Writers 
*THE MESSAGE I ALMOST DELETED*
It was 11:47PM.
I was tired. My phone had 4% battery and 27 unread messages.
I was about to sleep when one more notification popped up.
Unknown number.
“Hi, is this Ada? This is Mr. Chinedu from the NGO. We met at the training 6 months ago. Do you still write?”
I almost deleted it.
“Scam,” my brain said. “It’s too late. He probably wants money.”
I’ve gotten those messages before.
But something made me open it.
He continued: “We’re running a literacy project for teenage girls in 3 rural schools. We need someone to teach writing for 8 weeks. No pay. Just transport and feeding. I remembered how passionate you were that day. Are you interested?”
No pay.
8 weeks.
Rural schools.
My first thought: “I’m busy. I have my own things.”
But then I remembered that training 6 months ago.
I had gone late. I had no business. I had nothing.
And a woman gave me a chance anyway. She poured into me for free.
That chance is why I have a brand today.
So I typed back: “I’m in.”
The first day was humbling.
Dusty classroom. No projector. No chairs for everyone.
15 girls, ages 13-17. Some of them hadn’t written an essay in their lives.
One girl, Zainab, sat at the back and didn’t talk for 2 weeks.
Week 3, I gave them an assignment: “Write a letter to your future self.”
Zainab submitted hers last. One page. Shaky handwriting.
She wrote:
“Dear Future Me,
I hope by the time you read this, you’re not married yet. I hope you finished school. I hope you’re not selling akara on the roadside like mama. I want to be a nurse. But I don’t know if anyone believes I can. Thank you ma’am for saying we can write our own story.”
I cried in my room that night.
Week 5, the NGO cut funding.
“No money for transport next month,” Mr. Chinedu said. “We might have to stop.”
I went home and calculated. If I skipped eating out and Uber, I could cover my transport for 3 more weeks.
So I did.
Week 8 was our final class.
The girls performed spoken word, read essays, and gifted me a card they all signed.
Zainab hugged me and whispered, “Ma’am, I entered for JAMB. Because of your class.”
I didn’t get paid. Not one naira.
But 3 months later, the NGO sent me a mail.
“A donor saw the video of your class. They want to sponsor 10 girls’ school fees. And they want you to lead the writing program across 6 states. With pay.”
I sat on my floor and laughed and cried.
The message I almost deleted at 11:47PM
became the door I walked through at 11:47AM a few months later.
Here’s what I learned:
1. *Obedience in small things is an interview for big things.* God watches what you do when there’s no money.
2. *Don’t despise unpaid seasons.* Sometimes the pay comes later, with interest.
3. *Your gift is someone’s lifeline.* Zainab didn’t need money. She needed someone to believe she could write.
I almost deleted that message because it didn’t look like opportunity.
It looked like stress.
But God specializes in hiding blessings in boring emails.
So check your inbox.
Answer the call.
Say yes to the thing with no pay yet.
You never know which “no pay” is actually a “big pay” in disguise.
