The evening was quiet, yet everyone felt the noise under the silence. Inside the small meeting room, Uzo sat at the edge of his chair, fingers locked tightly. A brown envelope lay untouched on the table before them. It was thick and sealed.
Adaeze looked at it like it might speak.
"He said it's a gift," Ikenna said. "No strings attached. Just support for the youth center."
Uzo did not answer immediately.
Ngozi leaned forward. "But he also said we must inform him before any large project. That we work 'in alignment' with his foundation's values."
"Which means," Zuby added, "if we plan say na protest or rally, and e no match him own vibe, we go hold am?"
"Exactly," Adaeze said.
Uzo finally spoke. "Freedom cannot be a gift if it arrives with a leash."
Ikenna nodded slowly. "But what if the leash is soft? What if it only tugs once in a while? We are struggling, Uzo. One working printer at the center, no fuel, two broken chairs. This money could change all that."
Uzo turned to face him. "Then let us decide now. Are we building a movement or managing an office?"
Zuby chuckled bitterly. "You sabi say if we reject this money, people go call us ungrateful. Like say we get pride."
"We must not build on pride," Uzo said. "But neither can we survive on permission."
Silence settled like dust.
Ngozi tapped the table lightly. "There is something else. The man who sent this… he's been talking to other community heads. Saying we are 'young but need structure.' His words are spreading."
"So it is not just money," Adaeze said. "It is a soft takeover."
Uzo stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the streetlight flickered over puddles from last night's rain. Somewhere in the distance, children were laughing. Their voices floated like smoke.
"Do we have any other offers?" he asked.
"No," Ngozi said. "But people are watching. If we take this, they might follow. If we reject it, some will respect us. Others will disappear."
"What about Oku?" Zuby said quietly.
Everyone turned.
"What about Him?" Adaeze asked gently.
Zuby shrugged. "All I know is say, before we start, Uzo dey always say make we move calm. Say the way go show. Now we dey rush take money because things dey hard. Wetin if this money na test?"
No one answered.
Uzo returned to the table. He placed his hand gently on the envelope. "Oku does not shout. He whispers. And in the silence of this choice, I hear Him asking one question."
Ikenna leaned forward. "Which is?"
"Are you still free?"
Adaeze closed her eyes. "That's the whole matter."
Uzo opened the envelope and removed the cheque. The figure made Zuby exhale sharply.
"Three million naira," he whispered.
They stared at it.
Uzo looked at each of them. "We need funds. Yes. But I would rather we plant seeds and grow slowly than eat what will chain us."
"What will you do?" Ngozi asked.
He picked up a pen and turned the cheque over. With clear strokes, he wrote across the back: Thank you. But freedom must be protected. Keep your support, not our spirit.
Zuby whistled low.
Adaeze looked down at her hands. "People will say we are foolish."
"They said the same when we started," Uzo said.
"And they were right?" Ikenna asked, half smiling.
"They were wrong," Uzo replied. "Because they measured success in quick progress. We measure it in lasting impact."
He tore the cheque in half.
Then into quarters.
Then into pieces so small that no amount of tape could put them back together.
They watched in silence as the pieces dropped into the wastebasket.
Ngozi stood. "Then we work with what we have."
Adaeze nodded. "And who we are."
That night, the team walked home together. No big speeches. Just tired feet and quiet hearts. When they got to the main junction, Uzo stopped.
"I want to go the rest of the way alone."
"Are you sure?" Ikenna asked.
Uzo nodded.
As the others left, he walked toward the unlit side road that passed behind the central well. He had taken this path many times before, but tonight the road felt different.
He paused near a mango tree, closed his eyes, and whispered, "Oku, I know You see me. This path is hard. But I would rather walk it with You than run it with riches."
A sudden breeze stirred the leaves. Gentle, but sure. It moved through his shirt like the hand of a father. Not a reply. But a presence.
He opened his eyes and smiled.
The journey ahead was not going to be easy. The center needed repairs. The volunteers needed transport stipends. Their workshops had outgrown their borrowed space. But they still had hands. They still had passion. And they still had Him.
He kept walking.
Not because the road was clear.
But because his heart was.