Chapter 1: The Choice That Changed Everything

When the big man come to the orphanage to do charity work, the smell of Dettol and beans soup still dey hang for air. E be like say even hope get smell for that morning.

Sunlight sneak enter through the dusty louvres, painting lines for our bare floor. It for look like just another day, but early-morning whispers don spread: big man dey come, real oga. Everywhere thick with hope and silent prayer. By the time he show, all pikin line up—uniforms crisp, face dey shine from extra scrubbing, and even matron tie her best Ankara wrapper. When he finally call us aside, im voice heavy like person wey dey share destiny. My heart dey beat kpa-kpa, but I hold eye steady, no gree show say I dey shake inside.

He give us two options: one, to become im adopted son; the other, make he sponsor us for school.

I remember as everywhere quiet for corridor while he dey talk, as if every breath dey hang for our answer. Even matron, usually sharp, just linger for door, pretend say she dey arrange broom but eye dey the matter. No be every day future dey press two small boys like this.

My younger brother no even waste time—he rush call am "Daddy" sharp-sharp, hope say na him go be young master for rich man house.

As my brother jump, slippers nearly fall, e still dey make me laugh if I remember. He hug the man’s agbada like say na him just win Baba Ijebu. The other children eye follow am—some dey envy, some dey pray make luck shine reach their side. Na real Naija hustle spirit; nobody wan carry last.

But if you become the big man’s son, even if you enter University of Ibadan or Ahmadu Bello University, at the end, you go still dey work for am—7 to 7 wahala work dey wait.

I remember as I dey reason am for corner: wetin be the use to answer 'Master' if na to dey waka behind person dey carry load? I sabi say for this side, who chop for house no mean say e go inherit am. For Naija, everybody dey hustle—even pikin of the house na apprentice for big man company. "No be only to chop rice, work still dey o," one small boy whisper for back.

And the man get im own pikin. My brother, just fake young master, never really see love for that house. In the end, dem even kidnap am, leave am crippled.

I still remember the day dem call say wahala don happen—gates wide open, security dey run scatter. All the fine clothes and enjoyment no fit stop trouble when e reach. Even for rich man house, peace no sure. The pain of that betrayal still dey my mind like pepper for eye.

But me, after years of serious book, I got recommend for University of Ibadan or Ahmadu Bello University, finish bachelor and master, then land job for big man company—salary na one million per year.

If you see as I dey press calculator for library, you go think say na jazz I dey run. I bury head for book, chop indomie, save every kobo. When people dey sleep, I dey read. The day I collect job letter, e be like film—me, ordinary orphanage boy, now dey earn money wey pass some local government chairman. Sometimes, I go kneel for midnight, beg God make this my book pay.

The day the big man invite me for dinner, my brother just break down, dey drag me madly to follow am jump from building.

I still remember as the night breeze for Lekki touch my face for rooftop. City lights dey blink below, but my brother eyes red, full of pain. The dinner never even digest finish before madness start. The memory bite me sharp, like small pin for chest.

Next thing, I open eye, we don land back for the day the big man dey give us that choice.

Time turn around, I dey hear the same fan for corridor, dey smell the same beans and garri wey dem serve for breakfast that year. My mind almost scatter—na dream? Or na God give me second chance?

This time, na my brother push me forward.

My brother face hard, but him eyes dey shine with small calculation. E dey push me, but na to set me up. For this second chance, e wan make I go first—maybe e dey hope say my path go hard so e fit shine. Na Naija sense, the one wey people dey call "smartness".

Book na power—I wan go school.

The truth be say, for this life, na only book sure pass. For where I come from, na education dem dey use climb. Even when light no dey, I dey use candle read, so my mind done strong.

"Brother, abeg, call am Daddy quick."

My brother dey whisper, voice low but sharp. E dey fear say chance go pass am by. Na real Lagos survival—everybody dey find short cut.

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My leg nearly fail me; my brother’s push almost throw me for ground.

I gawk small, steady myself, palm flat for chest. Orphanage tile dey cold under my feet. The air thick, like rain wan fall. I fit hear my heartbeat quick-quick as I try balance. Na wah o, see as life fit rewind.

Shocked, I look the pride and happiness for my brother’s face and realise—true-true, I don come back to life.

E get one kain feeling wey come with this thing—fear, hope, plus that naija suspicion. If na jazz, abeg make e last reach better ending this time.

Back to the day everything change for me.

Na so my mind dey race. I dey remember every small detail from the last time—the dust, the echo of children playing, the nervous laughter. This day na real crossroad.

"Sir, my brother no like wahala. Day and night, na so so talk say he wan be rich pikin, dey live enjoyment life. Abeg, carry am as your son."

My brother talk am with face wey dey shine, voice loud so everybody go hear. He dey sell me like market woman wey dey price tomatoes for Ketu. Na real packaging.

"Me, I like book, I no dey fear suffer. Book fit change person life. I choose to go school."

The words roll out my mouth steady. My voice low but firm, make dem know say I no dey shake. The director raise eyebrow, as if e dey see me with new eye.

After my brother talk finish, the big man look am with respect.

Big man eyes narrow small, the kind look wey elders dey give person wey get sharp mouth. For Naija, respect dey sweet rich men—na so he nod, rub chin like person wey dey plan business.

As for me, small disappointment show for his face.

I fit see the way im lips purse, the way im eye dodge my own. Maybe e dey expect I go jump on adoption matter too, but book na my own weapon. E pain am small, but e no fit vex.

"Okay, follow me then, but make I clear something. To be my son no mean say you go just dey chop life anyhow, and you no get right to dey waste money."

The man voice come serious. You fit hear for am say he don see boys wey spoil for money before. For Naija, dem dey fear to pamper person too much; money fit spoil pikin if you no use sense.

"Every month, na only fifty thousand naira I go give you for upkeep. If you spend pass that, na your wahala."

All the children wey dey close-by begin whisper. Fifty thousand naira! In that era, na real money. But if you sabi Lagos life, you go know say money fit run disappear for weekend.

As my brother hear am, e chest shake, then he just hiss with pride.

You for see the way im do face like say e no concern am. E raise chin, cross hand for chest. Na fake confidence, but na so street children dey do when dem wan form.

Last life, when he enter the big man’s house, nobody tell am how much he go dey get every month.

This kain thing, e dey always catch person unaware. For orphanage, na chop you dey pray for; for big man house, na restriction dey surprise you.

So as he collect ATM card, na so he dey spend anyhow, dey flex up and down.

That time, na every weekend e go party, dey show off new shoe. ATM dey waka for im hand like ID card. For Lagos, people dey notice person wey get small change, and na so e take attract wrong friends.

Na until the big man tire for am, he come limit am to only fifty thousand naira per month.

For rich people hand, money na tool. When e see say my brother dey misbehave, sharp sharp e clamp am. People for house begin gossip, say young master no sabi manage.

Now, my brother dey paint me bad, say I dey fear wahala and like enjoyment, make the big man first see me as that kind person.

E dey play mind game, wan shift attention from im own self. You see, naija children dey sharp—every opportunity na battle.

He no even bother to test me.

E trust im own plan, no believe say e fit fail. For im mind, e don win already.

"Brother, this your life don spoil already."

E sneer, voice loud, as if e wan make people laugh me. But I no let am enter my skin.

My brother just dey mock me, pride wan carry am fly.

If you see im swagger, you go think say na im dey control the world. Orphanage boys dey always form when opportunity show.

I no send am.

Make e talk. For this life, person wey dey humble dey always get last laugh.

For Naija, person wey dey too gentle, dem go call am mumu. But me, I sabi wetin I dey do.

Man fit plan, but na God dey decide.

As dem dey talk for village, "if God no build house, builder dey waste time." My faith dey steady.

The big man only dey help us because we dey pitiful.

For Naija, people dey do charity to clean conscience or find favour with God. I sabi say for am, we just dey lucky.

Which road we go follow, na still our own hand.

I hold this one for heart. E get as e be, but hard work no dey waste.

I waka go front, kneel small to thank am.

I bend knee well, touch ground with hand. For our side, to kneel na sign of respect, especially for elders or benefactors. The matron smile small, nod her head.

Then I talk,

"Daddy, I no need that kain money. Just give me twenty thousand naira per month for upkeep."

I talk am clear, voice steady. I no dey beg, just dey show say I get sense. The room quiet, everybody dey surprise.

Here, normal salary no even reach five thousand. For me, twenty thousand na big money already.

I dey reason am—if I fit manage small, I go save, plan for future. Na so dem train us for orphanage.

You know say, for my last life, as I dey go school, the big man only pay my school fees—upkeep na my own cross.

The struggle that year no be here. I hustle—wash cloth, teach small children, even help sell things for market after lecture.

I don taste suffer.

My palm still get mark from all the small work wey I do. Hunger, cold, and tears—dem no dey show for certificate, but dem make person strong.

But the main thing be say, the man get good heart; I no wan use am as excuse to dey chop money anyhow.

I dey try show say I get gratitude, no be sense wey dey find way to chop pass my power. For Naija, respect dey open doors wey money no fit.

As I just cut the money down by half, my brother shock, but still dey form.

E mouth open small, but e no wan lose face. Some of the small children dey look us, dey learn street wisdom.

"Oga, my brother dey fear suffer, but e sabi play people well."

He try twist my action, dey spread tori like pepper seller for Mile 12.

"He know say if you ask for too much from beginning, e go vex person, so he dey take style dey collect small small."

The boy sabi talk, but na for street this one go pay. For big man front, na humility dey win.

"For orphanage, anytime people bring snacks or gifts, my brother go first reject."

He dey paint me saint wey be thief for heart. E dey try twist story, make e look like I dey form holy pass.

"After some time, those people go begin notice am, dey praise say he get sense."

E dey build case, like lawyer for magistrate court. I just dey look am. Wetin person never see for this life?

"Once he get that good pikin tag, he go begin collect from everybody. Na him first get tablet for orphanage."

I remember that time, the tablet na old Android wey missionary woman forget. I use am dey read pdf books, no be play game, but children go always find way to twist matter.