Giving Up to Build Up
908 Words
Ikeja Computer Village on a weekday morning was like stepping into a fever dream.
Shouts from traders collided with honking buses. The scent of roasted plantain mixed with engine smoke. Tech jargon flew like bullets between competing stalls.
It was chaos. And somehow, it was where Mike believed the next phase of his life would begin.
He needed to trade his future to survive the present.
“I have to sell my laptop,” he told Danika the night before, voice flat but steady.
“It’s the only way I can raise money and still get a working replacement. I’ll downgrade my phone too. Use the extra to get you a signboard and tools for your shop.”
Danika went silent.
She chewed on the words like they were soaked in guilt.
“You don’t have to do all that for me,” she finally said.
“I’m not doing it for you,” Mike replied. “I’m doing it for us.”
Her eyes softened.
She touched his hand across the bed and whispered, “Then let’s do it together.”
Now, under the hot sun, Mike stood outside a stall marked A2 Digital Systems.
His laptop bag was slung across his chest. Danika stood beside him in a jean jacket and tight braids. Lance paced behind them like a restless hawk.
“This guy dey take forever,” Lance muttered, carrying his iPhone XR with the cracked glass.
He needed to move out too.
“If he price this laptop below 80k, I go slap am.”
Mike smiled, but his heart thumped.
This wasn’t just a machine.
It was his hustle. His companion through thousands of lines of code. Dozens of rejected proposals. A few accepted ones that had paid his rent and fed his soul.
Now, he was about to let it go.
The trader emerged, pulling the laptop from its bag. He turned it like a puzzle in his hands.
“Hmm. HP Pavilion… Intel i5… screen dey okay, but battery don dey weak. Abi?”
Mike nodded. “Yes.”
“60k. Final.”
Lance hissed. “Ah! Baba, e never reach 8 months wey him buy am—”
Mike raised a hand to silence him.
He looked at Danika.
She didn’t speak. But her eyes — hopeful and worried — gave him the answer.
“Done,” Mike said.
The trader handed him worn notes.
Mike moved fast. He searched stalls for a usable replacement.
He found a slightly older Lenovo model. Clean. Basic. 35k. No warranty. No promises.
Just hope.
He bought it.
Next: his iPhone 11.
Danika watched as he handed it over and received a smaller, scratched iPhone XR.
“I don’t even mind,” he said, tucking the phone in his back pocket. “The work must continue.”
Danika pulled him aside.
“You didn’t have to do all this. Not all at once.”
“I did,” he said softly. “You need to win. If you’re winning, we’re winning.”
She kissed his cheek not out of passion, but reverence.
Then she took out her phone.
“I’ll sell mine too,” she said. “Let me match your sacrifice.”
“No,” Mike said quickly. “You need it for business.”
“Yours is better than mine now. Use it to market your shop, post your styles, reply customers.”
She hesitated.
Mike smiled. “Let me feel like your man, Danika. Let me carry it this time.”
By mid-afternoon, they sat at a roadside buka.
Sharing amala and gbegiri.
Sweat poured. But they laughed anyway.
Lance joined them, plastic bag in hand.
“I sold mine too. Na Infinix I buy. Omo, na to start hustle afresh o.”
“You still moving out?” Mike asked.
“Definitely,” Lance said. “We too many in that house. You flush toilet, person dey brush. You sleep, person dey do video call beside your head.”
They all laughed.
Even though it wasn’t funny.
Danika turned to Mike.
“You’re brave.”
He shook his head.
“I’m just tired of waiting for things to change. If I can help push us forward, even by inches… I’ll do it.”
Later that day, Danika picked up the signboard for her shop.
Small but professional. Black with gold lettering:
Danika Beauty Room
“Where Confidence Begins”
She sent Mike a photo.
He didn’t respond immediately.
Not because he didn’t care.
But because he was standing outside a church, staring at the wooden cross, listening to a cold whisper:
“You’ve given everything, Mike. What will be left of you?”
He shook it off.
Went home.
Opened the new laptop.
Started typing.
Started over.
Three nights later, Mike lay on a thin mattress, squeezed beside two friends.
He texted Danika:
Mike: How’s the salon?
Danika: Getting there. Fixed the chair. Painted one wall today. You made it possible.
Mike: We made it.
Danika: I owe you everything.
Mike: No. We’re just getting started.
He paused.
Then typed:
Mike: I just want to build with you. Even if we start with blocks made from sacrifice.
Danika: Then I’ll build too. Even if my hands bleed.
He smiled.
But somewhere deeper than pride and plans, a question stirred like smoke:
What if love alone wasn’t enough?
What if giving up everything for someone... left you with nothing for yourself?
- Writer
