CHAPTER ONE — The Night the Drums Fell Silent
The night the drums stopped in Ekun Village, the wind carried a strange sorrow.
It was supposed to be a night of celebration — the festival of the new yam — when laughter, dancing, and the smell of roasted maize filled the air. But by dawn, the same drums that sang of harvest would beat for mourning.
That night, he dreamed of a bird made of fire.
It perched on a tree and spoke in a voice that sounded like both his parents at once:
"Tunde, the world will throw stones at you, but you must build with them."
He woke up sweating, his small chest heaving. The lamp had gone out again, and Aunt Fadekemi's snores filled the hut like thunder. Outside, crickets whispered in the grass. He sat there for a long time, staring into the darkness, repeating the bird's words under his breath until sleep finally claimed him again.
From that night on, the boy who refused to die began to awaken inside him.
🌾 A Childhood of Ashes
The years rolled like dry leaves through harmattan wind. Tunde grew lean and quiet, with eyes that seemed older than his age. By nine, he had learned to fish, sweep, fetch water, and mend nets. He spoke little but listened to everything — the gossip of market women, the quarrels of men, the secrets the river told when no one was watching.
Children at the village school sometimes mocked him.
"Orphan boy! No father, no mother!"
He'd look at them with calm defiance and whisper, "But I'm still here."
Every word was a stone, and he built his walls with them.
🌧 The Stranger at the River
One humid evening, when the air smelled of wet earth, Tunde went to fetch water. There, by the riverbank, he saw a stranger — a tall man dressed in rags, carrying a small bag of charms. His eyes glowed like hot coals.
"Boy," the man called, "come here."
Tunde froze. The man smiled, showing broken teeth.
"Don't fear me. I am a traveler. I lost my way."
He asked for water, and Tunde gave it. When the man finished drinking, he looked at the boy again. "You have your father's eyes."
Tunde blinked. "You knew my father?"
"Yes," the stranger said, his gaze distant. "He was brave… and stubborn. Like you."
Before Tunde could ask more, the man placed a small cowrie shell in his palm. "Keep this. It will remind you that not all who are lost stay lost forever." Then he walked into the forest, swallowed by the shadows.
Tunde never saw him again. But from that day, he began wearing the cowrie around his neck — a charm of courage and memory.
🌅 The Breaking Point
Aunt Fadekemi's husband died suddenly of fever, and she grew bitter, lashing out at everything — especially Tunde.
"You're a curse!" she screamed one night, throwing a cooking spoon at him. "Ever since you came, death has not left this house!"
The words cut deeper than any slap.
By dawn, Tunde packed a small calabash with roasted yam, tied his mother's old wrapper around it, and walked away before anyone woke. He didn't look back. He just followed the road — the one that led toward Ijebu, the nearest town he'd heard of.
His bare feet bled on the gravel. He slept under trees, drank from muddy streams, and ate fruits plucked from strangers' farms. Sometimes, he talked to the cowrie around his neck.
"If I die," he whispered, "then at least I tried to live."
But he didn't die.
He refused to.
🌙 The Road to Ijebu
After three days of walking, hunger nearly defeated him. He stumbled upon a roadside fire where an old woman was roasting plantains. The smell pulled him forward like a rope.
"Ehen, small boy, are you a thief?" the woman asked, seeing his sunken eyes.
"No, ma," he said weakly. "I'm just hungry."
Her heart softened. "Sit. Eat."
That was how Mama Kike entered his story — the woman who would become his first ray of kindness since childhood. She gave him food, a mat to sleep on, and work helping her sell plantains. She taught him to smile again.
For the first time in years, Tunde laughed. He even began calling her Mama.
But peace in Tunde's world never lasted long.
⚡️ Foreshadow of Fire
At the market, he often noticed a group of rough boys who bullied smaller traders, collecting "protection money" for someone they called Sunkanmi. Tunde avoided them — until one day, they demanded Mama Kike's earnings.
"Old woman, pay up!" one sneered.
"I don't have money to waste on you," she snapped.
When one of them shoved her, Tunde jumped forward, punching the boy square in the nose. The others turned on him. A fight broke out, wild and desperate. Tunde fought like a cornered animal. When it was over, one of the boys was bleeding, and the rest ran off cursing.
Mama Kike was proud, but she warned him, "You've made enemies, my son. Be careful."
That night, as the crickets sang and the wind rustled the palms, a dark figure stood watching their hut from the shadows.
And thus began the chain of fire, betrayal, and vengeance that would shape the boy who refused to die.