The Lagos sun hung heavy in the sky, its golden rays filtering through the thick haze of exhaust fumes and dust that seemed to cling to the city like a second skin. Ayomide Adekunle—Ayo to everyone who knew him—stood at the edge of the bustling Oshodi market, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene before him. Hawkers shouted over the din of honking cars, their voices weaving a symphony of commerce and survival. The air was thick with the scent of fried plantains, roasted corn, and the faint tang of sweat from the crowd.
Ayo adjusted the strap of his worn backpack, feeling the weight of his dreams pressing against his shoulders. Inside that bag was a carefully folded brochure for a UK student visa program, its edges frayed from the countless times he'd unfolded and refolded it. The brochure was his talisman, a symbol of the life he yearned for—a life beyond the noise, the heat, and the endless struggle of Lagos.
"Ayo! Oya, come help me carry these bags!" His mother's voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. She stood a few feet away, her arms laden with groceries, her face glistening with sweat. Ayo hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on the brochure before he shoved it back into his bag and hurried to her side.
"Mama, why didn't you call me earlier?" he asked, taking the bags from her.
"I've been calling you for the past five minutes," she replied, her tone tinged with exasperation. "Where is your mind these days? Always floating somewhere far away."
Ayo didn't respond. He knew exactly where his mind was—somewhere far away, in a place called Jand.
Later that evening, as the city's cacophony faded into the rhythmic hum of generators and distant music, Ayo sat on the narrow balcony of their two-bedroom apartment. The space was cramped, with laundry hanging from a makeshift clothesline and potted plants fighting for sunlight. But it was his sanctuary, the one place where he could dream without interruption.
He pulled out his phone and opened WhatsApp, scrolling through the messages from his cousin, Tobi. Tobi had moved to London two years ago, and his updates were a window into a world Ayo could only imagine. There were photos of Tobi standing in front of Big Ben, his smile wide and confident. Videos of him strolling through Hyde Park, the autumn leaves crunching beneath his feet. Messages about his job at a tech company, his new apartment, and the freedom he had found in Jand.
"Bro, you need to come here," Tobi had written in his last message. "Life in Nigeria is just suffering. Over here, everything works. You can actually breathe."
Ayo sighed, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wanted to ask Tobi so many questions—about the cost of living, the job market, the loneliness. But he didn't want to seem ungrateful or doubtful. Instead, he typed, "I'm working on it, bro. Soon, I'll join you."
As he hit send, a familiar voice called from inside the apartment. "Ayo, come and eat before the food gets cold!"
It was Damilola, his childhood best friend and the one person who always seemed to know when something was bothering him. She had come over earlier, as she often did, to help his mother with dinner. Ayo stood and walked inside, the aroma of jollof rice and fried chicken greeting him like an old friend.
Damilola sat at the small dining table, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "You've been quiet all evening," she said, tilting her head to study him. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
Ayo shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "Nothing. Just thinking."
"About Jand again?" she asked, her tone softening.
He nodded, sitting down across from her. "Tobi says I should come. He says life there is better."
Damilola was silent for a moment, her expression thoughtful. "And what do you think?"
Ayo hesitated. He wanted to say yes, to believe in the dream Tobi had painted for him. But deep down, a small voice whispered doubts—doubts he wasn't ready to face.
"I don't know," he admitted finally. "I just know I can't stay here forever."
Damilola reached across the table, her hand resting on his. "Ayo, there's nothing wrong with dreaming. But don't forget what you have here. You have a family that loves you, friends who care about you, and a country full of opportunities if you're willing to look for them."
Her words lingered in the air, a gentle reminder of the life he was so eager to leave behind. Ayo looked at her, at the warmth in her eyes, and felt a pang of guilt. But the allure of Jand was strong, and he wasn't ready to let go of it—not yet.