AMINA 
Chapter Seven:

The radio interview had gone viral.

Clips of Amina’s trembling voice filled social media —
a young girl speaking on the power of courage.
A student breaking silence for the girl child.
Within days, people began calling her “The Voice of Truth.”

She never expected it to grow so fast. One moment she was just Amina — the quiet girl from Iguagi — and the next, her face was on flyers for youth conferences and NGO campaigns.
Organizations began inviting her to speak.
They offered her small grants to visit schools and mentor young girls.
Amina couldn’t believe it — she had become the thing she once needed.

---

In Iguagi, news traveled fast.

It was a Saturday afternoon when Musa, the motorbike repairer’s son, walked into the market holding his small phone like a trophy.

> “Mama Amina! Mama Amina!” he shouted, waving the phone.
“Your daughter! She’s on the internet! Look!”

People gathered around, squinting at the cracked screen.
There she was — Amina — standing on a stage, holding a microphone, wearing a simple dress, her voice strong and clear.

> “She’s talking about girls, Mama Amina,” Musa said, smiling.
“She said girls should never be ashamed to dream!”

Amina’s mother froze, her eyes widening.
For a moment, she thought her heart had stopped.
Then, slowly, she covered her mouth and began to cry.

> “My daughter… Amina… speaking to the world?” she whispered.

That evening, she sat outside her small compound, radio beside her, waiting for the replay.
When Amina’s voice came through — soft, steady, and full of strength — she pressed her palm to her chest.

> “God,” she murmured, “you have done well. My child has become a light.”

---

That night, Amina’s phone rang.

> “Mama?” she said softly.
“My daughter,” her mother’s voice trembled through the line.
“I saw you… they showed me your video. Everyone in the village is talking about you. Even the pastor said they will play your words in church on Sunday.”

Amina smiled through tears.

> “Mama, I just wanted people to listen. To know what girls go through.”

Her mother’s voice broke.

> “I used to worry that your silence would bury you. I didn’t know it was your strength. You’ve spoken not just for yourself, but for all of us.”

There was silence — soft and sacred.
Then her mother whispered, “Let me pray for you.”

And right there, over the crackling line, her mother began to pray —
for her voice,
for her courage,
for every girl who would one day hear her story.

---

Weeks later, the NGO officially named Amina a Youth Ambassador for the Girl Child.
She started a small project — “Voices of Tomorrow” — visiting schools to mentor young girls about education, confidence, and consent.
She wasn’t the best in class — her grades were average — but she excelled in something deeper: purpose.
Her professors admired her courage.
Her classmates began to listen when she spoke.
Even those who once mocked her now called her “Madam Voice.”

But Amina never let it get to her head.
She often said,

> “I’m not famous. I’m just finally free.”

Months later, during a campus award night, Amina received the Student of Impact Award.
As she walked up to the stage, she thought of Aisha — of her laughter, her fall, her silence.
And she thought of her mother, sitting somewhere in Iguagi, telling everyone,

> “That’s my daughter. The one who didn’t let pain end her story.”

When Amina took the microphone, she didn’t speak long.
She only said,

> “Some stories begin in silence. But if you dare to speak, even the world will listen.”

To be continued.....

WRITTEN BY 
UMORU DANIELA JOHN