TERO MANDEM Subtitle: From Street Boss to Saved Soul

CHAPTER 5: THE COMEBACK

When you’ve been to the bottom—like, really touched it—every step upward feels like a second chance.

That’s where I was. Down. Washed. Abandoned. Betrayed.

But you know what they say: pressure no dey kill diamond, e dey make am shine.

And me? I was born to shine.

The whole game shifted the moment Kultera came into the picture.

Funny thing is, Kultera wasn’t even someone I used to rock heavy with back in school. We were in the same class at GCI for like two years, and bro was that quiet, glasses-wearing, library-type. Me? I was already writing bars in my exercise books and skipping class for studio corners.

But life spins weird.

I don’t know how he heard I was in heat with the law, but one day, I got a call.

“Tero,” the voice said, “you dey remember me? Kultera.”

I paused. “Wait—Kobby? Kobby ‘the Book’? You be lawyer now?”

He chuckled. “Barrister K. I hear you dey go through eish. Let’s talk.”

Next thing I knew, I was sitting in an office somewhere in Ridge, leather seats, cold AC, Kultera in a tailored grey suit with court files in front of him. Man had grown — calm, sharp, confident. His words were precise like a scalpel.

“Your case… it’s messy. But I see loopholes.”

He explained how the police had violated certain rights. How they had no warrant for some of the raids. How their evidence couldn’t hold in court.

“But I need you clean, Tero. I can’t defend a guilty man.”

I looked him dead in the eye.

“I’m not innocent, bro. But I didn’t do half of what they say. And I’m tired of running.”

He nodded.

“Then let’s win this.”

And win it, we did.

It took five months.

Court sessions, media noise, street whispers, fear, and near-mental collapse. But Kultera stayed solid. Like a brother I never had. He ripped the prosecution apart, broke down their ‘evidence’, exposed lies in witness testimonies.

When the judge finally dismissed the charges, it felt like someone had cut open the sky and poured light on my face.

I walked out of that courtroom not as a free man—but as a man with a second shot.

And I knew exactly what to do with it.

First thing I did? I went home.

Not to my mother—she was long gone. I went to the homes of my brothers.

Lovelone.

Problem.

O Von.

O Don.

Biggie.

I went one by one. No gang, no crowd. Just me and my voice.

Sometimes I had to knock twice.

Sometimes, they didn’t want to see me.

But I apologized.

I explained everything.

The fear. The stress. The confusion.

Some of them broke down.

Some hugged me.

Others just nodded.

But at the end of the run, they all came back.

We didn’t come back the same, though.

We came back smarter.

No more wild moves.

No more random wars.

Kultera gave me more than legal advice—he gave me a blueprint. He said if we were going to survive the streets and still chase this music, we had to move with structure.

So we set new rules.

We called them Kul’s Code.

Kul’s Code – Street Order for the Mandem:

1. No snitching. Ever. Even if the world collapses.

2. No unnecessary war. Beef only when cornered.

3. Money first. Emotion later.

4. Every move must have a fallback.

5. Protect the weakest link. The crew is only as strong as its quietest soldier.

6. Loyalty isn’t talked about. It’s proved.

7. The brand is the dream. Never forget the music.

8. When one eats, all eat. No one left behind.

9. We break bread. We don’t break each other.

10. Mandem moves like shadows—real ones never announce.

From that day, we started again—not from zero, but from experience.

We went back into the studio—not high, not reckless. Focused.

Every line we dropped carried pain and power.

People could feel the growth in our music.

And when we finally dropped our next track—“Tears from Lapaz”—it was over.

That song didn’t just trend. It roared. Street corners, taxis, girls in hostels, barbershops—everybody was singing it.

We told the real story.

Of betrayal, of police trouble, of our comeback.

And the streets listened.

But with the fame came the fire.

Other gangs started watching again. Especially Blocc9 from Mallam. They felt like we were claiming territory through music. Even called us “false prophets with microphones.”

But this time, we didn’t reply with knives or bars.

We let the silence answer.

And that scared them more.

We weren’t saints.

We still had edge. Still rolled deep sometimes.

But this time, we were organized. Like soldiers, not bandits.

We stopped hustling petty drugs.

We started putting our money into merch, digital streams, building a small label. Mandem Music Syndicate (MMS).

Lovelone handled promotions.

O Don took studio management.

Problem and Biggie dealt with street protection.

I stayed front—face of the movement. Voice of the gang.

And through it all, I kept Kultera close.

He was more than just our lawyer.

He became part of the Mandem story.

The takeover wasn’t loud.

It was smooth.

Calculated.

Like a lion creeping through the bush.

We didn’t just want fame.

We wanted legacy.

And finally, we were on that path.