The date was etched into Elian's memory like scar tissue. Three years ago, on this exact day, he'd hit bottom. Not the metaphorical bottom that people spoke of in self-help books, but the real one—the physical, spiritual, existential bottom that left him lying in a gutter in Mushin, rain mixing with tears, wondering if death would be kinder than continued existence.
That day, he'd lost everything. His family. His career. His dignity. His will to live.
That day, the System had found him.
Now, three years later, he stood on a stage in Tafawa Balewa Square, looking out at a crowd estimated at over fifty thousand people. They stretched to the horizon, a sea of faces representing every corner of Nigeria, every walk of life, every hope and dream that ordinary people carried.
Behind him, the
