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.
So let the drums roll in Abor once more.
Let your gates swing open in gratitude.
Let every old student whisper —
“I am because you endured.”
ABORSCO, your story is not survival;
it is resurrection.
A school born by faith,
forged by fire,
and carried by grace.
Arise and Shine, ABORSCO.
You were never just a school —
you were a prophecy.
If you ever passed through those gates, say it loud — “I am ABORSCO!”
ABORSCO still refuses to die.
By Rev. Stephen Aflakpui SoG (Class of 2008–2012 Business)
