Competitions:

“I Was Going to End It That Night.” I remember sitting on the cold concrete floor of my room, staring at a ... bottle of pills. I hadn’t eaten in two days. My parents had given up. My dreams felt like ashes in my hands—scattered, wasted. I was ready to leave. But someone—I still don’t know who—sent me a message. It was a flyer, nothing fancy. Just a line that said “Eutopia: Where You Start Again.” I don’t know why I clicked. I just did. One week later, I walked into that tent. A stranger hugged me. Someone handed me food. And for the first time in years, someone looked at me like I mattered. I won N20,000 in a silly dance challenge. Not a lot. But it bought me time. It bought me hope. I enrolled in a photography class with that money, and ended up winning an iPhone and 1 million Naira, And now? Now I shoot weddings for a living. I’m still here. And that’s because someone gave me a second chance. Thank you, Eutopia. e.

“He Couldn’t Speak, But He Smiled.” My brother was born with cerebral palsy. Most people don’t know what that ... means. For him, it meant a life of silence, pain, and stares. We couldn’t afford therapy. My mother sold her wrappers just to get him a wheelchair. We brought him to Eutopia thinking we’d just watch. Something fun to break the routine. But someone saw him. They put his name in a raffle, even though he couldn’t enter himself. He won. A brand-new iPad When we handed it to him, he didn’t say anything—he still can’t. But for the first time in 12 years, he smiled. Not a half-smile. A full, eyes-closed, teeth-showing grin. We all cried. Even the man who gave it to him cried. You don’t forget moments like that. You remember them every time life feels too dark to keep going. Eutopia gave my brother a voice, even if he still can’t speak. e.

“I Was Just Trying to Eat That Day.” I came to Imo State University not to study—at least not ... at first. I was selling biscuits and groundnuts at the gate, hoping to save up enough to register for JAMB. I saw the crowd and thought maybe I could make a few sales. But someone waved me in. I told them I wasn’t a student. They said, “Doesn’t matter today.” I didn’t understand half of what was going on, but I saw people learning things—sewing, coding, baking. I sat in the corner, just watching. Then a girl next to me handed me her extra apron. “Come on,” she said, “let’s learn together.” We baked a cake that day. My first one. And at the end of the session, someone pulled me aside and offered me a chance to play the claw machine, guess what I won, A Scholarship, A real Scholarship to take advanced baking class Three months later, I started my catering hustle. Thank you Eutopia e.

“I Just Wanted to Feel Lucky—Just Once.” I was tired. Tired of the hustle. Tired of being the first son with no ... answers. You see, my dad left when I was 14. My mum does petty trading—sometimes she sells, sometimes she doesn’t. Most nights, I sleep listening to her cry quietly so I don’t hear. But I always hear. I came to Eutopia because I saw a crowd and heard music. I hadn’t eaten that day, but the noise felt like a break from my thoughts. Then I saw it—the claw machine. Flashing lights, cheers, people shouting when they won. Me? I never win anything. I only had N200 in my pocket. I was saving it for bread. But something in me just said, “Try.” Just once. I dropped the token in. My hands were shaking. I didn’t even know what I was aiming for. The claw went down. It grabbed something. It dropped a red box. I thought it was a toy. But the woman at the booth screamed. I had picked one of the golden tickets—N100,000 cash prize. I stood there frozen. My brain couldn’t process it. People were clapping, cameras flashing. And all I could think about was my mum. I ran home crying. I swear—I’ve never cried like that in public before. I gave her the envelope. She thought it was fake. We cleared her debts that night. I enrolled in a tech class the next week. That one moment—that one try—gave me back something I didn’t realize I’d lost: Belief. Belief that maybe the world can be kind. Belief that maybe I deserve good things, too.

“I Thought I Was the Only One Suffering in Silence.” Everyone on this campus talks about ... grades, parties, dating. Nobody talks about choosing between buying a handout or buying soap. I came from a home where rain falls inside our room. Where we used candlelight to study for WAEC. I fought my way into UniAbuja with raw determination and zero backup. I’ve fainted before from hunger. True story. I remember standing in line at Eutopia, thinking, “I don’t belong here. I don’t even have the right shoes.” But then I saw students just like me—hustlers, survivors, dreamers—being celebrated. Given scholarships. Winning phones, bags of food, even business grants. I didn’t win anything big. But someone gave me a free barbing session, and another person gave me a Rexona gift box with a note: “You deserve to feel fresh.” That night, I went back to my hostel and looked in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, I liked the person I saw. Eutopia didn’t erase my problems. But it reminded me that I’m not alone. And sometimes, knowing that is enough to keep going.