CHAPTER THREE
1202 Words
On a cool morning in late January, Chidera stood at the park with a small nylon bag of clothes and the savings he had guarded for months. It wasn’t enough to take him to Libya, but it was enough to start the first part of the journey: Benin City to Kano.
He had not told his mother the full truth.
He didn’t have the courage.
Instead, he told her he had found a short-term job up north and needed to take it.
She watched him pack with quiet, knowing eyes.
“Be careful,” she whispered, touching his shoulder gently.
“Wherever you go, don’t forget who you are.”
Her hand lingered, as if afraid that letting go meant losing him.
Chidera nodded, unable to speak.
“Thank you, Mama,” he finally managed, though it felt too small for everything she had sacrificed.
As he left the house, she stood by the doorway, watching him as if trying to memorize the shape of him.
“Call me when you reach,” she said softly.
“I will,” he replied.
But even as he said it, guilt twisted in his chest.
---
The bus was old, dusty, and overcrowded—exactly what he expected. The paint was faded, the windows rattled, and the seats were worn from years of travel. He squeezed in beside two strangers, both carrying bags that looked just as worn as his own.
One of them, a dark-skinned young man with tired eyes, gave him a brief nod.
“You dey go Kano too?”
“Yes,” Chidera replied.
The young man shifted to create a tiny bit more space.
“Long journey o. Hope you carry water.”
Chidera shook his nylon bag. “I get small.”
The man nodded approvingly.
“Good. This bus no dey pity person.”
The other passenger on his left—a middle-aged woman carrying a baby—smiled at him warmly.
“If the child cry too much, abeg no vex,” she said.
Chidera shook his head. “No problem, ma.”
She sighed. “Travel no easy, but God dey.”
He nodded, though faith felt like a thin shield against the unknown.
The driver finally slammed the door shut and started the engine.
The long, bumpy journey began.
---
As the bus rattled through small towns and villages, Chidera saw Nigeria in ways he never had before: endless farmlands, long stretches of red road fading into the horizon, marketplaces buzzing with life. Hawkers ran after moving cars, trying to sell snacks and water.
At one point, the young man beside him pointed out the window.
“See that place? Na where I grow.”
Chidera looked closer. “It looks peaceful.”
The young man chuckled. “Peaceful but broke. Nothing for there. That na why I dey go north.”
Chidera hesitated. “You… you dey go for work?”
The young man paused, then shrugged lightly.
“Work, opportunity… anything wey fit change my life.”
It was an answer without details, but Chidera understood it perfectly.
Different words, same dream.
Hours later, the bus stopped at a popular junction. A group of men entered to sell water, biscuits, and boiled eggs. One of them, a boy around Chidera’s age, leaned closer with curious eyes.
“You dey travel go north?” the boy asked.
“Yes,” Chidera replied cautiously.
The boy nodded knowingly.
“Many people go north now. To cross.”
“What do you mean?” Chidera asked, even though he already guessed.
The boy smiled faintly.
“You know where.”
Libya.
The word wasn’t spoken, but it hung in the air like a shadow.
The boy moved on to sell to other passengers, leaving Chidera staring out the window with a tight chest.
---
The sun was already setting when they entered the outskirts of Kano.
Everything felt different.
The city was larger, louder, and rougher than anywhere Chidera had been. People moved fast, shouting, rushing, trading. The streets buzzed with energy that felt both alive and dangerous.
Vendors roasted meat by the roadside, the smoky aroma mixing with the dusty harmattan air. Motorcycles zigzagged with reckless speed.
Chidera clutched his bag tighter.
Kayode had arrived two days earlier, and they had agreed to meet at a small roadside restaurant near the park.
Chidera spotted him immediately.
Kayode stood outside with two other young men and a girl. Their faces were tired, sunburned, but their eyes burned with determination.
“You made it!” Kayode said, pulling him into a quick embrace.
Chidera managed a smile. “I’m here.”
Kayode tapped his chest proudly. “Welcome to Kano. Nothing easy here o.”
Chidera laughed weakly. “I can see.”
Kayode introduced him to the others:
“This is Sade.”
Sade nodded politely. “You’re the friend he talked about?”
Chidera nodded back. “Yes.”
Her voice was calm, but her eyes showed someone who had seen too much for her age.
“This is Timi,” Kayode continued.
Timi waved shyly. “First time for me to travel this far.”
“And this is Musa.”
The older man gave one slow nod.
“Welcome,” he said quietly.
They all shared the same goal, though none admitted it directly at first.
---
Later, as they sat on wooden stools eating rice and stew, the evening breeze carried conversations from across the park.
Kayode leaned closer.
“I met the agent yesterday,” he said quietly. “The real one. He organizes the desert crossing. His name is Kareem.”
Chidera felt his stomach tighten.
“Kareem,” he repeated. “Is he reliable?”
Kayode hesitated.
“I no go lie to you—people talk different things. But he has sent many people before. Some make it. Some don’t.”
The table fell into silence.
Sade dropped her spoon and whispered, “So… when do we meet him?”
“Tomorrow morning,” Kayode replied. “He wants to see all of us together.”
Timi’s hands trembled slightly.
“Is it safe… meeting him?”
Musa answered before anyone else.
“Nothing here is safe. But we move forward.”
Chidera felt the weight of those words settle into his chest.
Tomorrow.
The journey was becoming alarmingly real.
---
That night, they rented a tiny room behind a mechanic shop. Six of them shared a cramped space meant for two. The single bulb flickered, and the air smelled of oil, metal, and faint exhaust fumes.
As they prepared to sleep, Timi whispered,
“I’m scared.”
Sade replied softly, “We all are.”
Kayode stretched out on the floor.
“Fear no go stop anything. We just need sense.”
Musa remained quiet, staring at the ceiling.
Chidera lay awake long after the others drifted off.
Outside, motorcycles roared, traders argued, and distant music played from a bar.
His heart pounded with fear and excitement.
He whispered to himself:
“This is just the beginning.”
But he didn’t know that the decisions made in Kano would mark the start of the most dangerous
- Writer
