Trip to Libya

The sun had barely risen over Benin City when Chidera Okonkwo stepped outside with a tired sigh. The morning felt heavy, as if the air itself understood how difficult life had become. His mother sat on a low stool by the doorway, cutting vegetables slowly, trying to stretch the little they had into something resembling a meal. Her wrapper was slightly faded, and the lines on her forehead seemed a little deeper than the day before. “This is all we can manage today,” she said softly as she handed him a small bowl of garri soaked in water. “I know it’s not much, but God will provide.” Chidera nodded, though the words didn’t comfort him the way they used to. “It’s fine, Mama. Thank you.” She paused her cutting and looked at him more closely. “You didn’t sleep well again? I heard you turning on your mattress.” “I’m okay,” he replied, avoiding her eyes. “Just thinking about… everything.” She gave a tired smile. “Thinking won’t kill hunger, my son. But still, keep hope in your heart.” Chidera thanked her again and ate silently. The garri tasted bland, but he forced it down. He hated how normal this had become—scraping through each day, hoping something would change but knowing nothing would. When he finished eating, he rinsed the bowl and stepped outside. The dusty street stretched ahead, lined with small houses and wooden kiosks that had somehow survived countless rainy seasons. Vendors were already setting up; the smell of fried akara drifted faintly through the air. As he walked, his mind churned with quiet frustration. He loved his mother, but he wished he could do more than just sit around feeling useless. That was when he saw Kayode, his childhood friend, sitting beside a motorcycle. Kayode was counting a few worn-out banknotes, squinting at each one as if it held a secret. “You seem busy,” Chidera said, approaching. Kayode looked up with a grin. “Chidera the philosopher! You’re awake early today.” “Sleep no dey gree me. Wetin you dey count?” Chidera asked. “Money,” Kayode said proudly. “I’m saving. I’m planning something big.” Chidera raised an eyebrow. “What kind of plan?” Kayode leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I’m preparing to travel. To Libya.” Chidera blinked in disbelief. “Libya? For what?” “To work,” Kayode replied. “People go there, hustle for a while, and then move on to Europe. The opportunities there are better than staying here with nothing.” Chidera rubbed the back of his neck. “Hmm. It sounds risky.” Kayode nodded slowly. “It is. But staying here is risky too. Look around—no jobs, no chances. Every day looks like the one before.” A moment of silence hung between them before Chidera spoke. “I wish I had the money to think of such things.” Kayode shrugged, stuffing the money into his pocket. “Nobody starts with enough. I’m doing small jobs—driving motorcycles, carrying blocks at building sites, anything I find. Whenever I earn a little, I save it. One day it will be enough.” Chidera sighed. “You’re lucky you even have jobs. I’ve been trying, but no one wants to hire someone without experience.” Kayode laughed lightly. “Experience? My guy, half of us no get experience. Just find something to start with. Talk to Mr. Ade at the junction—he sometimes needs helpers.” “I will try,” Chidera said, though even he didn’t believe it. Kayode studied him for a moment. “You dey think too much. Life no go balance if you just sit down dey look.” “I know,” Chidera murmured. “But sometimes it feels like the whole world is moving except me.” Kayode placed a hand on his shoulder. “You go find your path. Just don’t give up.” Chidera managed a small smile. “Thanks.” They talked for a few more minutes about old memories the time they played football in the rain, the time they chased a goat that stole their food, the way they once believed they would both be rich before turning eighteen. Before leaving, Kayode mounted his motorcycle. “I dey go hustle. If you see chance to make small money today, grab am.” “I will,” Chidera replied. He walked home slowly, Kayode’s words echoing in his mind. Libya. Europe. Opportunities. Escape. He had never seriously considered traveling. His family couldn’t afford such a thing, and he knew nothing about the routes people whispered about. Still, the idea clung to him like dust on his slippers. When he reached home, his mother was still cooking. “You’re back early,” she said. “Did you meet anyone?” “I saw Kayode,” he replied. She smiled faintly. “That boy is full of energy. You two should learn from each other.” Chidera hesitated, then muttered, “He’s planning to travel out.” His mother stopped stirring the pot. “Travel where?” “Libya.” She sighed deeply, shaking her head. “All these boys looking for shortcuts. Traveling is not bad, but some roads lead to sorrow.” “I know,” he said quickly. “I’m not planning anything. Just talking.” She studied him a little too long, as if trying to read his thoughts. “Don’t let desperation push you into danger, my son.” “I won’t,” he said, though doubt tugged at him. That night, lying on his old mattress, he stared at the ceiling. The room felt small, as if the walls were closing in. His mother’s words, Kayode’s excitement, and his own silent frustration swirled in his mind. Eventually, he whispered into the darkness, “Maybe one day… I’ll find a way.” He had no money. He had no plans. But something had begun growing inside him a small, dangerous dream of escape. And though he didn’t know it yet, that dream would one day lead him far beyond the borders of Benin City, into a journey that would test everything he believed about hope, survival, and destiny.