Chapter 5 – Ashes and Hustle
Sun never rise finish when I wake that morning. The sky still grey like e dey think whether to bless us with rain or more dust. I sit outside the house, bare chest, just dey reason life. Mama still dey sleep inside, the same tired sleep wey person dey use forget hunger.
For the first time in months, the street quiet small. No motor horn, no conductor voice, no fight. Just me, the wind, and the smell of kerosene from the neighbour wey dey cook early.
I look that bullet hole for our door again. It still dey there, like scar wey no wan heal. E remind me say peace for Lagos na visitor wey no dey stay too long.
But I tell myself, "Seyi, enough of tears. You go build again. Even if na from ash, you go rise."
By 7 a.m., I don pack my old tools for nylon bag. I no wan depend on Alhaji Musa again. I need start something wey go be my own, even if na small. So I waka go Oshodi main market side, where generator noise no dey ever stop.
I find one corner beside container, talk to one man wey dey sell fuel. "Baba, abeg, make I dey use small space repair gen. I go pay small-small."
The man eye me from head to toe. "You get experience?"
"Yes sir," I answer. "I learn work for two years before wahala carry me go back Ajegunle."
He nod, spit small for ground. "Oya, try first. If customers no complain, you go stay."
That na how my new hustle start.
First few days rough die. People no trust new face. Some go drop gen and vanish. Others go talk say I spoil wetin no spoil. But I no vex. I just dey focus. I know say for Lagos, patience na weapon.
One afternoon, rain begin fall heavy. Water dey rush through gutter like mini river. I still dey under small umbrella, dey repair one old Tiger gen. My clothes don soak finish, but I no stop. One old man pass look me, shake head say, "This boy dey serious o."
He come close, "You dey fix gen even inside rain?"
I smile small, wipe rain from my face. "Oga, hunger no get respect for weather."
He laugh, drop one umbrella for me, say, "Use this. You remind me of myself when I dey your age."
That umbrella, e be like blessing. The next day, same man come back. Him bring bigger gen — say him neighbour need repair too. That's how my customers begin grow.
By two weeks later, I fit feed myself and still give mama small. She happy, though she still dey fear for me.
One evening, as I dey return from work, I jam my old guy Samson for bus stop. He look rough, like person wey life don beat small.
"Guy!" he shout when he see me. "Seyi! I think say you don disappear!"
We hug. He tell me say he still dey load motor for park, but things no pure again. The new boss dem dey work for dey use juju to keep boys loyal.
I shake head. "Samson, leave that life. You fit find small work, even if e small."
He laugh bitterly. "You think say everybody fit lucky like you? Na who go employ man wey never see school?"
I look am straight. "Na street raise us, but e no go bury us."
He quiet, then say, "You talk like pastor now." We both laugh small. But for inside, I know say him pain deep pass wetin laugh fit cure.
Days pass. Business dey grow small-small. I rent small wooden shop near main road. I write on plywood:
SEYI TECH – WE FIX GEN, FAN, AND LIFE (IF YOU BELIEVE)
People dey stop take picture of the signboard. Some dey laugh, but e still bring customers.
Sometimes I go sit alone at night, just dey reason life. How from crime I enter prison, from prison to hope. But Lagos no dey ever let person rest. One night, as I dey lock shop, two men on okada stop near me.
"Na you be Seyi Tech?" one of them ask.
"Yes, sir," I answer, my voice low.
He nod. "Baba Eko wan see you."
My blood cold. "I no get business with am again."
The man hiss. "No be request, na order."
Before I talk, the okada don zoom off.
I stand for there, sweat full my palm. I no fit tell mama. I no even fit tell Samson. I just know say past no dey forget easily.
Next morning, I still go work. I no wan show fear. But my heart dey heavy like block. I dey fix one gen when I hear voice behind me. "Seyi."
I turn — na Duke, one of Baba Eko boys. The same guy wey nearly shoot me that night of the raid.
He smile wickedly. "Baba say make I give you last chance. You be loyal boy, but you run. Now e get new business. You join, or…" he raise hand like gun sign.
I swallow spit. My brain dey turn. I no fit go back. But I also no fit die.
"Tell Baba make e give me one day," I say. "I go decide."
Duke nod. "One day." He waka commot.
That night, sleep no near my eyes. Mama notice say I quiet. She touch my head, "Seyi, you dey sick?"
I force smile. "No, mama. Just tired."
But my mind dey boil. I remember wetin that inspector tell me after I leave cell:
"No matter how rough your past be, use am build better story."
I carry paper and begin write small plan. I go find way out. Either I run far, or I stand and fight.
Morning come, and I decide to go see Samson. He need hear everything. I meet am for park. He dey smoke, eyes red.
"Samson," I call am aside. "Baba Eko dey find me again."
He puff smoke. "You no fit run forever. Sometimes you gats face lion if you wan rest."
I sigh. "But I no get army."
He chuckle. "Who talk say lion no dey fear fire? Make we plan."
We spend that day talking strategy like war generals. Samson still get contact among park boys. He say if I fit pay small, some go guard my shop at night.
By evening, I go meet one police sergeant wey I repair gen for before. I beg am quietly, "Oga, I no wan wahala, but one street man dey threaten me."
He look me deep, then say, "We go watch your area small. But be careful. Lagos police no be movie. We no fit dey everywhere."
I thank am. My heart still dey beat fast, but at least I no dey alone again.
Three days later, I see something wey nearly make me break. My shop burn.
When I reach there early morning, smoke still dey rise. People gather. I drop my tools, fall to my knees. Everything—my hard work, my tools, my dream—gone.
Mama rush come later. She cry, hold me. "Seyi, why bad thing no dey tire us?"
Tears choke me. But deep inside, small voice talk say, "You no fit stop now."
Fire fit burn wood, but e no fit burn destiny.
That evening, as I dey sit near the ashes, one hand tap my shoulder. Na the old man wey give me umbrella that first week.
He say, "I hear wetin happen. No cry, my boy. I get one old shop for Ijesha. You fit use am till you rise again."
My mouth open. "Sir, I—"
He stop me. "Just use am. Sometimes, God dey test how far we fit go before He lift us higher."
Tears drop from my eyes again, but this time na tears of gratitude.
That night, as I dey pack my burnt tools, I look the sky and whisper:
"Lagos fit break you, but e still fit build you. Na how you stand after you fall go determine who you be."
For my mind, I know say this na just another beginning. Ashes no be end — na soil where new dreams dey grow.