Dapo Ekwueme loved the sound of a workshop in full swing. The hiss of the welding torch, the rhythmic clang of hammers against steel; it was the sound of things being built.
But today, the workshop was too quiet.
It was December 31st. In Warri, the air was thick with woodsmoke and the sharp crack of “knockouts” from neighborhood kids. Everyone was in “Cross-over” mode, but Dapo was stuck in a different kind of transition.
“Oga Dapo,” Efe, his foreman, walked up, wiping grease onto a stained rag. “The boys dey ask about the balance for the month. You know tomorrow na January 1.”
Dapo nodded, staring at a half-finished storage tank. “I know, Efe. I’m just waiting for the client to flip the invoice.”
“Client go flip invoice today?” Efe asked, skeptical. “For this Nigeria? Everybody don travel go village since.”
Dapo didn’t answer because his phone chose that exact moment to vibrate. It wasn’t the client. It was an automated alert from his bank.
DEBIT ADVICE: ₦850,000 (Interest Charge).
The breath caught in his throat. That was his payroll. That was the money for the steel rods he needed to finish the tank. The bank didn’t care about the holiday; their system was a relentless clock that never stopped ticking.
By 2:00 PM, Dapo was in a cramped bank office in Effurun. The AC was blowing directly on his neck, but he was still sweating.
“Mr. Ekwueme, I understand the project is delayed,” the loan officer said, not looking up from her screen. “But the terms were clear. This is a commercial facility. The interest compounds if the monthly target isn’t met.”
“But the delay was from the port,” Dapo explained, keeping his voice level. “If you could just restructure this, maybe a partnership model? I have the contracts. We can share the profit when the client pays, instead of you charging me for money I haven’t even used to work yet.”
The woman finally looked up with a mix of pity and boredom. “We don’t do ‘partnerships’ here, sir. We do loans. And the bank doesn’t share risk. I’m very sorry but if you can’t pay, we’ll have to mark the site for recovery.”
Dapo walked out into the dusty Warri afternoon. He felt smaller than he had that morning. He looked at a woman selling roasted corn by the roadside, laughing with a customer, and for a moment he envied her. Her business was simple; she bought corn, she sold corn. No “compounding” shadows following her home.
His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number.
“Construction shouldn’t feel like a punishment, Dapo.”
He stopped walking. The hairs on his arms stood up. He typed back. “Who is this?”
“Someone who is moved by what you are going through. I have a project in Lagos that needs a fabricator who actually knows his math. No bank involvement. We provide the materials, you provide the expertise. We share the final profit 60/40.”
Dapo leaned against a parked car. It sounded like a lifeline.
“Why me?” he typed.
“Because the people you currently owe are the same people trying to kill your business. Meet me tonight in Lagos. There’s someone waiting at the airport with a ticket for you, and there’ll be someone waiting in Lagos to pick you up.”
Dapo told Efe he was going to settle a “dispute” with a supplier. He didn’t even go home to pack. He just took his laptop and headed for the airport.
By 10:30 PM, he was in the heavy humidity of Lagos. At the airport, a driver in a dark suit was holding a placard with his name.
“Mr. Ekwueme? This way, please.”
As they drove through the empty, holiday-quiet streets, Dapo noticed a black SUV following them. It didn’t try to overtake. It just remained directly behind them, like a chaperone.
“Is that your security?” Dapo asked.
“They belong to the house you’re visiting,” the driver replied smoothly.
They pulled into a compound in Ikoyi that looked more like a fortress than a home. High walls, silent guards. As the car stopped, the front door of the mansion opened. A tall man stepped out, his silhouette framed by the warm glow of the foyer.
Dapo’s phone chirped one last time.
“Step inside, Dapo. Let’s close that loan ledger and clear your books.”
As the first fireworks of the New Year exploded over the Lagos lagoon, Dapo stepped into the house. He didn’t know it yet, but once the Order closes one ledger, they usually open another. He had just traded a debt he couldn’t pay for a debt he would never be allowed to settle.
Your ability to find silver lining in any situation is truly inspiring