The Almighty Garbage Collector: Reclaiming My Throne

In Lagos City, your money decides if you are a human being or actual trash. If you look up, you see massive glass skyscrapers where the rich people live. If you look down, you see the muddy streets where people like me clean up after them. The gap between these two worlds is too wide to cross.

Right now, my legs felt like they were going to break. I carried another heavy crate of expensive champagne into the brightly lit hall. This was the sixty-first birthday party for my mother-in-law, Mrs. Bello. The hall was full of wealthy guests wearing clothes that cost more than I could make in five years. They looked at my faded shirt and moved away, as if my poverty could spread like a disease.

I did not care about their mean looks. I only cared about the small envelope in my pocket. Inside was a tiny wooden charm. I spent three weeks carving it out of a rare piece of wood I found while working my second job as a garbage collector. I polished it until it was completely smooth. I hoped it would make Mrs. Bello happy enough to help me.

"Tunde! Where have you been?"

My wife, Ronke, walked up to me. She looked beautiful in her bright red dress, but her eyes were cold. She did not look at the sweat dripping down my face. She only looked at the silver tray in my hands.

"The guests are waiting for more drinks," she said, her voice sharp. "Do not embarrass me tonight. My friends from social media are watching everything. If they see my husband looking like a poor servant, I will never forgive you.

"I am trying, Ronke," I said softly. "I just wanted to give your mother her birthday gift. And maybe we can ask her about the loan for Ife after that? The hospital called again today. If I do not pay the next bill, they will stop giving her the medicine.

Ronke rolled her eyes. She clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Always about Ife. My mother's birthday is a happy day. Do not ruin it with your family's endless problems. If your sister is sick, that is your bad luck. Go and serve the guests.

She did not wait for my answer. She turned around to take a picture with a group of rich women, laughing and pretending her life was perfect. It hurt to see her act this way. We had been married for two years, but ever since she started hanging out with the wealthy crowd on Lagos Island, she treated me like a mistake she wanted to erase.

I took a deep breath and walked toward the main table. My fourteen-year-old sister, Ife, was the only family I had left. She was stuck in a cold hospital bed, fighting for her life. I worked two jobs, slept only three hours a night, and picked up heavy bags of trash just to buy her more time. Mrs. Bello had millions of Naira. A small loan from her would save Ife. I had to try.

Mrs. Bello sat in a large gold chair at the center of the room. She was covered in expensive gold jewelry, and her face was proud. When I approached her table, her smile disappeared instantly.

"Why is he here?" Mrs. Bello asked, looking at Ronke. "I told you not to let your garbage-man husband near my guests. He makes the whole room look cheap."

The guests nearby laughed loudly. My face burned with shame, but I forced myself to bow.

"Happy birthday, Ma," I said. I carefully pulled the wooden charm out of my pocket and placed it on the table. "I made this for you. It is a lucky charm. I spent three weeks carving it. It brings peace and long life to whoever holds it.

Mrs. Bello did not even touch it. She picked it up with two fingers, looking at it with deep disgust.

"A piece of wood?" she said, her voice rising so everyone could hear. "You gave me a piece of wood for my birthday? Tunde, you really are an idiot."

"Ma, it is rare wood," I explained quickly, my hands shaking. "It took a lot of effort to make.

"I do not care about your effort," she cut me off. She threw the wooden charm straight into a plastic trash bin next to her chair. It hit the bottom with a loud thud. "Get this streetside garbage out of my sight. My guests brought gold and land documents. Your gift belongs where you found it. In the trash.

More people laughed. I looked at Ronke, hoping she would say something to defend me. But she just stood there, laughing along with her mother. She looked at me as if I were a piece of dirt on her expensive shoes.

My heart felt completely empty. I realized then that these people did not have a good heart. No matter how hard I worked, they would always treat me like garbage.

"Mom is right," Ronke said, stepping forward. She did not look like my wife anymore. She looked like a stranger who wanted to destroy me. "You are an embarrassment, Tunde. I am tired of waiting for you to become someone. I am tired of your sick sister draining every single Kobo we have.

"Ronke, how can you say that?" I asked. My voice was tight. "Ife is a child."

"I do not care," Ronke said coldly. She reached into her small designer bag and pulled out a thick white envelope. She did not hesitate. She slammed the papers inside right onto my chest. "Sign these. We are done.

I looked down at the bold letters at the top of the page: DIVORCE AGREEMENT.

Before I could even speak, the heavy glass doors of the hall swung open. A tall man walked in, wearing a suit that looked like it cost ten thousand dollars. The entire room went completely quiet, and then everyone started clapping. It was Young Master Babajide, the richest heir in the city.

Ronke's face lit up with joy. She did not look at me again. Instead, she ran straight to Babajide and grabbed his arm, pulling him toward me with a cruel smile. Babajide looked at my faded clothes, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a sparkling diamond necklace that made everyone gasp. He looked at me like I was a bug he wanted to crush under his shoe.

"Is this the loser you told me about?" Babajide asked. He tossed the necklace to Mrs. Bello, who caught it with a big smile. Then he turned to look at me, his eyes full of pride. "He looks like he belongs in a dumpster.

Ronke laughed and pressed her body against his arm. "Yes, Babajide. He is nothing compared to you. He just brought my mother a useless piece of wood from the streets."

Babajide smiled and took a step closer to me. He raised his heavy leather shoe and placed it directly on top of my old canvas shoes, pressing down hard until I felt the pain.

"Hey, trash man," Babajide said, his voice full of malice. "Your wife belongs to me now. If you do not sign those papers right now, I will make sure the hospital kicks your sister out tonight.

My body went completely still. The papers were in my hand, and his foot was on my shoe.