ABORSCO @ 60: The School that refused to die

In the heart of Abor, where dreams were once dust,
a seed was sown — small, trembling, but divine.
Not by kings with crowns,
but by elders with conviction,
and youths whose hearts beat with the rhythm of tomorrow.

It was 1965 —
the year a vision rose from red earth and burning sun.
Fifteen young souls walked through a gate of hope,
into what would become Abor Senior High School — ABORSCO.

There were no cathedrals of learning then,
only chalk, courage, and community.
The classrooms leaned on faith,
the teachers leaned on grace,
and every morning, we whispered our creed:

“Arise and Shine.”

The walls may have been cracked,
the books may have been few,
but the fire — oh, the fire —
never learned how to die.

By 1982, when the nation’s hand reached out to embrace us,
the dream had already taken root.
Fifty-four students, a handful of teachers,
and a promise that still echoes through the corridors:
“We will not fade.”

I remember…
The dawns of dusty fields,
The laughter between lessons,
The prayers before exams,
The scent of chalk on sweating palms.

We were children, yet warriors —
armed with notebooks and purpose.
Our dreams stretched beyond the horizon,
and our hope was taller than the school walls.

ABORSCO — the school that refused to die,
not because of fortune,
but because of faith.
Not because of wealth,
but because of will.

Your story is a resurrection —
a parable of persistence written by generations of believers
who built with their hearts when their hands were tired.

Now, 60 years later, your children return —
doctors, ministers, teachers, MPs, dreamers —
each carrying a spark from your flame.

Among them, the Honourable Ahiafor Bernard Esqmp,
First Deputy Speaker of Parliament —
your son, your pride, your proof
that greatness can rise from humble halls.