Bright future:The Billionaire's Revenge

Escape To Lagos

The night after the slap, Damian did not sleep. His mother's face was swollen. She was sleeping on the floor, crying in her sleep. Austin was snoring loudly in the small room like nothing happened.

Damian stared at the leaking roof. He was only 12 years old but he felt like a 40-year-old man. The words of the neighbors were still ringing in his head. "No one knows what this boy can become tomorrow."

At 4am, Jayeola woke up as usual to fetch water. Damian pretended to sleep. When she left the house with her bucket, Damian stood up. He packed his only two shirts into a small nylon bag. He took his school notebook and a small picture of his mother.

He wrote a small note on a paper and kept it under his mother's pillow.

"Mama, forgive me. I am going to Lagos to find our future. I will come back as a billionaire. I promise no one will slap you again. - Your son, Damian."

Then he ran.

He ran barefoot through the village bush path. He did not look back because if he looked back, he would cry.

He trekked for six hours until he reached the main road. There, trailers and buses were passing to Lagos. Damian had only 500 naira that his mother gave him for biscuits. He used it to enter a crowded bus going to Lagos. He hid at the back, scared.

When the bus entered Lagos, Damian's mouth opened. He had never seen such a place. Tall buildings, bright lights, fast cars, too many people shouting. The village was quiet, but Lagos was noisy and dangerous.

He came down at Ojota. He had no phone, no address, no family. He only knew one name — his mother's distant cousin who once said she sells clothes in Yaba market. But he could not find her.

First day in Lagos, he slept under a bridge at Oshodi. Mosquitoes ate him. Area boys came and took his nylon bag. He fought them but they beat him. He lost his two shirts. He was left with only the clothes on his body and his mother's picture.

Second day, he begged for work. "Uncle, please, I can clean your shop. I can wash plates." Nobody wanted a small village boy.

On the third day, hungry and crying, he entered a big restaurant called "Chief's Place" in Ikeja. He met a kind Yoruba woman, Mama T.

Mama T looked at his thin body and swollen eyes. "Who are you? Where is your mother?"

Damian cried, "I want to work, ma. I will do anything."

Mama T pitied him and gave him a job as a cleaner. Salary: 15,000 naira per month, plus food and a small corner to sleep at the back of the restaurant.

For Damian, it was heaven. He woke up at 5am, swept the whole restaurant, washed plates, cleaned toilets, threw away trash. Customers insulted him. Some called him "small houseboy." Some poured water on him.

But Damian never complained. Every night, after work, he opened his notebook. Under the dim light in the kitchen, he was reading his old school books. He was still studying JSS 1 topics while his mates in the village were playing.

One evening, a very big car, a black Rolls Royce, parked in front of the restaurant. A 75-year-old man came down, wearing expensive agbada. He had police escorts. He was Chief Williams, the owner of Williams Oil & Gas, one of the richest men in Nigeria.

Chief Williams entered the restaurant with his assistant. He was not happy. He was coughing badly.

Damian quickly rushed to clean his table. Chief Williams looked at the small boy.

"Boy, bring me water," Chief said weakly.

Damian ran and brought cold water and a clean towel. While other workers were scared of the billionaire, Damian was not. He stood beside him with concern.

Chief suddenly held his chest and started shaking. He was having a heart attack. His assistant shouted, "Chief! Chief! Call doctor!"

Everyone in the restaurant panicked and ran away. Nobody wanted to touch the billionaire.

But Damian did not run. He remembered what his mother taught him about village herbs for chest pain. He quickly laid Chief on the floor, loosened his agbada, and started pressing his chest gently as he saw on TV. He shouted, "Someone call ambulance! Now!"

He kept pressing and talking to Chief, "Sir, breathe, breathe, don't die, sir."

For five minutes, Damian kept him alive until the ambulance came.

At the hospital in Ikeja, doctors said, "If not for this small boy, Chief would have died before we came."

Chief Williams woke up after two hours. First thing he asked was, "Where is the small boy who saved me?"

Damian was standing at the hospital door, still holding his cleaning mop, his shirt dirty.

Chief looked at him for a long time. Tears came to Chief's eyes. The boy reminded him of someone. The shape of his eyes, his nose.

"Boy, what is your name?" Chief asked softly.

"My name is Damian, sir," Damian replied.

"Who is your mother?"

"My mother is Jayeola, sir. She lives in the village."

Chief's hand started shaking. Jayeola. That was the name of his only daughter who ran away 13 years ago because he forced her to marry a rich man. She ran away with a poor man named Austin. He had been searching for her for 13 years.

Chief shouted to his assistant, "Bring me the old picture! Now!"

The assistant brought a picture from Chief's wallet. It was a picture of a young girl. It was Jayeola, 13 years ago.

Damian looked at the picture and shouted, "That's my mama!"