Chapter 8 – Exile Hustle
The road from Lagos to Ibadan long like old memory. The bus smell of sweat, dust, and tired dreams. Samson dey sleep with head lean against window, but me, I no fit close eye. My mind still dey Lagos — the flashing lights, the siren, the shout, the fight.
When we finally reach Ibadan, early morning breeze greet us. The air here calm, different from Lagos madness. Street no too crowded, horns no too loud. But peace no mean easy life.
We drop near Gate, carrying one small bag each. No house, no plan — only will to survive.
"Where we go start from?" Samson ask, rubbing eyes.
I smile small. "Anywhere we fit see small work. We don start from nothing before, we fit do am again."
He nod. "Na true talk."
For three days, we sleep for one uncompleted building near Agodi. Mosquito dey bite, but we no complain. Daytime, we waka round looking for mechanic shop or any repair place wey fit employ us. But most people no trust strangers.
One old man for Bodija side finally give us small chance. His name na Baba Kunle, owner of small roadside repair shed. He repair blender, fan, pressing iron — same line with wetin we dey do for Lagos.
He test us small, see say we sabi. "Okay," he talk. "You go dey come help me. I no get much to pay, but I go give una something."
Me and Samson glance each other, grateful. "Thank you, sir."
That's how exile hustle start.
The first few weeks tough. We dey work from morning till evening. Ibadan customers slow, but kind. Some go drop food, others go gist with us. Slowly, we blend into the street.
At night, me and Samson go sit outside that same uncompleted building, talking about future.
"Guy," he talk one night, "you ever think say maybe this na God plan? Make we leave Lagos before e swallow us?"
I look sky. "Maybe. But no matter how far we go, Lagos still dey my blood."
He laugh. "E dey everybody blood wey survive that city."
We fall silent. Crickets sing for background. Somewhere far, generator hum like broken dream.
One afternoon, Tola call me. Network break break, but her voice still sweet to my ear.
"Seyi, how you dey?"
"I dey manage," I answer. "Ibadan dey calm, but small small we go stand again."
"I miss you," she say softly.
I smile. "I miss you too."
She sigh. "Baba Eko still dey look for who help Duke escape. I just want make you stay safe."
My heart skip. "You sure?"
"Yes. Promise me say you no go come back yet."
"I promise," I whisper.
When call end, I sit quiet for long time. Even far from Lagos, the shadow still dey follow me.
Days turn to weeks. We begin to gather small customers of our own. Some people prefer us to Baba Kunle because we dey fast and polite. One day, Baba Kunle pull me aside.
"Seyi," he say, "you get leadership spirit. I see am. You no just dey work for money. You dey work with purpose."
I smile small. "Thank you, sir."
He nod. "If you keep this heart, one day, people go work under you."
That talk touch me deep. Nobody don tell me that kind thing before.
But exile no fit erase destiny.
One evening, while we dey pack tools, a black car park for opposite side of road. Window roll down small. I see face wey I recognize — Lekan, one of Baba Eko boys. My heart nearly jump out.
He stare me down like lion spotting prey. Then he drive off slow.
Samson notice my face change. "Who be that?"
I swallow. "Lagos shadow."
That night, I no sleep. I keep thinking — how dem take find me? Who talk? Maybe phone track? Maybe person leak location?
Either way, I know say time dey short.
Two nights later, wahala knock.
We just finish work when three men burst enter the uncompleted building where we sleep. No noise, no warning — just flash of torchlight and voice say, "We find am."
I jump up. Samson too.
"Una don forget Lagos abi?" One of the men talk, pulling pistol.
I raise hand. "Abeg, we no dey do street again. We don leave all that life."
He laugh. "Tell Baba that yourself."
Before he fit move closer, Samson grab plank wey dey corner, swing am straight to the man face. Gun fall. I rush grab am.
The other two charge. I fire one warning shot — pa! Echo scatter through the empty building. Dem run back.
Samson shout, "We no fit stay again!"
We grab our bag and vanish into the night.
We trek for hours till we reach Oremeji side. Hide for one small kiosk wey close. My body dey shake, but my mind clear.
"Dem find us already," I talk. "We go need plan new life again."
Samson breathe heavy. "How long we go dey run like this?"
I sigh. "Till the street forget our name."
He look me. "You sure street ever forget?"
I shake head slowly. "No. But maybe we fit rewrite the story."
Next morning, we meet one young pastor for roadside wey dey share food to people. He notice our tired face. "My brothers, una never chop?"
We shake head. He give us bread and sachet water.
As we dey eat, he ask, "Una from Lagos?"
I nod.
He smile. "I sabi that look. I come from there too. God bring me here when everything scatter. Now I dey help others start again."
He give us address of one small church wey dey rent room for stranded people.
That night, we move there. Pastor Ade — that na him name — give us small corner room and tell us, "Every man deserve second chance."
Those words hit me like gospel.
With time, we start working again. But this time, we no just repair things — we start training small boys for the area who no get direction. Samson teach dem how to fix fan, I teach dem iron and small generator repair.
We no even realize when our small workshop turn movement. Every afternoon, children dey gather to learn. The street begin to respect us.
One day, Pastor Ade walk in, watch us with smile. "You see?" he talk. "Purpose no dey die. E just dey wait for the right place to grow."
That night, I sit alone outside the church compound, looking at stars. My mind flash back to Lagos — to the gunshots, the fights, the blood, the fear.
But for the first time, I feel peace. Not because everything perfect, but because I finally understand something:
"Running no mean weak. Sometimes, na how warrior survive to fight the right war."
A week later, I get message from unknown number. Just three words:
"They coming again."
My chest tighten. I show Samson.
He exhale slowly. "So, what next?"
I look him straight. "We no run this time."
He frown. "You wan fight back?"
I shake head. "No. But we go stand for who we be now. We no be street boys again. If they wan come, make them see say light fit still rise from gutter."
That night, I kneel down for the first time in years. Not to beg for escape, but to thank God for strength.
My prayer short:
"If this life go test me again, make my courage no fail me."
I sleep with that peace in my chest.