Three days later, the whispers came again.
It started while Chinedu was walking back from the village well. A flicker—like déjà vu, but deeper. In his mind, he saw the screen of a phone that wasn't his. A football score. Final whistle. Arsenal 2, Wolves 1. Goal scorers: Saka and Nketiah.
He blinked, dropped the water container slightly. Had he just made that up?
It wasn't the first time. These strange visions had been visiting him for weeks now—market trends, election results, rainfall patterns. All ahead of time. All unconfirmed.
He didn't trust them. Not really.
But this one… this one came with certainty. He could feel it in his bones, like a familiar tune he hadn't heard in years.
That evening, he walked into Amaechi's backyard, where boys gathered to charge phones and argue about Premier League standings. The battery-powered radio hummed in the background, and someone passed a half-cold bottle of Star.
Amaechi was leaned back in a plastic chair, fingers scrolling his betting app.
"You wan try your luck?" he teased when Chinedu hovered too long behind him.
"Maybe," Chinedu said. He pulled out ₦2,000 — almost half of what he'd saved from odd jobs in the past month. His hands trembled slightly as he offered the note.
Amaechi raised a brow. "Omo, you serious o."
Chinedu nodded. "Arsenal will win. 2–1. Saka and Nketiah will score."
Amaechi chuckled. "Prophet Chinedu."
"No be prophecy," he muttered. "Just a feeling."
The next day, the final score blared through the radio like thunder.
"Arsenal two, Wolves one! Saka with the opener, Nketiah the winner!"
The compound exploded with cheers. Amaechi leapt to his feet, grabbing Chinedu by the shoulders.
"Guy! You be wizard?!"
Chinedu laughed, heart pounding like a drum. The bet had paid off. ₦18,500. Clean.
He tucked the money inside his shirt and walked home quietly, pretending nothing had happened. But inside, his mind was racing.
If that vision was real… if he could see things before they happened… what else could he predict? What else could he control?
It scared him, but it excited him more.
Later that night, in the darkness of his room, he sat cross-legged on his mat, counting the money again. He stared at it not like a boy who had just won a bet, but like a man seeing his first capital.
"I can make this grow," he whispered.
But farming still felt like a slow road. He needed scale. Reach. Leverage.
And that's when the idea came.
If his father's one acre couldn't feed the family, maybe five acres could feed the whole village. What if he could buy out other struggling farms, pool the land, share the tools, and build something bigger
A cooperative.
No middlemen. No greedy buyers. No city thugs dictating rural prices.
It was bold. Maybe even foolish.
But Chinedu had a gift now — and a little money in his hand.
It was time to take a risk. He had made a promise to himself, he would make sure he took care of his family and he wasn't about to let himself down, now he just had to plant on the soil he had.