Lagos, Nigeria. A city that never sleeps, where dreams are made and broken in the same breath. The air buzzed with the sounds of car horns, street vendors, and the distant rhythm of Afrobeats playing from open shop fronts. But for David Afolabi, none of that mattered right now.
All he saw was the ball.
On a dusty patch of land squeezed between two rows of rundown apartment buildings in Mushin, a crowd of kids gathered around an informal football match. No jerseys, no referees—just raw, unfiltered talent battling for pride.
David, barefoot and wearing an old white T-shirt with faded Super Eagles lettering, danced past one defender, then another. His movements were smooth, natural, as if the ball belonged to him. The last boy in his way lunged recklessly, but David shifted his body slightly, letting the tackle glide past him before nudging the ball forward with the outside of his foot.
One-on-one with the goalkeeper.
A feint to the right. A quick flick to the left. The keeper dove the wrong way.
The ball rolled into the empty net.
"GOOOOAAALLLL!" The shouts echoed through the neighborhood as the watching kids erupted in cheers.
"David, you be wizard o!" one boy shouted, slapping him on the back.
"How you dey do am?" another asked in awe.
David only smiled. He never really thought about it. Football had always come easy to him, like breathing. He didn't train in any academy, didn't have fancy boots, yet every time he touched the ball, he just… adapted.
Unknown to him, a pair of watchful eyes had been following his every move.
***
Later that evening, David walked home, sweat still clinging to his skin. His family's small apartment wasn't much, but it was home. His mother, a firm but loving woman, greeted him at the door.
"David, you're always playing ball. Did you even remember to buy the bread I asked for?"
He scratched his head, laughing awkwardly. "Ah, Mummy, I forgot… but I won the match!"
She sighed, shaking her head. "One day, football will not buy you bread."
"Maybe not today," David said, grinning. "But one day, it will buy everything."
His father, a quiet and observant man, looked up from his newspaper. "If you want to be a footballer, you have to be serious about it. Talent alone is not enough."
David nodded, the words sticking with him. He didn't know it yet, but this night was the beginning of something greater than he could ever imagine.
Because in the shadows, the man who had been watching him on the field had already made a phone call.
"I've found someone special. A kid in Mushin. You need to see him."
And so, David Afolabi's journey had begun.