The sun rose heavy over Umunze, bleeding amber light across the dusty horizon. Chinedu sat outside the family compound, a cracked notebook open on his lap. Numbers filled the pages — jagged, imprecise, but determined. The betting win still felt surreal, yet the crisp notes tucked in his pocket told him it was real. He had ₦18,500 in cash. Not a fortune, but for him, it was the difference between surviving and starting.
His pencil tapped against his lower lip. One acre wasn't enough. The soil was tired. The yields unreliable. He couldn't farm alone and hope to make a dent in the hunger around him — not in his home, not in his village. But what if he didn't do it alone?
The idea struck deeper now: a cooperative. Small farms unified under one plan, one brand, one structure. He would offer partnerships to neighbors — partial buyouts, shared labor, better prices. Most of them were struggling, same as him. The idea wasn't just survival — it was scale.
He barely noticed Ireti approaching.
"You've been outside since before dawn," she said, arms crossed over a faded scarf.
"I'm working on something," he muttered, not looking up
She leaned over his shoulder, catching sight of the messy figures. "Is this… farming math?"
Chinedu hesitated. "I want to buy out some of the neighboring farms. Combine them. Start something new — a cooperative."
"With which money?" Her voice was sharp, but not unkind.
He closed the notebook slowly. "I placed a bet. One of those sports apps. I… I knew the score before it happened. Arsenal 2–1. Saka and Nketiah. I just… saw it."
Ireti raised a brow, arms falling to her sides. "Are you telling me you've become a gambler now?"
"No. I'm telling you I took a risk — and it worked."
She didn't speak for a while. Just stared at him with her calculating eyes, the same look their mother used when selling vegetables in the market.
"You're lucky. But don't build your future on luck."
"I'm not," he said firmly. "I'm building it on this." He tapped the notebook, silence
Then finally, she said, "The Ozo land is in dispute. Don't go near it. But Ani's family — they've been looking to offload part of theirs. I'll come with you. Some of them still respect Papa's name."
Over the next two days, Chinedu and Ireti walked to three nearby compounds.
The pitch was simple: a buyout or a shared stake in a new venture — Imperial Farms. A brand, not just a piece of dirt. He would handle operations, offer a fair profit share, and invest in new tools. Ireti's presence made the difference. She knew when to push, when to retreat, when to just listen.
The first family agreed. So did the second, though with more hesitation.
By the end of the week, Chinedu had expanded his holdings by almost two full acres. More importantly, he had planted the first seeds of trust.
They stood one evening in the middle of the joined plots. The dry earth cracked beneath their feet, but the future stretched wide.
"We're not just farming for food anymore," he said quietly. "We're building power."
"Then it should sound like power," Ireti replied. "What will you call it?"
He didn't hesitate. "Imperial Farms."
She smiled faintly. "Let's hope it grows."
Later that week, Chinedu visited the local primary school, hoping to strike a deal to use their water tanks for irrigation. That's where he met Tunde — a sharp, soft-spoken NYSC corps member from Ogun State. He was stationed there as a science teacher but clearly had bigger plans.
They bonded over a shared frustration with inefficiency. When Chinedu mentioned the cooperative, Tunde's eyes lit up.
"You need to register that properly," he said. "There's a CAC process for cooperatives. I can help. If you do it right, you can access micro-grants, state loans, even business incubators."
"I've never even seen a CAC form," Chinedu admitted.
"Don't worry. I have."
They exchanged numbers. It wasn't just friendship — it was strategy.
That night, Chinedu counted his remaining money under the kerosene lamp. Some of it had already gone into tools, some into fertilizer. But what was left wasn't idle cash. It was seed — literal and symbolic.
In one week, he had turned a strange vision into capital.
Capital into land.
Land into an idea.
And now, that idea had a name.
For the first time, the soil beneath his feet didn't just feel like home.
It felt like ownership.
It felt like Imperial Farms.