Chapter Three: First Impressions
Adora stepped out of her dormitory, backpack slung over one shoulder, sneakers squeaking softly on the polished courtyard tiles. The school was alive with students moving in perfect lines, chatting in tones that sounded like music she didn't yet understand.
Immediately, heads turned. She didn't mind—why should she? She walked with the same fearless confidence she had on Abuja's streets. Her hoodie and tracksuit made her stand out among the neatly pressed uniforms, and the subtle sway of her curvy figure didn't go unnoticed.
"Who… is she?" whispered a girl to her friend in rapid Chinese. Adora didn't understand the words, but she caught the tone: curious, a little wary.
Bold, brave, and unapologetically Adora. She repeated it quietly in her head, letting the words straighten her spine.
She tried to greet the nearest student in her new school's language.
"Ni… hao?" she ventured, stumbling over the syllables. Her accent was thick, her timing off. The girl blinked at her, a mix of confusion and amusement on her face. Adora grinned. "I… I am Adora."
A few students giggled quietly. Some pointed. A boy muttered something she didn't understand, and she shrugged. Let them whisper. She wasn't here to blend in—she was here to survive, to thrive, and to be herself.
As she walked through the courtyard, she noticed little things: the way students lined up perfectly to enter classrooms, the precise movements during physical training, the silence during lunch. Everything was disciplined, orderly, and just a little intimidating.
Yet Adora moved with ease. She greeted a few teachers in broken Chinese, adding a shy nod when unsure. She tripped slightly over a word, but laughed it off, shrugging with her signature tomboy charm. Students couldn't help but watch—the Nigerian girl was a whirlwind of confidence, curiosity, and audacious energy.
By the time she reached the cafeteria, a small crowd had gathered, murmuring and exchanging glances. Adora plopped into a seat, her backpack at her feet, and started unpacking her small snack bag from Nigeria. Suya sticks, chin chin, and a packet of groundnuts peeked out.
Someone leaned over, whispering, "What is she eating?" Adora held up a piece of chin chin. "Snack," she said simply, smiling. "You want some?"
A few hesitant hands reached out. Laughter followed, nervous at first, then genuine. Slowly, the walls of foreignness began to crack.
And as she bit into her suya stick, Adora grinned to herself. She might not know all the words, the rules, or the customs yet, but she had her spirit, her pride, and her mantra.