My life took an unexpected turn in the unassuming setting of a common room coffee break. At the time, I was working as a cashier in a supermarket, armed with a certificate in Teaching English as a Second Language.
One day, I picked up a discarded newspaper left on a table. There, amidst the mundane headlines, was an advertisement for an organization seeking English teachers in Mozambique. Without hesitation, I decided to take a leap of faith.
The road ahead was no cakewalk. The competition was fierce, and the application process was rigorous. Yet, against the odds, I received the news — I had passed. But there was a caveat: there weren’t enough teaching positions available.
I found myself relegated to the waiting list. Undeterred, I spoke to the person compiling the list. Her words were blunt: “No one ever drops out. It’s pointless to put your name down.” But I refused to accept defeat. “Please add my name,” I insisted, leaving my contact details.
Weeks turned into months and hope waned. The dream of teaching in Mozambique seemed to slip away. Then, on an ordinary Friday afternoon during my shift, I took a break at 4:30 pm. Habitually, I switched on my phone—and there it was: a voicemail from the Mozambique English Teachers recruitment team. A teaching spot had opened up. But the clock was ticking. I had until 5 p.m. to accept, or it would pass to the next person on the waiting list.
Panic surged. It was already 4:40 p.m. I called back, confirming my interest. They instructed me to sign and return an acceptance form via fax. Desperation fueled my actions—by 4:55 p.m., I had secured my spot as a teacher. So, to you reading this: never give up.
