NEPA brought the light at exactly 5:12 a.m.
The sudden hum of the ceiling fan cut through the heavy silence of the room, and Zara Daniels opened her eyes before she even understood why.
For a few seconds, she lay still, staring at the cracked ceiling above her mattress. Then her mother's voice followed, sharp and urgent.
"Zara! Light don come oh. Wake up now, before dem take am!"
Zara shut her eyes again for half a second, hoping maybe she had imagined it. But the fan was still spinning, slicing the air in uneven circles.
She pushed herself up slowly, her back stiff from the thin mattress. The wall clock opposite her blinked weakly.
5:15 a.m.
Her stomach tightened.
Too early to relax.
Too late to pretend today wasn't important.
She swung her legs over the bed and stood. The floor was cold under her feet. She folded her wrapper neatly and stepped into the small living room.
The iron was already plugged in. Heat rose from it in waves. Her mother moved around the room quickly, adjusting curtains, straightening the chairs, doing three things at once as usual.
Her wrapper was tied tightly around her waist, and her headscarf looked like it had been fixed in a hurry.
"You wan go Island abi you wan miss road?"
her mother asked without turning. "Traffic no dey wait for anybody oo."
"I'm coming," Zara replied quietly.
She picked up her blouse from the back of a chair and laid it carefully on the small ironing board. It wasn't new.
None of her clothes were new. But she had washed them carefully the night before, scrubbing the collar and sleeves until her fingers hurt. She pressed the iron down gently, smoothing each fold like someone would inspect it closely.
From the bedroom, her younger sister's voice floated out.
"Mummy, but today is the deadline."
Their mother didn't slow down.
"Anita, abeg go like that. Dem no go pursue you."
"But Mummy—"
"I say go! When I come back from shop, I go give you the remaining balance. Even if dem talk, just beg dem small."
Silence filled the flat for a moment.
Then a low sigh. "Okay."
Zara's hand froze on the iron.
She didn't look toward the room. She didn't speak. She just stood there, listening to Anita move around, the sound of her bag being dragged across the floor. The zipper opened. Closed. Opened again.
"And when you come back from school," their mother added, voice softer now, "pass market come help me small for shop."
"I know," Anita replied.
Flat. Tired.
Zara swallowed and pressed the iron down again. The heat rose to her face, mixing with something heavier in her chest. She told herself not to think too much.
Today was not the day to feel emotional.
She finished ironing, unplugged the iron quickly before the light disappeared again, and rushed back into her room to dress. The blouse fit neatly.
The skirt hugged her hips in a way she hoped looked confident and not desperate. She adjusted it twice in the mirror.
By the time she stepped back into the living room, the bulb flickered once.
Twice.
Then darkness.
Her mother clicked her tongue sharply. "I knew it."
Zara forced a small smile. "At least we use am small."
Her mother looked at her properly now, eyes scanning her from head to toe.
"You look fine," she said. Then she adjusted Zara's collar slightly. "Talk well. Answer questions sharp sharp. No look confused."
"I won't."
"And no let anybody pressure you."
Zara nodded.
She went back into her room to pick up her handbag. Inside: her phone, a small notepad, one pen that worked sometimes, and three folded copies of her CV. She checked them again, smoothing the edges.
Her phone buzzed just as she stepped outside.
Nancy.
She answered immediately.
"Zara! Babe, today is the day oh," Nancy's voice came bright and loud, like she had already been awake for hours. "You don leave house?"
"I'm just stepping out," Zara said, locking the door behind her. "I'm so nervous."
"Nervous ke? You that finished with 2:1? Abeg. You'll be fine."
Zara laughed softly. "It's not about result. It's Lagos."
Nancy laughed too. "True. But still. You go do well. Awfar, you don sabi Island like that?"
"I don't oo," Zara admitted. "Abeg direct me."
"Okay. Enter bus wey dey go Oshodi first. From Oshodi, find bus wey dey go Obalende or CMS. From there you go see another one to Lekki Phase 1."
Zara slowed her steps, trying to memorize everything.
"When you reach the roundabout, look for one blue gate building. Glass front. You no fit miss am."
"Wait, wait," Zara said quickly. "Blue gate, glass front…"
"I'm rushing too," Nancy said. "My own interview na tomorrow but I still get somewhere to go this morning. I go call you later. You've got this."
The call ended before Zara could say anything else.
She stared at her phone for a second, then slipped it into her bag.
The street outside was already alive. Conductors shouted destinations like they were competing for a prize.
"Oshodi! Oshodi straight!"
"CMS! CMS! One chance!"
Hawkers moved between cars with bread, sachet water, gala, fried akara wrapped in paper. The smell of fried oil mixed with dust and exhaust fumes.
Zara joined the small crowd waiting at the bus stop. A danfo screeched to a halt, and people rushed toward it at once.
"Enter enter! No time!" the conductor shouted.
She squeezed in, barely finding space near the door. Her arm pressed against someone's shoulder. Another elbow dug into her side.
"Shift small," a woman beside her muttered.
"I no get where," Zara replied.
The bus jerked forward before the door was fully shut. Zara grabbed the metal rail above her head just in time. Her heart jumped.
As they crawled through traffic, sweat gathered at the back of her neck. Someone's perfume was too strong. Another person's body heat pressed into her side. The air felt thick.
A man near the window was arguing with the conductor.
"You say na five hundred!"
"Who tell you? Na six hundred now. Fuel no cheap."
"You dey change price anyhow!"
"If you no like am, come down."
Zara stared out the window as the argument continued. Mushin rolled past slowly—shops opening, children in uniforms crossing roads, women arranging fruits on wooden tables.
Her reflection stared back at her in the dusty glass. She looked serious. Older than she felt.
The bus stopped suddenly at a junction. The force pushed her forward. Someone behind her stumbled, and she felt a strong shove against her back.
She nearly fell.
Her hand tightened around the rail.
"Sorry," a voice muttered quickly.
She didn't turn. She adjusted her skirt quietly and steadied herself.
Her breathing had changed.
She didn't know if it was the heat or the fear.
Lekki felt far.
The job felt fragile.
Everything felt uncertain.
At Oshodi, she struggled her way out of the bus. The park was chaos—people moving in every direction, buses honking, conductors shouting louder than necessary.
"Obalende! Obalende!"
She hurried toward the voice.
The next bus was tighter. This time she found half a seat, balancing on the edge beside an older woman chewing gum loudly.
"You dey go Island?" the woman asked suddenly.
"Yes ma."
"For work?"
"Yes."
The woman nodded slowly. "Hmm. Lagos."
Zara didn't know what that meant, so she just smiled politely.
As the bus moved again, traffic thickened. The sun was fully out now, pressing heat onto the road. Sweat trickled down her back despite the morning breeze slipping through the window.
Her phone buzzed again.
Her mother.
"Hello Mummy."
"You don reach?"
"Not yet. I just pass Oshodi."
"Okay. No forget wetin I tell you."
"I won't."
"And call me when you finish."
"I will."
The call ended, but her mother's voice stayed with her.
No let anybody pressure you.
She leaned her head slightly against the window.
Around her, Lagos moved without apology.
Cars edged forward aggressively. Bikes slipped between lanes. Billboards advertised luxury apartments she knew she couldn't afford. Smiling faces promising easy loans. Perfect lives.
By the time she reached Lekki Phase 1, her legs felt weak from standing again.
The roads looked different here. Cleaner. Quieter. The houses taller, gates higher. Even the air smelled different—less dust, more perfume from passing cars.
She adjusted her handbag strap and looked around.
Blue gate.
Glass front.
Her heart began to beat faster.
She walked slowly past one compound. Not this one. Another building came into view. White walls. Then finally—
A blue gate.
Glass panels reflecting the sun.
She stopped walking.
Cars drove past behind her. A security man sat near the entrance, flipping through a newspaper.
She checked her phone.
9:07 a.m.
Her interview was for 9:30.
Her palms felt damp.
She wiped them against her skirt gently and took a small step forward. Then another.
The security man looked up.
"Yes?"
"I—I have an interview," she said.
"Company name?"
She told him.
He nodded and pressed a button beside him. The gate buzzed softly.
"Go straight. Reception dey second floor."
"Thank you."
As she walked inside, the noise of the road faded behind her. The compound was quiet. The building stood tall and polished. The glass doors reflected her again.
For a brief second, she saw herself clearly.
A girl from a small flat.
A CV in her bag.
A family depending on her.
She exhaled slowly and pushed the glass door open.
Cool air wrapped around her immediately.
Her heart thudded in her chest.
I have to get this job.
I don't know how.
But I have to.