The Hermatan sun beat down on Legos with a heat that felt like fire from the sky. The air was dry and dusty. The heat touched everything. People, cars, houses, nothing escaped it. For 10-year-old Emma, the sun was just another challenge in a life already full of hardship. He was a child of the streets, one of those boys who belonged to no home.

His house had no walls or roof. It changes every day. Sometimes he slept under a bridge. Other times, inside an empty market stall or in the dirty corners of narrow streets where nobody cared to look, Emma was thin. So thin from hunger that his ribs are visible under his old Manchester United t-shirt. The shirt was torn and faded.

His shorts, once navy blue, were now a mix of brown stains, dust, and patches. His bare feet were rough and wounded from walking the city’s harsh roads. He knew every feeling. the sharp pain from broken glass, the burning of hot tarred roads, and the soft squish of mud and garbage underfoot. But even with all that, there was something special about Emma. His eyes, dark, deep, and sharp.

He noticed everything: people, movements, opportunities. Observation was his greatest tool because in his world only the watchful survived. Every morning, Emma woke before the Sunday. When the streets are still very quiet, cool, and sleepy, that is his best time for picking up trashed aluminum cans, plastic bottles, and metal scraps to sell.

He moved silently through the street, heading toward the rich parts of Lagos, Ikoi, and Victoria Island, where people threw away things that are still useful to poor people like him. He didn’t search for food directly. The leftovers he sometimes found. Halfeaten sandwiches or cakes often caused stomach pain and days of suffering.

What he really hunted for were things he could sell. Plastic bottles, aluminium cans, and scraps of metal. These were his gold. Emma had a system that worked. He knew which streets had garbage pickup on what days, which houses had lazy security guards, and which dogs barked more than they bit.

He worked fast and smart, searching through bins like an expert. He puts whatever he finds into a big sack that nearly dragged on the ground behind him. The sack scratched his small shoulders, but he didn’t stop. By the time Legos was fully awake with buses honking, traders shouting, and people rushing to work. Emma was already heading toward the recycling depot where he would sell what he had gathered.

It was a noisy, dirty place on the edge of town where rough-l lookinging men weighed and bought scraped metals, aluminum tin, and plastic bottles. They didn’t care who brought them, only the weight mattered. That morning, what Emma found was small, just a few bottles and cans.

It wasn’t much, but it would be enough for a simple meal, maybe two if he managed well. Usually, he’d buy a loaf of bread and a sache of pure water. Sometimes if luck smiled on him, he could buy a small plate of rice and stew from Mamabis’s roadside stall. Her food was famous among the poor around Oelende underbridge.

The smell alone could make a hungry boy steal as he dragged his sack toward the depot. The sun rose higher and hotter, burning the back of his neck. His stomach growled loudly, but he ignored it. Hunger was no stranger. It was like a quiet pain that lived inside him every day, just like the dirt under his nails and the tiredness in his bones.

At the depot, he sold his collection. The man at the weighing scale didn’t even look at him. To them, Emma was just another street kid, one of thousands. The man handed him a few crumpled naira notes. It wasn’t much, but Mecha held it tightly, afraid to lose even a single coin. He wanted to run straight to Mamabisi’s stall, but he stopped himself.

The day was still young. There was always a chance to make more money before spending what little he had. Emma had other small jobs he did, the kind that showed how clever and hardworking he was. Sometimes he stayed near busy bus parks, offering to carry heavy bags for travelers.

Other times he weaved through traffic with a small bottle of soapy water and a squeegee, trying to clean car windshields before the drivers could shout at him to go away. In the market, he was a helper, running errands for women, selling goods, carrying loads, or helping them arrange their stalls. His small, fast figure was well known around Balagon Market.

Every job was a kind of game, a mix of luck, performance, and timing. He had to look sad enough for people to pity him, but not too dirty that they will be disgusted. He had to move fast, but not so fast so that people don’t think he was a thief. He had to be bold enough to ask, but not so stubborn that they won’t chase him away. It was a hard balance, a street dance, and Emma was a master of it.

By late afternoon, the sun had started to go down. The heat was no longer as fierce as before, but the air was still sticky and heavy. Emma had earned a little more money that day, enough for a proper meal, and maybe even a cold bottle of Coke, a rare treat he could almost taste in his imagination. He was walking toward the place he planned to sleep.

A quiet spot behind some locked up shops when he heard something strange. It was faint at first, a low moaning sound, almost drowned by the usual city noise. It came from the direction of a big trash bin at the front of an abandoned building. At first, Emma wanted to ignore it. He knew that abandoned buildings in Lagos could be dangerous.

Sometimes, desperate people hid there. People who would rob a small boy like him without thinking twice. But then the sound came again, and this time it wasn’t just noise. It was a cry of deep pain and sorrow, the kind that could touch even a hardened heart. The Mecca hesitated.

His curiosity, the same thing that often got him into trouble, started to pull him forward. He walked slowly, every sense alert, his eyes sharp and watchful. He turned the corner carefully and looked into the uncompleted building. It was empty except for the tall trash bin overflowing with refues and flies buzzing around. The smell was terrible. But then he heard the sound again, clearer now. It was coming from behind the bin, moving like a cat.

Emma tiptoed closer. His bare feet made no sound on the dusty ground. He held his breath, his heart thumping hard in his chest. He peeped behind the bin, and what he saw made him freeze completely. A woman was lying on the ground, half hidden by some old cardboard boxes. She looked young, maybe not much older than his late mother had been.

Her clothes were torn and dirty, and her hair was tangled like it hadn’t been combed in days. But what caught Emma’s attention most was her stomach. It was large and round. She was clearly pregnant, and from the look of her face, she was in serious pain. Her eyes were closed, her face twisted with discomfort. One hand pressed hard on her belly as another weak groan escaped her lips.

She looked helpless, alone, and suffering. Emma had seen plenty of sadness in his short life. Hunger, poverty, people fighting for scraps. But this was different. Something about seeing a woman like this, so weak and abandoned, touch something deep inside him. He remembered his own mother. Her face was blurry in his memory, but her love was something he still felt.

It was like a soft warmth that never truly left him. Slowly, Emma stepped forward. The woman’s eyes fluttered open with fear and confusion. When she saw a small, ragged boy standing before her, she tried to push herself away, terrified. Don’t be afraid, Emma whispered gently. I won’t hurt you.

She didn’t say anything, just kept breathing hard, her body trembling, but the fear in her eyes slowly began to fade a little. He took another careful step. Are you okay? He asked quietly, though he already knew she wasn’t. The woman shook her head weakly. A single tear rolled down her dirty cheek. “My, my baby,” she gasped, her voice rough and tired. I think I think it’s coming. Emma froze. His heart raced. The baby is coming.

Panic shot through him. He knew nothing about childbirth. Nothing at all. What could a street boy like him do? He had no home, no money, and no idea how to help. He looked around the uncompleted building quickly, hoping to see someone, anyone who could help. But there was no one there. Just him, the woman, and her pain. He could have turned and run.

That would have been the easy thing to do. It wasn’t his problem after all. He had his own battles to fight. His own hunger to deal with. But something stopped him. Something strong and silent inside his heart. The image of his mother flashed in his mind again. He remembered her kindness, her smile, her warmth.

He couldn’t walk away. “Okay,” he said finally, forcing courage into his small voice. “Okay, don’t worry. I’ll help you.” He didn’t know how, but he meant it. He quickly started doing what he could. He picked up some cardboard boxes nearby and laid them flat on the ground to make a soft surface for her to lie on.

It wasn’t much, but it was better than the cold, dirty floor. Then he took off his faded Manchester United t-shirt, the only shirt he had, and used it to gently wipe the sweat from her forehead. The gesture was small, but it seemed to comfort her. Her breathing slowed a little and she closed her eyes for a few seconds as if trying to gather strength.

“What’s your name?” Emma asked softly. The woman opened her eyes and looked at him. “Adana,” she whispered weakly. “I’m Emma,” he said with a faint smile. “Don’t worry, Adana. I’ll find a way to help you.” He knew she needed real help. “A doctor, a nurse, maybe a hospital, but hospitals meant money, and Ama had almost nothing. where still he didn’t trust official places.

They often looked down on poor people like him chasing them away without listening to their cries. Still, as he looked at the woman lying there in pain, one thing was clear. He couldn’t just leave her. For now, Emma knew he just had to do whatever he could. There was no time to think too much.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small crumpled Naira notes he had worked so hard to earn that day. the same money he had planned to use for his own food. His stomach twisted with hunger. But he didn’t care. He ran out of the building as fast as his legs could carry him and stopped at the nearest roadside grocery shop.

With shaky hands, he bought a bottle of cold water and a small packet of biscuits. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could afford. When he returned, Adana was still there, lying weakly against the wall, breathing slowly and painfully. Amecha rushed to her side, twisted the bottle open, and lifted her head gently. “Here,” he said softly. “Drink a little.

” Adonna took small sips of the water, her dry lips trembling. Then Amecha opened the biscuits and placed one carefully in her hand. She managed to eat just one before leaning back, exhausted. The sun had disappeared completely by now. Darkness covered the building like a blanket. Emma sat close to her, his small body tense, but alert.

The night around them was alive with the sounds of Legagos, the distant sirens, the heavy rumble of trucks on the highway, and faint music drifting from a bar somewhere far away. He didn’t speak. He just sat there beside her, listening, watching, protecting. For the first time in his young life, felt something new, a heavy sense of responsibility.

It sat on his shoulders like a load even heavier than the sacks of bottles and cans he carried every day. But somehow he didn’t mind. He didn’t know it yet, but this moment, this simple act of kindness was the beginning of something that would change his life forever. He had no idea that the weak woman he had found by a trash bin wasn’t just anyone. She was a billionaire.

A woman whose life had once been full of comfort, now brought low by tragedy and loss. He didn’t know that by helping her tonight, he was also unknowingly helping himself. stepping into a future that neither of them could imagine. All he knew was that he had made a promise. And Emma never broke his promises.

He looked at Adana lying there under the night sky and whispered quietly to himself, “I’ll take care of you, and I’ll take care of your baby, too. You won’t be alone.” In the middle of that darkness, he had found something pure hope. The boy, who had once been forgotten by the world, silently promised to be someone’s light in the shadows.

The night in the abandoned building felt endless, dark, cold, and full of fear. Normally, the darkness gave him a comfort. That was the only time he rests. But tonight, it felt different. Every shadow looked like danger, and every sound made his heart race.

The squeak of rats digging in the trash, the shout of drunk men, the whale of a police siren somewhere far away. Everything made him jump. He sat with his back against the rough brick wall, holding himself tight. His small body was the only shield between Adana and the dangers that crept through the night. Adana wasn’t screaming anymore.

Her painful cries had turned into weak, shaky breaths. Sometimes she trembled from pain, her body twisting slightly before she settled again. Emma watched her closely, his chest tight with worry. He felt helpless, a feeling he knew too well. But this time, it wasn’t just about him. Someone else’s life depended on him now.

He thought of the other street kids, the tough ones who moved in gangs, stealing and fighting to survive. Their laughter was sharp, their eyes always cold. Mecha had always stayed away from them. He preferred being alone, watching life from the corners. But now, for the first time, he wished he wasn’t alone. He wished he had someone, anyone, to help him, to tell him what to do. Hours passed slowly.

The noise of the city faded bit by bit until all that was left was silence and the distant hum of night. The air grew colder. A Mecca shivered, curling up to keep warm. He had given Adana his t-shirt, his only one. The chill bit at his bare skin, but he didn’t care. Seeing her wrapped in it, with the faded Manchester United logo showing faintly in the dark gave him a strange sense of peace.

At some point, he must have dozed off because a gentle touch on his arm woke him. His eyes blinked open, heavy with sleep. Dawn was creeping in. Adonna was awake, her eyes calm, but tired. The pain seemed to have eased a little. You should have slept,” she whispered, her voice rough. Amecha shook his head. “I’m fine.” She looked at him for a while, her eyes full of both gratitude and sadness.

“You’re just a boy,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t have to go through this.” Amecha sat up straighter, puffing his chest. “I’m strong,” he said, more to convince himself than her. A faint smile touched her lips. “Yes, you are.” They sat together in silence, watching the city slowly wake up. A soft call to prayer floated through the air from a farway mosque.

It sounded peaceful, almost like a prayer for them, too. The sky turned from deep blue to pale gray, then to silver light. Echa knew he had to move. Adana needed food, real food, not biscuits. She needed strength, and he needed to find a way to earn money again. The few naira in his pocket wouldn’t even buy a meal. I have to go, he said quietly.

But I’ll come back. I promise. Adana’s eyes darkened with worry. Be careful, she whispered. I’m always careful, he said with a small smile, trying to make her believe it. He walked out of the building, his heart heavy. Before turning the corner, he looked back.

Adonna was still there, small and weak, sitting alone in the growing light of mourning. The city was already alive again. Car horns, shouting drivers, the loud conductors hanging on the yellow buses, calling passengers with their usual chaos. But Emma was not the same boy he was yesterday. His senses were sharp now. He wasn’t just trying to survive.

He was trying to provide. That thought scared him, but also made him proud. He decided to head to Mile 12 Market, a wild, noisy place full of life. The air there was thick with smells. Pepper, roasted meat, sweat, and diesel. It was also the kind of place where a smart, fast boy could make a little money if he was clever.

Madam, let me help you carry your bag,” he shouted as he weaved through the crowd. “Oga, anything for me today?” He spent the morning running around, carrying heavy baskets of yams, fetching things for market women, and helping customers. His small body moved quickly through the crowd. Always alert, always polite. Soon a few vendors began to recognize him. That small boy they try.

One woman said, “Call am. He go carry the load fast. By noon, the sun was very hot. The market felt like a fire. Sweat ran down his back and his arms achd, but his pocket felt heavier than it had in weeks. He had earned enough for a good meal, enough for both him and Adana. He went to a small food stall tucked in a corner, known for its tasty food.

He bought two plates of jol rice with fried plantain and a big piece of fish on each plate. He also got bottles of water and some fruits, a small treat that he hoped would make Adonna smile. As he was leaving, something caught his eye. A small stall selling used clothes. On top of the pile, he saw baby clothes, tiny vests, and soft onesies.

He stopped staring at them. For a long time, he stood there thinking he didn’t have much money left. He could easily save it, but he couldn’t shake the image of Adana’s unborn child. He picked a small white pajamas, soft, clean, and simple. It wasn’t much, but it meant something. It was hope.

With a quiet smile, he carried the food and the little baby outfit back through the busy streets, dodging cars and people. His steps were lighter now. He had done it. He had provided. When he finally returned to the abandoned building, Adana was still there, her face pale, but her eyes alive. When she saw him, relief washed over her face. “You came back,” she said, smiling weakly. “I told you I would,” Emma replied, his grin full of pride.

When Emma showed Adana the food, her eyes widened in disbelief. The steam rose from the plates of jolof rice and fried plantain, filling the air with a sweet, comforting smell. She ate slowly, taking small bites like someone afraid the food might disappear if she rushed. Each mouthful brought a quiet sigh of relief. Emma watched her closely, his own hunger forgotten for a moment.

Seeing her eat, watching the color returned to her cheeks. That was enough to fill his heart. When they were done, he reached into a small nylon bag and pulled out the baby cloth. He held it up proudly, the tiny white cloth dangling from his hand. Adonna’s eyes filled with tears. She reached for it slowly, her trembling fingers brushing the soft fabric. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

The words were small, but they carried so much feeling that Amea didn’t know how to answer. He just nodded, smiling shily. The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. The noise of Legos. The shouts, the horns, the chaos faded into a soft background hum. For the first time in a long while, there was peace. Adonna looked a little stronger now.

After a while, she began to talk softly at first, then more freely, as if something heavy was lifting off her chest. She didn’t tell the full story, just broken pieces of it, flashes of memory that came and went. She spoke about her past life, a big house, a family that never lacked anything, a man who promised her forever but left her the moment she said she was pregnant.

She spoke about shame, about being rejected, about how her family turned their backs on her. She had gone from being a daughter of comfort to a woman sleeping on cold streets. Emma didn’t understand all of it. the talk of wealth, betrayal, or family honor. Those were not his kind of struggles, but he understood pain. He understood loneliness. And as she spoke, his heart achd for her.

While she talked, something caught his attention. A thin gold chain around her neck. Hanging from it was a ring, shining faintly in the fading light. He leaned closer and saw a name engraved on it. “Chuki.” “Who is Chukudi?” he asked curiously. Adana’s hand went to her neck. Her fingers closed around the ring as her eyes grew distant. “He was my husband,” she said softly.

“He’s gone,” she said no more. And Amecha didn’t ask further. Some pains were too deep for questions. As the day turned into evening, another worry began to eat at Amecha’s mind. The uncompleted building too exposed and was no place for a baby. It was dirty, too open, and full of danger. They needed somewhere safer, somewhere clean and quiet.

He told Adana what he was thinking. And she nodded, fear showing clearly in her tired eyes. But where can we go? She asked weakly. We have no one. No money. I’ll find somewhere, Emma said. Though his voice shook a little. He wasn’t sure how, but he had to. So he went out again, walking through the rough parts of the city as the sun began to sink.

His small figure moved through the dusty streets like a shadow. He searched everywhere. Old buildings, abandoned shops, empty stalls. He peaked into broken houses, but most were already taken by other homeless people, their faces hard and unfriendly. Market stalls were locked tight. Security men chased him off with angry shouts. Dogs barked at him. People ignored him completely as if he were invisible.

His feet were sore, his throat dry, and his heart heavy. Just when he was about to give up, he saw it. A tall, half-finished building, standing quietly at the edge of the road. The concrete skeleton rose against the orange sky, surrounded by tall mango trees that had grown wild. It looked deserted, forgotten by time. Emma’s heart jumped.

He went closer, moving carefully. The site was surrounded by a rusty zinc fence, but one part of it had a small opening. He squeezed through, his heart beating fast. Inside, it was quiet, cool air, empty rooms, and the soft sound of the wind moving through window holes. The floor was covered with sand and old cement bags.

But it was dry. It wasn’t perfect, but to a Mecca, it was heaven. He searched every corner until he found a small room on the ground floor, maybe once meant to be a store or office. It had a solid door, a small window, and clean walls. It was safe. It was private. It was perfect. His excitement burned through his tiredness.

He ran back toward the abandoned building, his heart racing with hope. But when he got there, his joy froze in his chest. Adonna was in pain. Her breathing was short, her face wet with sweat. She was groaning softly, clutching her belly. The baby was coming. Panic hit Emma like cold water. There was no time to think. We have to go, he said quickly, lifting her arm over his shoulder. I found somewhere.

She nodded weakly, too tired to speak. And so they moved. A small boy and a woman about to give birth, stumbling through the dark streets of Lagos. Street lights threw long shadows on their faces as they walked. Every few steps, Adana cried out softly. Every time, Emma whispered, “It’s okay, just a little more.

” His small body strained under her weight, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Something strong and fierce was burning inside him. a will to protect to fight for her. Finally, they reached the building. EA helped her through the gap in the fence, his arms shaking with effort. Inside, he led her to the small room he had found and helped her lie down on the pile of empty cement bags.

It wasn’t much, but it was shelter. Adana’s face was pale, her breath quick and shallow. Echa knelt beside her and took her hand in his. Her fingers were cold. It’s going to be okay,” he whispered, his voice trembling, but full of courage. “I’m here. I won’t leave you.” Maybe he was saying it to her. Maybe he was saying it to himself.

He didn’t know, but he meant every word. That night, in the dark corner of an unfinished building, with only the sound of the wind and the beating of their hearts, a boy of the streets became more than just a survivor. He became a protector, a friend, and the only light in a world that had forgotten them both. The air inside the small concrete store room was thick, thick with the smell of sweat, fear, and something raw and powerful.

It was the smell of childbirth. The place was dark and cramped with only one faint light. A candle that Emma had found weeks ago in a church dust bin. Its weak flame threw long, shaky shadows across the walls, making them look like ghosts dancing in pain. Adana lay on a pile of old cement bags, her whole body trembling. Every breath came with pain.

Every cry tore through the night like a knife. She wasn’t just in pain. She was fighting for life. Hers and her babies. Her screams filled the empty building, echoing through the hollow walls. The sound was both terrifying and beautiful. The sound of a new life trying to enter the world. 10-year-old Emma knelt beside her, holding her hand tightly.

He didn’t understand much about childbirth, but he understood fear. He could feel hers and his own pounding inside his chest. “Adana, you’re strong,” he whispered shakily. “You can do this. I’m here. I won’t leave you.” He kept saying the same thing again and again, hoping it would help.

But deep down, he knew his words were too small against her pain. He was just a boy, a street boy with nothing but a candle, a half bottle of water, and a heart that was breaking for the girl he cared about. Then Adana’s body stiffened with another sharp pain. She screamed, arching her back, her eyes wide and wet with fear. The baby, she cried out, her voice. It’s coming, Emma.

It’s coming now. Emma froze. His heart pounded like a drum. He didn’t know what to do. He had seen many things on the streets. Hunger, sickness, fights, but this was different. This was life and death. He looked around helplessly. The candle flickered, the shadows moved, and all he could hear were Adana’s cries. He needed help.

Someone older, someone who knew what to do. Then a face flashed in his mind. Mama Bi, the food seller under the Oolende Bridge. She was kind to him sometimes, giving him leftover rice or a smile when no one else did. She was a mother. She would know what to do. Adana, he said, his voice trembling but firm. I’m going to get help.

There’s a woman. Mama busy. She’ll help you. Adana’s eyes widened with panic. She grabbed his arm weakly. No, don’t leave me. Please, don’t go. I’ll be fast, he promised, swallowing the lump in his throat. Faster than a Danfo bus. Before you can even count to 100, I’ll be back. I swear.

He squeezed her hand one last time, then ran out of the dark storoom, through the half-built walls, and out into the night. The streets of Lagos at night were like a different world. The noise and chaos of the day were gone. The city was quiet but dangerous, like something waiting to happen. The air smelled of smoke and dirty gutters. But Amma didn’t care.

He ran barefoot, his legs burning, his heart pounding, his mind whispering, “Please, God, help her.” He dodged passing cars, their headlights slicing through the darkness. People still out at that hour gave him strange looks. But he didn’t stop. He ran until his chest felt like it would explode. Finally, he reached the Oelende under bridge.

The place was usually noisy, full of people and frying food smells, but now it was almost empty. The stalls shut and quiet. Then in the distance, he saw a small light, a lantern. It was coming from Maby’s stall. He sprinted to it and started banging on the wooden shutter. Mama Bissy. Mama Bissy, please. It’s me, Emma. There was silence for a few seconds.

Then a tired, suspicious voice came from inside. Who is that? What’s the matter? It’s me, Emma. The boy that helps you sometimes. Please open. I need your help. The shutter creaked open just a little. Mama BC peered out, her eyes half closed with sleep. Emma, what is it this time? What trouble have you gotten yourself into? It’s not me,” Emma said quickly, his voice breaking.

“It’s a woman. She’s having a baby right now. She’s in the old building near the mango trees. Please, Mama, she’s in pain. I don’t know what to do.” Mama BC frowned, trying to see if the boy was lying. But one look at his face. His trembling lips, his wide, desperate eyes told her the truth. “This wasn’t a game.

This was fear. Real fear. A woman giving birth?” she asked softly. Emma nodded hard. Yes, Mama, please. She’s alone. Please come. Mama BC sighed deeply. She had seen too many hard things in life, hunger, death, and the struggles of motherhood. She wasn’t a nurse, but she had helped deliver her daughter’s babies before. Her heart couldn’t let her ignore this.

“Wait here,” she said quickly, closing the shutter. Emma waited, bouncing on his feet, tears of panic burning his eyes. After a moment, the shutter opened again. Mama Bey stepped out with a bundle of things in her hands. A bucket of water, some clean wrappers, a small knife, a bottle of dele, and a large piece of cloth.

“Let’s go,” she said firmly. “Take me to her.” They hurried through the quiet streets together. Emma ran ahead barefoot and breathless while Mama Bi followed behind with quick, steady steps. Her presence gave him hope. For the first time that night, he didn’t feel completely alone.

When they reached the unfinished building, Emma pushed through the gap in the fence and led her inside. The candle was still burning faintly, and Adana’s cries echoed weakly in the dark. “Mama Bissy set down her things, rolled up her sleeves, and took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, my girl,” she said gently. “You’re not alone anymore.

” The air was heavy and hot, filled with the smell of sweat and fear. Adenna was on her hands and knees, crying out as another wave of pain tore through her. The sound coming from her lips wasn’t even words anymore. It was a deep, raw groan, the kind that came from the very soul. Mama Bissy took one look and immediately took charge. Something in her changed.

She was no longer just the food seller from under the bridge. She became a mother, a fighter, a midwife, and a leader all at once. Her calm but firm voice filled the air. bring that water,” she said quickly and light another candle. “We need more light here.” EMA jumped into action.

His hands were shaking, but he did as she said. He found another candle and lit it. The small flame brightened the room, throwing a warm glow over Adana’s sweaty, trembling face. Mama Bi dipped a clean cloth in the water and gently wiped Adana’s forehead. “My child,” she said softly, her tone now gentle. “You’re doing well. You’re strong. Listen to me. Take deep breaths.

Breathe in and out. When the pain comes, you push. You hear me? You push with all your strength. Hadana nodded weakly. Her eyes locked on the older woman’s face. There was something steady and comforting about Mama Bi, like a mother’s presence that promised, “You will not die here tonight.” The next hour felt endless.

The air was thick with the sounds of pain and effort. Adonna’s cries. Mama Bisci’s steady voice. Amecha’s quick footsteps as he fetched water or handed over a cloth. Emma stood by wideeyed and trembling, watching a miracle and a struggle unfold before him. He had seen hunger, sickness, and death on the streets. But this was different.

This was raw, powerful life, loud, painful, and beautiful. Then it happened. With one last desperate push, Adana screamed. A cry that shook the walls. And suddenly, there was silence. A heartbeat. Later, a tiny sound broke through that silence. A baby’s cry. A thin, shaky, but strong cry that filled the room with life.

Emma’s tears came instantly. He didn’t even understand why, only that something inside him had broken open. He had never felt anything like it before. Joy, relief, and wonder all mixed together. Mama Bi worked quickly and carefully. She cleaned the baby with gentle hands, her eyes soft but focused.

She took a small knife, held it over the candle flame to sterilize it, and then with one quick movement, cut the umbilical cord, separating mother and child. When she wrapped the baby in a clean cloth and placed him in Adana’s arms, the room felt holy.

Adana looked down at the tiny wrinkled face, her body trembling with exhaustion. And then she smiled. A weak but beautiful smile that made Amecha’s heartache. “A boy,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I have a son,” she looked at mecha through her tears. Her expression filled with so much gratitude it almost hurt to see. “Thank you, Emma,” she said softly. “Thank you.

” She looked down again at her baby, gently brushing her fingers over his tiny cheek. His name, she said after a pause, is Chamecha. She turned her eyes back to Mecha, a small smile on her lips. It means God has done well. It’s for you, for what you’ve done for us. Echa couldn’t speak. His throat was tight, and all he could do was nod, his eyes glistening with tears. Mama Bi began packing her things, her movements calm, but sure.

Before leaving, she turned to Acca and gave him a few clear instructions. Keep her warm. Make sure she drinks plenty of water. Keep the place clean. I’ll come back tomorrow with food and more things for the baby. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and said quietly, “You’re a good boy, Amecha, a brave one. But remember, this is only the beginning. It won’t be easy.” With that, she picked up her things and walked out into the night.

The scent of delests faded, leaving behind a warm silence. For the first time, that silence didn’t feel empty. It was peaceful, filled with the soft, steady breathing of Adana and her newborn child. The same rough, cold room that had once been a place of fear, now felt like a small sanctuary. Emma sat down on the dusty floor, his back against the wall, and watched them.

Adana had fallen into a deep sleep, her arm curled protectively around her baby. The little boy, Jameka, was sleeping, too. His tiny chest rising and falling. Mika stared at the baby’s small hands, his soft hair, the way his lips moved slightly as he dreamed. Something warm and powerful filled his chest, a feeling he had never known before.

It was love, a fierce, protective love that made him feel older than his ears. He wasn’t just Emma the street boy anymore. Not just a scavenger trying to survive. Tonight he had become something more. A brother, a protector, maybe even a father figure. He had a family now.

A small, fragile family born out of struggle and pain right there in a forgotten corner of Lagos. The weight of it was heavy, but it also gave his life new meaning. For the first time, he knew what it felt like to belong. He blew out the candles, leaving the room in soft darkness. Then he lay down on the floor a few feet from Adana and the baby. His body was tired, but his heart was full.

For the first time in a long while, Emma smiled before he drifted into sleep. He was home. The first week of baby Chamika’s life felt like a sacred dream. A small, fragile miracle inside the four gray old walls of the unfinished building. The world outside, loud, harsh, and dangerous, didn’t exist for them anymore.

Inside that unfinished building, life had slowed to the quiet rhythm of candle light, the soft sounds of a newborn’s breathing, and the gentle hum of Adana’s lullabies. Her voice was weak, but filled with love. The kind of love that could wrap around a child like a blanket. True to her promise, Mama Bi became their lifeline.

Every morning, just as the first rays of sunlight stretched through the broken window frames, she would appear, her wrapper tied tight, her steps steady, her hands full. In one hand, she carried a steaming pot of pepper soup. In the other, a small flask of hot water. “The soup is for you, my child,” she would tell Adana, placing the pot carefully beside her.

“You need to eat well so the baby can grow strong.” The rich aroma of fish, pepper, and herbs filled the little room. A smell that felt like comfort and hope. The hot water too was precious. It meant Adana could wash, could feel human again, even in the middle of that forgotten place. Everyday, Mama Bey would fuss over baby Chamea.

Her rough, hardworking hands would soften as she held him, her wrinkled face glowing with warmth. She showed Adana how to bathe the baby gently, how to wrap him tight, and how to calm him when he cried. She became their teacher, the quiet heartbeat of their new little world. Emma watched her with quiet awe. To him, Mama Bissy was like a guardian angel in a faded rapper. Strong, wise, and endlessly kind.

She seemed to know everything about babies, mothers, and survival. He felt a deep gratitude for her, one he couldn’t put into words. Emma’s own role had changed completely. He was no longer just a lonely street boy trying to feed himself. Now he was something more. A father, a protector, and a provider.

all trapped inside the small body of a 10-year-old boy. The weight of that responsibility sat heavy on him, but he wore it with pride. Each day followed the same rhythm. Before dawn, while Adana and Cha were still asleep, Emma would quietly slip out of the building and into the waking city. The streets of Lagos were his hunting ground.

He moved fast, eyes sharp, scanning for anything that could earn a few naira. Empty bottles, cans, scraps of metal. He had become an expert scavenger, knowing exactly where to search, which bins were richest, and which truck routes were worth following.

When he sold his collections at the recycling depot, the few coins he got were enough to keep them alive for another day. He’d then head to the market, carefully counting his earnings. He’d buy a loaf of bread, a handful of fruits, maybe a small plate of rice and stew if the money stretched that far. Water was always a must. Heavy bottles that dug into his small shoulders as he carried them home, sweating but determined.

In the afternoons, he did odd jobs. He washed windscreens at traffic lights, dodging between cars with his squeegee like a little warrior, his heart thumping as horns blared around him. Sometimes he carried bags for travelers at the bus parks. Other times he ran errands for the market women.

People began to notice him, the small boy with quick hands and honest eyes. Some ignored him, some shouted at him, but a few smiled and gave him extra coins. Touched by his sincerity, he learned to read faces to know when to beg, when to help, when to disappear. The streets taught him patience, courage, and humility.

By late afternoon, when his legs achd, and his stomach grumbled, Emma would head home, his reward waiting for him behind that broken fence. The sight of Adana and baby Chamea resting safely made every struggle worth it. Evenings were their happiest moments. They’d huddle close in the candle light. A strange but beautiful little family. Adana would feed the baby, humming softly.

Imika would sit nearby, eating quietly, his eyes filled with wonder as he watched the baby’s tiny hands move. Sometimes Adana would tell stories. Her voice was soft and her words painted pictures that Acca had never imagined. She spoke of her childhood in Banana Island, a place Emma had only heard about in passing.

She described big houses with shining floors, trimmed lawns, and swimming pools that sparkled like blue glass under the Sunday. She told him about her father, a proud, powerful man who loved her, but who was trapped by his own pride and family traditions, and her mother, kind, gentle, but taken too soon by sickness.

Then with tears in her eyes, she spoke of Chukui, her husband, the man whose name hung around her neck on a chain engraved on a small golden ring. She told Emma how they had fallen in love, married in secret, and shared a few beautiful months before tragedy struck. Her voice trembled as she revealed how Chukudi had died in a car crash she believed wasn’t an accident.

She was sure her own family had been behind it, punishing her for marrying a man they thought wasn’t good enough. They said he wanted my father’s money, she whispered, her voice shaking. But they were wrong, Emma. He loved me. Truly, after his death, Adonna found out she was pregnant.

But instead of helping her, her family turned against her completely, they disowned her, threw her out, and left her to suffer alone and pregnant on the streets of Legos. Amecha didn’t understand all the talk about family honor or social class, but he understood pain and he saw it in her eyes every time she spoke of her past. He admired her strength. Despite everything she had lost, she refused to give up. Days turned into weeks and soon a month passed.

Slowly, life began to find its rhythm again. The once cold, empty storeroom now felt like a home. Emma used his scavenging skills to make it better. An old mat for the floor, a small wooden crate for a table, and a few discarded clothes turned into curtains. The place was still poor, still rough, but it was theirs.

A small family hidden away from the world, trying to build a new one of their own. EMA had turned the empty storoom into something that almost felt like a home. He had found an old piece of foam tossed near a dump site, scrubbed it clean, and covered it with a piece of cloth. It became a small mattress for Adana and the baby. For a while, they had moments of peace.

Moments that made all the struggle worth it. The first time, baby smiled, flashing a tiny, toothless grin. Emma and Adana laughed until tears rolled down their cheek. The first time the baby wrapped his little hand around Emma’s finger, Emma felt a rush of love. so strong it almost frightened him. For that one small moment, the world outside didn’t matter.

They were a family, strange, broken, but happy, but their joy always carried a shadow. The fear of being found. The unfinished building that sheltered them was both a blessing and a trap. It was safe, yes, but it was also forbidden ground. They were squatters living in a place that could be taken from them at any time. That fear became real one hot afternoon.

Emma was returning from the market, his small arms filled with food and water when he saw them. Two security guards in neatly pressed uniforms walking slowly around the building. Their flashlights glinted off the walls. Their expressions were stern, watchful. Emma froze. His heart jumped to his throat. He quickly ducked behind a bush, his body trembling.

Had they been discovered? He watched as the guards walked closer. their voices low and serious. “We need to fix this fence,” one of them said, pointing to the narrow gap they used as their secret entrance. “We don’t want any area boys or junkies coming in here.” “Yeah,” the other agreed. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring wire and seal it up properly.

” “Huh?” Their footsteps echoed as they walked away, leaving Emma hidden, his breath coming fast and shallow. He waited until they were completely gone before sneaking through the fence again, his mind spinning in fear. Inside, Adana was already shaking. She had heard their voices too, her eyes were wide, her face pale. “I whispered, clutching the baby close. We have to leave.

It’s not safe anymore.” Amaha shook his head, trying to sound braver than he felt. “No, Adana, we’re safe here. I’ll fix it. I promise.” That night, when both Adana and the baby had fallen asleep, Emecha went outside alone. The moonlight washed over the building as he dragged a large rusted sheet of corrugated iron across the compound.

Bit by bit, he lifted and leaned it against the gap in the fence. It wasn’t perfect, but it would block the hole from sight and buy them a few seconds of warning if anyone tried to come through. When he was done, he sat on the ground, sweating and panting. He stared at his work. rough but strong and whispered, “We’re safe now.

” But as he sat there staring at the stars, a thought grew inside him. They couldn’t live like this forever. The guards would come back one day. The building could be demolished. The world outside wouldn’t wait for them. They needed a real home, somewhere secure, somewhere the baby could grow without fear. And for that they needed money more than Emma could ever earn from collecting plastic bottles or washing windshields.

He began to think differently. He started watching people more closely. The traders shouting in the market, the hawkers weaving between cars, the men fixing tires at street corners. Everyone was hustling. Everyone was trying to survive. He realized something important. People always needed small things.

water, snacks, chewing gum, things that could be bought and sold every day. Maybe that was where his hope lay. The Mecca made up his mind. He would no longer just be a scavenger. He would become a businessman. And that’s where we’ll pause the story for now. But believe me, this is just the beginning. The real twist is yet to come.

What happens next will leave you speechless. Secrets will be revealed, destinies will collide, and lives will change forever. So, if you’ve enjoyed this part of the tale, don’t forget to hit that subscribe button and turn on the notification bell. That way, you’ll be the first to know the moment the next chapter drops. Drop your thoughts in the comments, too.