09/08/2025
BLOOD & HOPE
Chapter One:
The midday sun pressed down on Ajegunle like a punishment. Heat shimmered off corrugated rooftops, and the air was thick with the smell of frying akara, sweat, and diesel exhaust. From the street below came the endless Lagos chorus — danfo drivers yelling for passengers, market women bargaining like warriors, and the metallic thump of music leaking from someone’s radio.
Inside a cramped one-room apartment, Sade sat cross-legged on the floor, scraping the last clumps of watery garri from a plastic bowl. The kerosene lamp flickered even though it was daylight. Bolu and Korede, their two children, sat quietly on the bed, bare feet dangling, eyes following every move their mother made.
“Mummy,” Korede said softly, “garri go sweet more if we get sugar.”
Sade forced a smile, the kind that tries to hide defeat. She had no answer.
The door opened slowly. Olawale stepped in, shoulders sagging, his shirt damp with sweat and dust. His slippers slapped the floor as he walked over and sank beside her.
“Anything today?” she asked.
He shook his head without looking at her. “Tomorrow go better.”
The silence that followed wasn’t new. Hunger had taught them all how to be quiet.
Olawale’s days were a loop of failure. In the morning, he would set out in the city’s punishing heat, knocking on workshop doors, asking at okada stands, trying his hand at petty sales. By afternoon, the rejections piled up like the crumpled recharge cards in his pocket.
That afternoon, he walked aimlessly down a noisy street, the sun biting his skin. His mind was on Sade and the children, on the empty pot in their room, when a sleek black Toyota Camry slowed beside him.
The tinted window rolled down, releasing a burst of cold, perfumed air.
“Ah-ah, Wale!”
Olawale blinked. “Kunle?”
Kunle grinned, his kaftan crisp and white, a heavy gold watch glinting on his wrist. “See as Lagos don lean you, my guy. This your suffer no fit continue.”
“Na wetin I go do? I don try every work,” Olawale replied.
Kunle leaned in, lowering his voice. “I get something wey go change your story. Quick money. But you gats get mind.”
From his pocket, he pulled a small card with a phone number written in neat ink. “Call me. No waste time.”
Before Olawale could speak, the window slid back up and the car moved off, leaving him in the heat with the scent of expensive cologne still hanging in the air. He stared at the card for a long time.
That night, the room was quiet except for the sound of the children breathing in their sleep. Sade sat on the edge of the bed, folding laundry by lamplight.
“I see you dey think,” she said, glancing at him. “Wetin happen?”
“Nothing,” Olawale replied, slipping the card deeper into his pocket. “Just tired.”
The call came two days later. Kunle told him where to meet.
The meeting place was an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city. A dim bulb swung overhead. Around a wooden table sat four other men, all watching him. Bundles of cash lay stacked like bricks. Guns rested within arm’s reach.
“This na my guy from way back,” Kunle announced. “Solid man. I trust am.”
One of the men, Muri, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, didn’t look convinced. He said nothing, just kept chewing on a toothpick.
The first job came fast. Too fast.
It was a small bank on the outskirts. Masks on, hearts pounding. Olawale’s hands shook as he gripped the cold metal of the gun Kunle had given him. They burst inside, shouts echoing off tiled walls. Customers screamed, guards froze. The vault opened quicker than he thought possible.
Sirens wailed in the distance, but by then they were already gone.
---
That night, Olawale pushed open the door to their apartment carrying two heavy bags — rice, chicken, soft drinks, biscuits for the kids.
Bolu and Korede’s faces lit up. They clapped, jumping around him.
Sade’s eyes widened. “Wale… where all this come from?”
“God don answer our prayer,” he said, forcing a smile.
The children dug in, laughing between mouthfuls. Sade smiled too, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She watched him over the food, her gaze searching.
Later, as they cleared the plates, Olawale slid a thick envelope under the bed. He could still hear the faint echo of sirens in his mind.
And somewhere deep inside, a part of him knew — this was only the beginning.
Bella🥰
