The road to the next community meeting was quiet, but Uzo's heart was louder than any market square. He walked alone, not because the others didn't want to join, but because he had asked them to stay behind.
"I need to walk this alone" he had told Adaeze. "I'm feeling blinded"
"Hear from who?" she asked.
"I don't know yet."
The path curved past a row of old mango trees. The sun was not harsh, but there was heat in the air, like the ground itself was thinking. Uzo paused once to sip from his bottle of water. Then he saw the man.
Old. Sitting on a bench made from faded cement blocks. Wrapped in a wrapper that had seen too many rainy seasons. His eyes followed Uzo like they had been waiting all morning.
"You dey go where dem gather?" the man asked.
Uzo nodded slowly. "Yes. But I'll get there later."
"Good. Sit down small," the old man said, tapping the space beside him.
Uzo sat.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then the man said, "I know the flame around you. I saw it before."
Uzo turned. "Flame?"
"Ọkụ. The fire that hides those who still carry the weight of their ancestors' promises."
Uzo didn't know what to say.
"You think you are just doing youth talk," the man said. "But what you are doing is waking old covenants. Things buried when the land grew quiet. You are not here by chance."
Uzo looked down. "I never asked for this."
The man chuckled softly. "Ọkụ does not wait for permission. He waits for courage."
Uzo said nothing.
"You were covered in the market that day. Do you remember? When the fight broke out, and people expected you to react. But your silence held them. That silence was not weakness. It was shadow. The kind Ọkụ gives to warriors before they rise."
Uzo took a deep breath. "But I'm not a warrior."
"You are," the man replied, eyes fixed on him. "You just haven't entered your next fire."
There was a long pause.
Then Uzo asked, "Why me?"
"Because someone must remember. Someone must refuse to fold. And it will always be the one who feels unready."
Uzo stood slowly. "Thank you."
As he turned to go, the man called out, "Do not shout when the fire speaks. Follow."
At the meeting, the hall was noisy. The rival leader, Chief Ifeanyi, sat at the front, his boys lining the walls like guards. He spotted Uzo at once and smiled in that way powerful people smile when they want to own your story.
"Ah, our small but mighty!" Chief Ifeanyi said aloud. "You came."
Uzo nodded but said nothing.
Chief Ifeanyi stood. "Let us welcome him. The young man who is turning this city into a parade ground. But tell me, can words replace experience? "
The room murmured. Some laughed.
Uzo stepped forward. Calm.
"I agree with the Chief," he began.
The room went quiet.
He continued, "Words without wisdom burns fast. But wisdom without words sleeps forever. I have never claimed to replace anyone. Only to rise where gaps were left."
Someone clapped. Then another.
Uzo looked around. "We are not building against anyone. We are building for those who have waited too long. Youths with hands full of skill but no voice. Girls with sharp minds but no room at the table. Boys with talent but nowhere to practice it. So we built places."
He paused.
"Not palaces. Just places. Where they can stand. And be seen. And grow."
Chief Ifeanyi shifted slightly.
Uzo faced him. "Sir, you once said you believed in the next generation. I am one of them. I ask you not to fight what you asked for."
Chief Ifeanyi smiled thinly. "Talk sweet. But let us see how far talk can go."
After the meeting, Ikenna found Uzo outside, standing by the parked cars.
"You shook him," Ikenna said.
"I don't want to shake him. I want him to stop standing in the way."
Ikenna nodded. "Adaeze said to come get you. There's something you need to see."
At the youth center, they met a boy outside. Small, maybe fourteen. His right eye swollen. His shirt torn. He sat on the ground like someone waiting for nothing.
"He's from one of our evening classes," Adaeze explained. "Someone beat him for speaking up about our program. Said we were misleading children."
Uzo knelt by the boy. "What's your name?"
"Pascal," the boy whispered.
"Who hit you?"
Pascal hesitated. "My uncle."
"Why?"
"He said you people are trying to turn us against our parents."
Uzo exhaled slowly.
He looked at Adaeze. "Bring him inside."
That night, Uzo lit a single candle in the prayer corner of the youth center. He sat on the mat and closed his eyes.
He whispered only one word. "Ọkụ."
And then waited.
He did not hear a voice. But his breath slowed. His mind became clear. And a picture formed in his heart. Not of power. Not of revenge. But of planting. Of going deeper, not louder.
He opened his eyes and said, "Then we plant more. Even if they slap the soil, we plant more."
The next day, Adaeze and Ikenna entered to find Uzo writing.
"What's that?" Adaeze asked.
"A schedule," he said.
"For what?"
"To reach ten more centers. With fewer signs, fewer speeches. Just people. People carrying light. Quietly."
Ikenna looked surprised. "You really want to go that deep?"
Uzo nodded. "If they want noise, let them keep the stages. We'll take the ground."
Adaeze smiled. "Then let's move."
And so they did.
Quietly.
But with fire.