Episode 5: Building a Name, Brick by Brick
Returning to Enugu after NYSC felt different this time. I wasn’t just another graduate looking for direction—I came home with something to offer. With my new role as a Community Youth Ambassador, I began working with schools across the state, organizing sessions on mental health, financial literacy, personal hygiene, and career preparedness.
I no longer introduced myself as “just a teacher” or “just a youth corps member.” Now, I was Chidera Uzo—Youth Development Advocate.
My monthly stipend from the NGO was modest—₦50,000—but it gave me breathing space. I resumed my tutorials too, structured weekend classes for WAEC and UTME students. My reputation from years ago helped, and within the first month, I had 18 registered students paying ₦2,500 each per subject monthly.
I was building a name, brick by brick.
Then something life-changing happened.
One of the schools I visited during a youth empowerment session turned out to be the alma mater of a man named Mr. Arinze—an insurance broker and old student who still funded prizes for the best graduating students every year. He happened to be at the school the same day I was holding a session on “Smart Money Habits for Teenagers.”
After my session, he pulled me aside.
“Young lady, do you have a background in finance?”
“No sir. Just passion… and lived experience,” I smiled.
He nodded. “You speak like someone who understands people. I run a micro-insurance firm here in Enugu. We’re trying to build trust in communities, but we need young people who can connect with the masses. Have you ever considered a career in insurance?”
I blinked. “Honestly sir, I don’t know much about it.”
He smiled. “Then come and learn. We’ll pay you to learn.”
That’s how I became a Junior Insurance Educator—a fancy title for what started as part-time community outreach. My role was to attend market meetings, youth events, and school PTAs to educate people on low-cost insurance packages—health, life, fire, and accident coverage, all designed for low-income families.
For every policy I helped them secure, I earned a 5% commission. At first, the amounts were tiny—₦500 here, ₦1,200 there. But after one month, I had closed 12 policies, bringing in an extra ₦17,000 commission on top of my ₦50,000 NGO stipend and ₦45,000 monthly earnings from tutoring.
For the first time in my life, I was earning six figures monthly.
It wasn’t flashy, but it was clean. Honest. Impactful.
I opened a savings account dedicated solely to reinvesting in my education and business. From it, I registered a business name: HopeBridge Consults. I designed a small logo using Canva, printed flyers, and began positioning myself as a youth development consultant. I wasn’t waiting for a white-collar job—I was creating one.
I also began writing articles for NGO newsletters, sharing stories and lessons from my journey. One of my articles—“How I Taught My First Class With ₦0 and Left With ₦50,000”—was widely shared. Suddenly, people started inviting me to speak at youth conferences, mentorship circles, and virtual panels.
And they started paying for my time.
But as the light in my life grew, so did the shadows.
At home, things weren’t rosy. My father’s depression deepened. Watching his daughter carry financial burdens he once bore, he began withdrawing even more. My mother was stable health-wise but still battling with blood pressure and occasional spikes in sugar levels.
One night, I walked in from an event to find them arguing. My father was accusing her of depending on me too much. She, in turn, reminded him he hadn’t paid a single bill in months. I stood there, frozen, listening to my family fall apart quietly in a room I had just built with hope.
The next morning, I sat with both of them.
“I know things are hard. But please, don’t turn on each other. I’m doing this for us. But I also need peace to function. Let’s be a team.”
They nodded, and I saw shame in both their eyes.
That week, I found a therapist through the health NGO network and encouraged my father to attend the first session—he refused. But by the second invitation, he agreed.
Sometimes, healing isn’t just about medication or money—it’s about talking. Listening. Acknowledging pain.
I began scheduling family wellness days once a month—just us, eating together, laughing over old memories, even playing board games. Slowly, the tension eased. We weren’t perfect, but we were healing—together.
Professionally, I hit another milestone. One of the foundation reps reached out with an invitation: “We’re running a youth development fellowship. It includes a monthly stipend of ₦120,000, mentorship, and nationwide exposure. Applications close in two days.”
I applied.
I prayed.
I waited.
And when the acceptance email finally came, I cried—real, shoulder-shaking, floor-kneeling tears.
Everything I had gone through—every missed meal, every fainting spell, every time I wanted to give up—had brought me here.
I was no longer just Chidera Uzo, the hustling girl from Enugu.
I was Chidera Uzo—educator, youth advocate, insurance educator, consultant, and change-maker.
To be concluded in Episode 6: “A Future Worth Fighting For”
