BOOKS IN MY HANDS, GUNS AROUND ME

In 2017, I walked to one of the most important exams of my life surrounded by soldiers carrying guns.

It was the year i sat for my Advanced Level examinations in Cameroon. for most students, exam day is filled with the usual anxieties: remembering formulas, revising notes one last time, hoping the questions will match what they studied. Families encourage their children, teachers offer last minute advice, and students walk to school thinking mostly about their future.

But that morning, my biggest fear was not the exam.

It was the guns.

Because of the crisis affecting Cameroon's Northwest and Southwest regions, the authorities feared that the students might be targeted or prevented from writing their examinations center, soldiers were deployed to escort us. instead of walking freely to school, we walked under military guard.

I remember waking up before sunrise, my mind restless. the sky was quiet and pale, but my heart was beating fast. my mother encouraged me as i prepared to leave the house. she reminded me that i had worked hard and that this exam could open doors to my future.

I nodded, but fear lingered in my chest.

when I reached the meeting point with other students, the soldiers were already there. their boots pressed into the dusty ground, and their uniforms looked heavy under the morning sun. across their shoulders were rifles cold, metallic reminders that something in our country had changed.

I had seen soldiers before, but never like this, never so close.

As a young girl, the sight terrified me.

School had always been a place of hope. it was where we believed that education could shape our future, where teachers told us that knowledge was our greatest power. But that day the road to education looked like a guarded passage through fear.

We began walking towards the examination center with soldiers surrounding us on both sides. The streets were unusually silent. Normally, exam mornings were filled with chatter and laughter as students shared last minute notes or joked nervously about the questions we might face.

That morning, there was almost no laughter.

instead, we walked quietly, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

the sound of our footsteps mixed with the metallic clinking of the soldiers' equipment. every movement seemed louder than usual. i held my school bag tightly against my chest as if it could shield me from the fear around us.

I tried to focus on the subjects I had studied history, literature, economics but my mind kept returning to the rifles and the soldiers 'watchful eyes.

As a girl, I felt particularly vulnerable.

Conflict does not only bring physical danger.

It also creates fear and uncertainty, especially for women and girls. In moments like that, we are reminded that our safety can be fragile, that instability affects us in ways that go far beyond politics or headlines.

yet we were there for one reason: to write our exams and continue our education.

when we finally reached the examination center, soldiers remained stationed outside the gates. Through the classroom windows, I could still see them standing guard, their presence both protective and unsettling.

Inside the exam hall, the invigilators tried to maintain a sense of normalcy. papers were distributed, instructions were read, and the room slowly filled with the scratching of pens on paper.

I lowered my head and began writing.

But something inside me had shifted.

Before that day, peace had always seemed like a distant concept, something discussed in speeches or news reports. I had never paused to think deeply about it. peace simply meant everyday life: waking up safely, going to school, laughing with friends, and returning home to family.

I had taken those simple moments for granted.

Walking to an exam under military escort forced me to understand how fragile peace really is.

Peace is not just the absence of war. peace is the freedom to live without fear. it is the ability for children to learn without fear. it is the ability for children to learn without armed protection standing outside their classrooms.

Peace is a girl walking to school with her books not past soldiers with guns.

The crisis in Cameroon has deeply affected many communities, especially women and girls. schools have closed in some areas, families have been displaced, and countless young people have seen their education interrupted.

In times of insecurity, girls often face the greatest barriers. families worry about their safety and sometimes keep them at home. some girls are forced to abandon school entirely. others are pushed into early marriages or responsibilities that end their education too soon.

These realities shape the futures of many young women.

Yet despite these challenges, I have also seen remarkable courage.

I have seen mothers struggle tirelessly to keep their children in school despite uncertainty. I have seen girls encourage each other not to give up on their dreams. I have seen women in communities step forward as protectors, organizers and voices of hope.

These acts may seem small, but they are powerful foundations for peace.

Today, peace means something very personal to me. it means children laughing freely on their way to school. it means classrooms filled with curiosity instead of fear. it means families planning their future with hope instead of anxiety.

Peace means that education can happen without military escorts.

If I could share my story with global leaders, i would ask them to listen to the voices of young people living in conflict-affected communities. too often, decisions about peace are made faraway from those who live with its absence every day.

our stories reveal the human cost of conflict.

we know what it feels like when fear enters spaces that should be safe. we understand how violence interrupts, and the emotional well-being of entire communities.

Real peace cannot rely only on security forces.it almost include dialogue, justice, education and opportunities for young people. it must invest in communities and ensure that women and girls have a voice in shaping the future.

women are not only victims of conflict. we are leaders, caregivers, and builders of peace.

The day I walked into that exam hall surrounded by soldiers, I felt small and powerless.

But today, sharing this story reminds me that our voices matter.

My hope is that one day no girl in Cameroon or anywhere in the world will need soldiers to escort her to an exam.

Instead, she will walk freely confidently and peacefully toward her future.

And that will be the true victory of peace.