Five Million Naira were the only words that stayed on Izu’s mind as he looked at a poster that advertised the national boxing competition that was to begin in two months. Turning his head from right to left, he looked to see if he was the only one there.
He was.
In a lonely dark alley in Diobu, Izu Ochokwu was looking at the answer to his prayers. He ripped out the poster from the wall, and walked home as fast as his legs could take him. He didn’t stop to greet Mama Chiadi like he always did, or slip a fifty naira note into the plate of the Mallam sleeping on the street. He didn’t stop to buy the packet of Indomine he’d wanted, or stop by the gym to pick up his pay for the last job. No. They were barely on his minds as he entered his house.
He pulled out an iron squared box from his ceiling and sat down on his bed, situated on the ground. Gingerly running his hands over it, he took the key of the box from his worn out canvas and opened it. It was filled with old photographs of his younger self and rolled up money made up of two hundred to one thousand naira notes. Even though he knew how much money it was, he still had to make sure. Plans were already running through his mind. All he had, all he was worth, was fifty thousand naira; twenty-five thousand was kept safe in the bank and the other half stayed with him in case of an emergency.
As he lay in bed after he put his things back in order, the doubt began to sip in. It would be too much to give. To use his life savings, to invest in something he knew might never amount to anything for him. The chances of losing was just as high, that no matter how much he hoped, no matter how much he wished, he knew he would never win. Yet, just as he was mentally backing out of his plan, he heard the noises. The drunkards he knew to be criminals, the prostitutes that brought men to their houses and the domestic abuse that were heard on the other side of his wall. Somehow, it all seemed easy to live everything behind and take fate in his hand.
If he did that and lost, he’d have to start all over again. That, he found, he could live with. Yet, not trying and regretting would surely destroy him. He’d never had anything he wanted, never even knew what it meant to have anything. Everything he ever did was to survive, to live for the next day. Dreams were a luxury he could never afford, and so reality became his best friend. He knew it better than he knew himself and so little of it he had enjoyed.
So he closed his eye and allowed himself to dream. He allowed himself to be naive and believe it was all going to be okay, because he wanted it to come true. For in a few hours, he would wake with the sun and with it, he hoped, his new reality.
