The African Prince.

EPISODE 3: The Stranger In The White Kaftan

The next morning, I woke up with my heart beating fast, like something was pulling me somewhere.

Mama was still asleep, her face pale, sweat sticking to her skin. I placed my only shirt over her like a blanket and whispered, “I’ll find a way, Mama. I swear.”

I left the bridge and started walking.

I didn’t even know where I was going. I just followed the crowd, through streets full of okadas, shouting traders, and danfos honking like mad dogs.

By afternoon, I found myself in a part of Lagos I’d never seen before. Tall buildings. Fine cars. People walking around with phones worth more than everything I owned in my life.

I stood there, looking like I had fallen from another planet.

Then I heard a voice behind me.

“Hey, boy! Come here!”

I turned and saw a man standing beside a black jeep. He wore a white kaftan, dark glasses, and gold wristwatch that shone in the sun.

At first, I thought he wanted to beat me for blocking the road.

“Sorry, sir,” I said quickly, ready to run.

But the man stared at me like he was seeing a ghost. His lips parted slowly.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Somto,” I replied, confused.

He stepped closer. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” I said.

His hand started to shake. “Who is your father?”

I laughed without humor. “I don’t know. It’s just me and my Mama.”

The man removed his glasses. His eyes were sharp, scanning my face like he was reading a book. Then he whispered something I didn’t understand:

“You… you look exactly like him.”

“Sir?” I asked.

Instead of answering, he asked, “Where is your mother?”

I didn’t want to tell him. Lagos is full of dangerous people.

“Why?” I asked, stepping back.

“Please,” he said, voice low. “I’ve been searching for you for many years. Your life is not what you think it is.”

I wanted to laugh. Search for me? Me that sleeps under bridge?

I turned to walk away, but he called out:

“Wait! Has she ever told you about your father?”

That made me stop.

Slowly, I turned back. “What do you know about my father?”

He looked around, then leaned closer. “Everything.”

For a moment, the noise of Lagos faded. It was just me and this stranger, standing on that busy street.

“Come with me,” he said. “If you want to know the truth, come.”

I didn’t move. My head was screaming that it could be a trap. But my heart… my heart wanted to know.

“Who are you?” I asked.

The man smiled, but there was sadness in it.

“My name doesn’t matter. What matters is this: you are not who you think you are, Somto. And it’s time you found out why.”

I looked back in the direction of the bridge, thinking of Mama lying sick.

And then I took a step towards him.

That single step changed everything.

Because the moment I entered that black jeep, my old life ended.

And my new one—the one filled with secrets, blood, and a stolen throne—began.