgusting. The cleaning. The T-shirts. The hospital and its staff who were always fault-finding.

I decided that on my way to the hospital as usual to do my cleaning job, I would pass by an internet cafe to check my results before continuing.

All along the road, I wondered what if…

What if I failed in some subjects.

I tried to shake off the pessimism. I was a brilliant student in school so there was the expectation that I would excel. Lots of people were waiting eagerly to hear about what I got in the exams. The curse of being famous.

I reached the internet Cafe. Packed in the little room were lots of jobless youth glued to their computer screens, many searching for some unfortunate white to scam.

A few were playing computer games, and the cafe operator played some trending songs to entertain his customers.

“I want to check my BECE results.” I told the cafe operator.

“Are you one of those who just wrote the BECE? “ he asked.

” Yes. ” I responded.

He named the price and I handed him the money. He used a computer which was not in use, one I could see the screen as he input my index number which i wrote for him.

I looked away, my heart pumping madly in anticipation.

“What was coming?” I wondered.

He wasn’t saying anything for a while. So, I turned to see what the problem was. Network, though the results of the first three subjects could be seen.

The entire page was not yet visible. But the first three were very good.

I looked away, praying and hoping all will be the same as the first three.

Then I heard him say, “Nine ones, two in French.”

My heart leapt. The BECE used numbers instead of letters for their grading. So 1 was A and the total subjects were ten. In nine subjects, I had 1, except French which was grade 2.

It was like a dream. The cafe operator was  so excited  that his exclamations drew the other guys at the cafe closer to take a look for themselves. They all clamoured around the little screen, ascertaining the facts for themselves. They  congratulated me, some adding that that our batch of candidates performed well across the nation.

The joy and the atmosphere made the cafe operator not take money for the printing of the results, his little congratulatory gift for me.

I could not walk properly as I stepped outside. I was drunk with excitement. My head felt light. Am I dreaming? So many months of hard labour and tears had paid off.

“Thanks be to God!” I exclaimed over and over.

First, I wasn’t sure whether to go back home or continue to the hospital. I thought for a while and decided to go to the hospital. We were going to be paid soon, and I didn’t want them to have an excuse to delay my money.

I was determined to show the results first to the manager of the cleaning services, a reminder to him that I might be a cleaner today, but that doesn’t mean I was meant to stay there.

I couldn’t wait to see the expression on his face.

I couldn’t wait to get home to break the good news.