Download Sweet Sixteen Jamb Novel PDF 2019

My name is Aliya. I am the only child of my parents. I turned 16 last month, two days

before my end of term examinations. I had waited so eagerly for that day to come. When I was 14,1 read a book titled ‘Sweet Sixteen’, which made me realise that at 16. one is no longer a child but a young adult. For as long as I can remember I  had always hated to be called a child. To me, child means the same as stupid. So, children’s stuff never interested me. Instead,l found myself drawn to grown up things. I felt more comfortable relating with people who are many years older than me. My father thought this was because of my size. I am what you might describe as plus size. If you like, you could say I was plump or chubby; but never say fat. l started wearing bras at 10 and at 14, I was

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already a size 16. My father would say, “Aliya, don’t be deceived by your size, you are still a child and you should enjoy being a child. “To this‚ I would counter that I was not a child, but an adult trapped in the body of a child. He would shake his head and give my mother a long stare,which I never understood. ‘Young adult’ therefore, sounded like a fair compromise between being a child, as my father would insist, and being an adult, as I would insist. My mother was a nurse. My father was, well, many things. At the time I was born, he was a journalist. When I was in primary school, he was working in a Public Relations agency. He then went on to work for an international organisation that helps poor people in Africa. When I asked him what exactly his job in the organisation was, he said it was still some kind of public relations.

The very day I turned 16, I was still in school. Even if I was home,I knew better than to expect any parties. My father believed that the only thing worth celebrating was a major achievement. In his eyes, a birthday was not an achievement at all. My mother said she agreed with him. I suspected she was just

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going along With her husband. For this, I have very strong evidence in the form of several photographs I had seen of her, standing all decked up behind birthday cakes. But to be fair, that was before she met and married Mr. Bello. 

Whatever the case, birthdays were not a regular event in my home. My father even hardly remembered birthdays, including his own. Mummy however, would never, ever forget. She even remembered the birthdays of children in the extended family. But there would be no parties. The 

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