Four of us sat still in the cab, ignoring the beats stemming from the stereo. Our eyes were scattered across different horizons, with our heads half buried in our thoughts.
It was one of those days we should have been excited about.

“Adulting is hard,” she muttered. “Like, how can you tell me what to do my whole life and then suddenly stop? I mean my mother practically told me what to study, what to wear and who to talk to and all of a sudden she expects me to figure things out by myself.”

“I need a new job.” Another blurted. "You know a place where I could be creative. I’m tired of paperwork. But I’m scared to quit, especially in this economy. I need the money.”
“I just want to find work first, so I can get busy.” Said the third.

Then there I was, unsure of what to profess. I finally spoke up, “I don’t think at this point we should chase money. Passion first, learn how things work, increase the value we offer and let the money chase us.”
Two nodded. Of course, it sounds clever in theory.

“Do you realize how miserable this place is? She blurted. "Even the rich suffer, think about it. You’re enrolled in a school as a kid, told what to study, get a degree in a subject that you care nothing for. Serve a year in a scheme in you aren’t pleased with. Then struggle to get a job with meagre pay and no motivation. And then probably marry someone you don’t love just because you should get married.”

“Nah,” I whispered.“That won’t be my narrative.”

We laughed it off yet the fear lingered.

=====================================================================================
Hello Nairaland... this trend is a story of a young man in search of his purpose.
The storyline is embedded in metaphorical ideas and please feel free to interpret its meaning to suit your understanding.

I really hope this helps you.

From the day he was born, he was told that all he required was a piece of wood and a saw.

A village laid open on the far hills that held a strange tradition. Everyone in the village was entitled to one piece of wood and a saw once they grew to a certain age. It was a longstanding tradition transferred from generation to generation. Over the years, people had carved all they required from their wood sticks. Wives were married, children born and houses built from trade that circled around wood. Some sculptured, others traded wood for more wood. Some made boats and even hoes which they used to toil the soil. A handful neglected their piece of wood and helped others carve theirs for a fair wage.

Kids converged in circles and were tutored by an elite group of successful wood users on how to wield their saws and how to keep wood safe through various seasons. Nevertheless, an individual had to choose for himself what to do with his wood.

Joe, who was a son of a ruthless wood hoarder, was one of four boys. His father had successfully devised a way to safeguard people’s wood for a given period of time for the price of a tiny piece of wood. In this region, it was a great deal to decide what to do with one’s wood. In fact, there was a ceremony that initiated young people into adulthood after it was confirmed they had gained good precision.
Joe hadn’t yet uncovered what he could do with his wood.

Everyone he knew, seemed to have figured it out. It was like they had been told exactly what to do in their sleep. Not Joe.
Joe's imagination lacked luster and differed from all others around him. His father had told him, it was better for him to relinquish his wood over to him than lose it over a mug’s game. His brothers, on the other hand, had sorted their paths; two of whom had pursued their father’s footsteps and the other curved his music out of his wood.

Joe pictured, tall walls, elevated surfaces and clearer skies. When he shot his eyes, he recognized a place where he stood taller than the earth’s surface and looked down with conquerors eyes. Or perhaps it was his mind's idiocracy screaming out loud. Either way, he instinctively felt that where he was, was no place for him. He knew if he intended to on seeing clearer skies, he’d need to go where it existed.

The following morning, he rose and went to his father.
He told him it was time for him to explore. His father, deeply concerned at his son’s unusual ambition peered, “are you sure this is what you desire? You could stay here and join me, at least you are assured of having a roof over your head and food in your belly.”

Joe lowered his head, hardly ascertained of his decision replied, ‘I could stay Father. But what will happen to the skies that I observe in my dreams? Maybe there are no tall walls or elevated heights but I’d never know if I don’t try finding them. And I fear I might never find that here.”

His father thoroughly awed at his audacity bid him farewell and laid a kiss on his cheek. He slowly leaned towards him and whispered, “If you fail, you can come back home.”

Joe picked up his piece of wood, bid his brothers farewell and left.

....Stay Tuned

He walked three miles into the desolate hills, the scorching heat of the sun made him question his decision about leaving his family. Perhaps he should have stayed back, he thought. It was far too premature for him to cultivate doubtful thoughts.

The weight of his wood wore him out faster than the blatant heat of the sun. He sloughed, breathing heavily sat under a massive tree. He must have thought himself into slumber. A loud noise woke him up. He rose abruptly and clenched unto his wood. An elderly looking man with silver greyish hair that grew in patches eyed him. The old man must have been at an age that warranted a walking stick but for some reason walked tall with all his bones in one place.

“What are you doing here son, holding on to a piece of wood?” asked the old man in outright pity.

“I’m sorry, sir. My name is Joe. I’m travelling from a village nearby, and I’m in search of a place I see in my dreams. I got weary and took a nap, if you permit me, sir, I’ll be on my way.”
What a naïve little fellow the man thought.

“Do you have a map of this land in your dreams? Do you know where this place looks like or do you intend to wander around hoping to stumble into your mystery land?”
Joe unnervingly swallowed hard and in a vain attempt to man-up replied, “I will recognize it when I stumble upon it. I feel it calling me.”

“You may be right, in fact, son, you are correct! But what would you do whilst you yonder into your land of glory? I can see you own nothing but for this strange looking piece of wood, which you hold tightly to. I tell you what, I own this piece of land you lay on and I’m in need of a labourer. I’ll pay you fair wages in exchange for your service. You could make enough brown-circles to travel. I do not know where you come from but here, you need brown-circles to survive."

Utterly shocked, Joe gently relaxed his grip on his wood. “Where I come from, this wood is everything," he said looking baffled. "What are brown-circles? I do not wish to stay here for too long but I accept your offer. I have one request that you let me retain my wood.”

“Oh, keep your wood,” he replied thoroughly amused. “I have more trees than I need. Brown-circles are our measure of value and I’ll compensate you fairly. I am a man of my word.”

He came to know the old man as Baba. Joe learned all that he could and worked so hard to impress Baba. Baba was a wealthy farmer but had no heirs. He lived alone on his large farm and had many labourers. In his youth, he fought in all the great battles of the land, and the chief rewarded his sacrifice with numerous plots of land across the village. He was one of the most respected men in the land.

Three months passed, and Joe was yet to decide his next step. He was visibly distressed at his inability to map out his next step to the place of high walls. All he did was tilt the soil and weed the grass, he earned adequate brown-circles, drank some wine and had a few merry days. But, he could feel he had more to pursue than just tilt.

“You must discern what you want, son, you must know why you cherish what you want too. Perhaps that is why your heart tires. These things take time, what’s the point of running nowhere fast?”
A mesmerized Joe spoke up in acute surprise, “Baba, how do you know my thoughts?”

“Son, I was once young and like you, I saw many pictures. Too many pictures and in my foolishness, I thought I could chase all at once. The mind of a young man is full of many imaginations but he must be sure why he wants a thing before he pursues it.
I would ask you again, why do you want what you want?”

That night, Joe brawled as he attempted finding out his ‘why’ for seeking his vision. He never thought that he’d be required to uncover puzzling answers to his own dream.

Early the next day, he rushed to meet Baba.
“Baba, Baba,” he called. “I believe I’ve found it.”

Baba who had been wrapped in his sheets was forced to wake up. He took a deep breath, cursing the break of light howled, “And this thing you found couldn’t wait?”

An unbothered Joe exclaimed, ”no Baba, It can’t. I laid awake all night thinking about what you said and I think I want to be famous and wealthy, like Ahmed.”

Ahmed was the wealthiest man in the region. He owned a vast number of lands and traded in silk.

“You fool!” Baba thundered. “First, you snatch me from my sleep and present me with such irritable nonsense. Who said you had to figure it out in one night? And again, tell me one young man who doesn’t want to be like Ahmed?”

A dazed Joe appealed, “Is there anything wrong with aspiring to be rich Baba?”
“Oh no,” Baba said in a reassuring tone. “You do not get rich by merely wanting to be rich or famous. You attract riches and pretty much any good thing by becoming better and offering value. You see the more value you can offer, the richer you become.”

A light ray of the sun reflected on Joe’s dumbfounded face.
“Do you mean that I am not good enough, don’t I work hard Baba? I can learn anything.”

“Who said anything about hard work? Son, it is a process and everyone goes through it. Some people learn faster than others.”

“I want to learn Baba, please teach me how to become better.” Joe pleaded.

“That is not for me to do, but I tell you what, I’ll talk to Ahmed perhaps he could let you work for him.”

“But Baba, I love it here," pleaded Joe. "Who’s going to assist you if I go? Besides, I understand the seasons. I know when to sow and when to harvest.” Joe explained.

Baba looked at him in glaring astonishment, “surely one person shouldn’t be this unwise,” he thought.

“Who assured you of your importance?" Baba inquired. "The first lesson you need to learn is to never pass on a lucrative opportunity to cater your present company. I’ve survived worst, young man, and I can replace you with another man this minute. Go mow your lawn. I’ll see you when I get back.” He said as he walked into his room.

Joe walked back to his tent in an utmost confused state. Just when he thought he had made himself comfortable, he was now forced to move out. He lifted up his matchet and headed to the farm.

Later that night, Joe could’ve sworn he heard a-thousand-steps clumped as one creature marching towards him.

“What is that loud sound,” he thought. He was too fatigued to ensure it wasn’t a stray animal destroying all he had planted. He simply shifted his imagination to his dream world. He played a mind game in which he travelled through time to a city where the walls stood tall, and the skies were transparent.

Then it struck him; he had never seen himself in this city. He pictured everything but for himself. He hadn’t seen himself accomplish anything or encountered anyone. It was as though, he was an onlooker looking into the city. This thought startled him back to reality.
By this time Baba had his hands placed around his waist as he shook his head in displeasure.

“Surely, nothing bothers you,” Baba remarked.

Joe noticed his piece of wood seated beside Baba.

“Baba,” Joe called.

“It’s time son,” Baba interrupted. “Ahmed agreed to my request. He insists you begin tomorrow. Here’s your wood, you can leave.”

“No Baba, keep it, please! I swear on my father's name, I will not receive anything from you without giving back. I know you do not lack wood but take mine as a symbol of my gratitude.” Joe beseeched.

Baba’s wrinkled face broke a smile, then he reached for a bag of brown circles and thrust it into Joe’s traumatized hands.
“You would need this.” He said then walked away.

It was a dark, long night.

The heat of the sun charred Joe’s skin. He smelled like a roasted swine and looked like a desert peasant.
He appeared before Ahmed in self-effacement.

“You must’ve been dining with poverty.” Ahmed blurted, as he skimmed through the filth that wrapped Joe’s body.

“When Baba mentioned he considered you an assistant fit for me, he forgot to hint you’d be submerged in grime. Didn’t you learn a thing about appearance?”

Ahmed was known to roll out words as he deemed fit. He was the first son of a wealthy merchant, Ahmed was born with a golden spoon. He made no attempts to please or entice anyone. He was Ahmed a flamboyant, roundish looking fellow with fingers that looked like bloated chopsticks.

“Forgive me, sir,” Joe said as he fell to the floor.
“I was attacked by rogues who stripped me of everything I had. I beg you to let me serve you.”

Ahmed scowled as he used his hands to sway off the worrisome stench that emitted from Joe’s flesh. “Go clean up,” he roared.

Ahmed lived in a castle twice the size of a proper palace. He controlled a large fleet of both animals and humans. Nowhere in the region was it better than in Ahmed’s castle. He measured the silk that came into the city. He determined its cost and quantity at every given time. The king had once recognized this to be an imminent threat but was buried in deep in Ahmed’s gifts to make any reforms.

Ahmed had even more concubines than rooms. For every party he hosted, he displayed a fresh array of young women. The women flocked in. There were rumours these women did nothing for him except please his bizarre urge of being an acclaimed Don Juan.

Joe, on the other hand, was yet to see a better-equipped bathroom. The luxurious feel of his room surpassed those in his dreams. He hastened as he freshened up and unveiled a spotless version of himself before Ahmed.

“Ah, now a human.” Remarked Ahmed. “What do I call you?”

“Joe, Sir. Everyone calls me Joe.”
Joe was scared to death in his heart yet his body demonstrated valour.

“uhmm, I see Joe. You are to be my personal assistant.” Ahmed said as he attempted to use his gritty eyes to locate Joe’s soul.
“We travel tonight across the hills to the other side of the land. I have two rules, Joe, two! You do not question me, and you do not agree blindly to anything I say.” Tilting his head to his right side, he continued, “are we clear?”

“Is that a possible, sir?” Joe asked completely disoriented. “I do not understand what you expect, sir.”

“That would be all, young man!” And with that, Ahmed shifted his attention to more significant matters.

As Joe stepped out of Ahmed’s court, two little girls ran up to him. They must have netted him out to be a newcomer. They giggled as they extracted personal information about him. Joe, a willing follower, shadowed them to a square where men and women gathered and drank fine wine.

“I hear you are the new assistant.” inquired a scruffy looking man. He owned the longest nose Joe had ever seen.

“Yes sir, I am,” Joe replied.

“You must know,” the man divulged as he drew himself closer to Joe. “The guy before you died under mysterious circumstances. We hear many stories, and Ahmed seems to be in the middle of it all. It might be too early to tell you this but you must be careful. Very few travel to the other side of the hill and make it back in one piece.”

It was at that time, Joe came to appreciate the discreet winds of Baba’s farm.

“I’ll live,” he replied, undecided what to do with such unsolicited advice.

He gazed around hoping to find anything other than a bunch of people who sat around, eating from a pot of a man they detested.

His lungs rose and guzzled the air that revolved around his nostrils. His eyes loitered and settled on one spot. First, his pupils dilated… his lips parted, he was mesmerized.

The blue silky attire sculpted the moulds and depths, eventuating the glory of her feminine nature. Her strides basked in grace and motioned intoned to a silent concerto.

One of the little kids who was playing ran up to her with stretched arms. She soared, breaking a smile, she picked him up and spun in the sun. Her eyes sparkled.
It was the most lovely thing he had ever seen.

Later that day, he took a walk down the infamous alley which ushered him to the silence he yearned for. He swayed with the winds, matching in delight to the nearby waterfront. He stopped, leaning forward, he pressed his hard chest against the wall. He took everything in, shutting his eyes, he released a chest full of exhausted breath.

“Did you lift two horses?” she asked, almost whispering in an unusual shrill voice.

He didn’t expect company, but with a voice like that, he spun.
One glance at her and he could tell it was the same girl in the blue dress. He rose his chin to keep his eyes from her elegantly narrow waist that blossomed into a voluptuous derriere. She looked like a tulip. Swallowing hard, he replied, “more like regaining my sanity,”

“Oh yeah, the city has a way playing a trick on your mind,” her lips flashed a smile. She stared deep into to the darkness in search of something. While at it, her eyes sparkled. She smelled like fresh jasmine, her aura broke him.
They talked about the sea, silk and good wine yet, all the while, their eyes expressed other things.

Her name was Flora.

Later that evening, as Ahmed and his men set out to embark on their journey, Ahmed summoned Joe.

“Sharp as a rat!” Ahmed blurted. “I see you choose the finer fabric.”

“I dare not embarrass you before the men of the far hillside,” Joe explained with his arms crossed to his back.

“If you grasp all things this fast, we shouldn’t have many problems,” Ahmed said with a smirk on his face. The first one Joe would see.

“Now tell me, Joe," Ahmed said lowering his voice. "I suppose that is your name, huh?”

“Yes Sir,” Joe nodded.

“You noticed anything unusual yet? Does my castle befit you?”

Joe lowered his eyes to Ahmed’s feet then replied, “In utmost sincerity, your castle assures me that all my years have been spent in poverty.”
To which Ahmed interrupted, “If that’s all you recognize here, I promise you that the castles you'd see on the hillside will shock you.” Then he threw up his hands in annoyance and roared, “What answer did I expect from a smutch?”

“Sir,” Joe whispered, “how is it that you strive in the dense animosity that surrounds your castle? I understand that I might be thrown out this night, but how can you survive around all these people that eat from you yet curse you?”

Ahmed tore a wide grin and then took out a ring from his finger.
He handed the ring over to Joe and said, “Finally, I was beginning to think Baba spoke only lies.”

Less than two days into the journey, Joe found he met more people than he had his entire life.
He came across the gold merchants from the North, the soothsayers from the Far East and the ruthless lenders. It was an unending flow of people moving from North to South. He loved every minute of it.

Every meal meant a gathering of a new set of foreigners. Joe basked in the wisdom of Ahmed. He noticed that for every individual Ahmed met, he offered something of value. Each time, displaying an aspect of the individual’s character.

“Do you see what I do?” Ahmed asked as he glanced over Joe's head, tracking the Mishads with his eyes.
“Sir, I noticed you use different words for diverse tribes and you seek to serve first,” Joe replied.

Ahmed tapped him on the back and nodded, “clever, young man. For every person you meet, you must study them and appeal to their nature. That is how you get what you desire. Everyone you'd meet is looking for something”

“Does it compel me to give all I own, hoping they would return the favour?” Joe inquired.

Ahmed who had all along waited for the Mishads to approach rushed to meet them.

The Mishads were a trio of dark-skinned men with golden hair who originated from the Islands. They were said to have travelled the world and seen many things. They had more knowledge than the average man in the region and traded information for money. They wilt power, knowledge and wealth and walked like gods.

“Ah, this day is indeed a great one,” Ahmed exclaimed as he prostrated before the Mishads. “I greet you wise ones, what may I offer you this beautiful day?”

“Stand my friend. You need not bow to us.” One of the trios stepped forward as he extended his hands. “We're here like you to trade and dine in fine wine.”

“Let me be the one to entertain you then," Ahmed appealed." I come from the city nearby and no wine tastes as fresh mine. My wine is squeezed by the maidens in my court. Surely, you must have heard of Ahmed’s court?”

They hesitated, looked at each other, nodded, and followed Ahmed back to his tent.

Ahmed served them his finest wine and lightened the mood with amusing tales of his travels. The trio who were accustomed to such treatment from flamboyant traders like Ahmed, relaxed into the nuance of luxury. They knew they had to exchange something for such preferential treatment. That’s was how things worked.

They told Ahmed of the thriving markets across the Islands and the rising forces of the king of the North. They instructed him where to get the best silk and who he was to ask for when he arrived his destination. They jollied all night. Upon rising, Ahmed offered them a box of scented linens as they parted ways.

Turning to Joe who had been by his side all along, he said, “And that is how you serve first.”

“I’d heard of the Mishads from my travels. The merchants spoke of their love for quality wine and smooth linen,” Ahmed narrated.

“That’s what you offered.” Joe interrupted.
“Exactly!” Ahmed grinned. “Everyone’s flesh falls for something including mine. There’s an unspoken code of reciprocity, for every penny you offer first, you’d likely get two back. But first, you must understand what each person desires.” Ahmed said in his repulsive confident tone. He prided himself at his ability to allure anyone.

"How do I do this?" Joe questioned.

“You observe, that’s what you have two eyes for, you observe! You listen too, sooner than later, people usually spill their secret desire. You do not need to say needless words unless they solve problems.”

Ahmed and Joe including a host of other servants journeyed for five more days before arriving their destination. As the Mishads had instructed, Ahmed met with the finest silk dealer, who offered him an incredible deal. Business was lucrative. Joe learned everything.

He jollied, drank more wine than he needed and soon stopped dreaming about his foreign city. He seemed to have it all.

Four years passed, and Joe grew into a fine young man.

He stood a head taller than the majority and had the finesse of a Greek statue. Not a thing came before Ahmed without his approval.
His bed was his muse. He thought of his family; he hoped to see them soon. His father should be proud of him – he presumed. Some nights dragged, prompting him to contemplate on things other than merchants, silk and golden circles.

One look at his room showcased a substantial amount of laborious hours and sheepish obedience. Fine robes dangled on any existent hinge. His table was littered with golden rings, half of which he gained through the fine art of bribery. Close to his bed, laid a cup that never ran out of wine. Joe nestled next to the rich.

This particular night loitered, drifting back and forth, it hid any hint of daylight. He laid in bed, eyes widened, staring at the art-enhanced ceiling. It was a girl that detained his mind this time. This girl, Flora, had an impact on him.

Flora was Ahmed’s niece, his treasured niece. Ahmed cherished her, more so, he might have been connected to the death of her parents – the details were unclear.

She had an unmatched ability to communicate. She appeared to have a subtle link to issues of the heart, coupled with a voice that sounded like water running in the creeks. She soothed him. She always gave him a reassuring look that he could be more.
But, Joe knew Ahmed wouldn't dare entrust Flora to him in servant's shoes. If he intended on wooing her, he’d have to stand on golden feet. He believed he had what it took to be his own master.

Joe had a thing for dialogue at dawn. As expected, he presented himself before Ahmed with an unusual request.
“Forgive me, sir, I fear my appeal might appear worrisome. But, I’d rather ask than assume what your response would be.” Joe said as he lowered his head in fearful humility.

Ahmed’s eyes were squinted under the layers of fat that surrounded his cheekbones. It was hard to tell what irked him more, the energy to lift his lips or Joe's audacity.

“Hmmm,” he groaned.

“I ask you to let me embark on travels at my own expense. Grant me permission to discover how productive my hands can be.” Joe pleaded.

“As bold as that sounds, it does not burn my heart with anger. But you will explore on my account.” Ahmed said as he widened his eyes. He continued, “I’m self-seeking and too bulky to travel as far as I would like to but you can. However, I have a deal for you.”

Joe tilted his head to allow him hear well.

“I’d lend you some money to start. You will pay me back in proportion to what ever you multiply. Should you thrive, I’d get a sizeable portion of your profit. But, should you fail, you will repay me to the best of your ability.”

Joe thought for a minute, it seemed like a fair deal to him.

“I suppose, you expect me to succeed, else you wouldn’t offer such a deal,” Joe inquired.

“I aspect that all I have thought you should have taken root. But reassure me, young man, how much do you have in your keeping?” Ahmed asked.

“A little over a jar full of golden circles, enough to buy a plot of land,” Joe replied, chinned up, awaiting a pat on his back.

“Ah,” Ahmed fumed “That is far too small! You should have more. All your years of service and you boast on a peasant's fee?" Ahmed thundered. "It is clear that you have not understood the workings of money. You ate up your riches and come before me with this ridiculous request. How do you think wealth is built?

You do not care a great deal about how you look and where you live until you have multiple sources of income. For every golden circle you earn, you should make it work for you not squander it. Who cares that you robe equates to that of a prince if your pocket stays empty?"

Ahmed was wrapped in fury but no near done talking.

"It is the thirst for a false appearance that ruins young men, like you. What makes you exude the semblance of a master simply because you earned an extra golden circle? How foolish can you be?

You do not know how much I earn to live lavishly. I can assure you that it is triple whatever figure you imagine. And each passing day, I seek new ways to employ my golden circles. That is how I stay rich, I multiply.
Why else do you think, I will offer you money?
I should tell you now; you are not fit to take my money.” With those words, Ahmed took his face off and snorted.

Joe had never heard him utter many words.

Crushed egos and disrupted lines have a lot in common.

If he thought he knew anything, that privileged was snatched from him. Joe had a tough time sorting out his thoughts. For a brief moment, he wondered what he could do.

“What is the one thing I can solve effortlessly, better than the average man?” Joe pondered out loud.

He had longer limbs, a lot more hair than the average man and an eye for exquisite things.

“Ah,” he exclaimed, “what if I trade in fine art and artefacts?” The region he lived in was known for its flamboyancy. Every man prided himself on how elegant his house looked.

He decided to trade artefacts. He withdrew all his savings, including his golden rings – he figured, he’d have to go all in- and went to Shaled.

Shaled was an acquaintance. They’d met a few times and shared wine on some nights. He knew little about his personal life except he traded in artefacts, raw artefacts and shared the same eye for beauty. He seemed the ideal choice.

Shaled stood akimbo, as he listened with keen attention to Joe’s request.

Joe spoke like a dreamer. He dished out imaginary profits and discounts. He was thrilled and shivering with anticipation to go into business with Shaled. He assured Shaled that with their combined skill sets, they couldn’t go wrong.

Shaled understood systems. He knew how things worked. He recalled the slip of the tongue that must have caused all this unusual ranting he had to endure.

Nevertheless, Shaled welcomed the ample figure. It was just what he required for his trip to the Far East.

Five days passed and yet no word from Shaled. It dawned on Joe that he should be distressed. He sprung out and asked everyone who he suspected would know about Shaled’s whereabouts. Nothing!

No one knew anything important. Some said he had packed his belongings and ventured to the Far East in search of a better life. Another claimed Shaled had fallen out of grace with his father, who made sure he inherited nothing. Shaled, a spoilt, entitled kid, who couldn’t bear the thought of working in a city that knew all about his treachery and debauchery had fled.

There’s a sound you hear when the world slows down around you, Joe heard it.
He was embittered.

Struck in the chest coupled with a dry coffer, he served fervently. He was cautious not to anger Ahmed yet managed to evade him, all the while pursuing ways to acquire more money.

Joe never feared labour and thus took all the extra hours he could find.

It wasn’t long before, he was offered a deal that struck his virtuous nerve; silk for twice as much.

Over time, Joe had come to learn about the ‘Exchangers.’ They were famous gamblers and could trade anything at doubled the amount. Some loosed and some won, it was always easy money.

Ahmed had never indulged and Joe hadn’t questioned.
Perhaps, “he was too rigid to try,” Joe told himself.

Flora couldn't being ignored. Granted, she was aware their relationship was illicit but Joe had never been so inconsistent. She felt that something about his epileptic display of affection had more to it than just man-caving. She planned to sneak out that night.

Joe agreed to converge at the darkest hour with Malik, one of the Exchangers. If he was going to venture into such a trade, he had to make sure he got it right. The dull looking lad laughed hysterically at Joe’s nervous grins.

"Relax,” he said. “You aren’t the first one, everyone is doing it. I would pay you twice as much for your silk but first, I’d take the silk for rounds.”

An astonished Joe eyed him. To which the lad responded, “how else do you think we would get you, buyers? We need to make rounds. A few pieces of silk would do, no one has to know.” He said gesturing his skinny fingers to the right side of his head. His ears appeared longer than usual but blended in unison with his overall stretched limps. He was a long man.

“How long does this rounding thing take? How long?” Joe probed.

“A little over one week. Listen, the night is cold and I’m a busy man. Make up your mind and make sure it compensates for this darkness.”

It was at that moment that Flora leapt out. She walked passed Joe, and the lad and gave Joe the warning-feminine look. If Joe understood nothing, this would be an exception.

At once, he rounded up his meeting, promising to take a decision come dawn and then went in.

“This should be good,” Flora slammed, twitching her eyes to emphasize her point.

“I didn’t expect to see you ‘Ora, but I am happy to see you.”

“Wipe that smile off your face, what is going on, Joe?” She attacked.

Joe stood transfixed unable to respond, trying to pinpoint what made her so enraged. He managed to blurt out, “If there’s anything I have done prompting you to act this way, I’m sorry. I should make out time to see you but I have been busy. ‘Ora but you should know you’re the most important person to me.” He hoped that should calm the waters. It didn’t.

“Hmmm,” She snared “to think you believe those sad words should just smoothen everything out. I don’t care to know how busy you are but why are you with Malik at this time of the night?” She yelled as she heightened her cheekbones in hopeful anticipation.

“How do you know Malik?” Joe threw back.

“I know everyone worth knowing in this city,” she blurted rolling her eyes. “I’d tell you for free, nothing good can come from Malik.”
Then she softened her voice, “Joe what’s going on?” she pleaded." You can talk to me. I’m always here for you. But you can’t trust Malik, not in this lifetime. Particularly, if you want to preserve your job. Listen, my uncle can’t find out Malik was here, he’d ruin you.”

“Why?” Joe asked.

calling on literature lover, Evablizin
queenitee
hewrites
Adesina12 come with popcorn oo
damsel14
TheBlessedman
Damsel14
Mhizsuccess
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and literaturelanders
Another food is cooking here oo, come and enjoy with me

Eberechi24:
calling on literature lover, Eva.blizin
queen.itee
he.writes
Adesi.na12 come with popcorn oo
damsel14
TheBles.sedman
Dam.sel14
Mhiz.success
shek.inah190
and literaturelanders
Another food is cooking here oo, come and enjoy with me

Thanks Eberechi for mentioning me

Malik was the Son of Shaik, Ahmed’s mortal enemy. With, Ahmed and Shaik, everything was a tug of war. Ahmed’s wealth had more mystery than the eye could see.

There are a few things that had frightened Joe, and this was one of them. He replayed his conversation with Flora over and over again. He wondered what had caused him to become so aggressive about getting rich. He decided to pay his father a visit.

He took a week off. It took him two days to reach to his hometown.
Everything looked small, indeed, he came from a humble place.

The streets lacked life, there was hardly any sound. He didn’t need a soothsayer to emphasize its demise. There was no lingering smell of wood.

“Joe,” a voice exclaimed. “Joe, son of the wood holder”
Joe turned around. He was astonished to see Michmal. Michmal worked for his father.

“Michmal,” Joe yelled as he rushed to grab him.

“Where have you been Joe? A lot has happened since you left.” Michmal cried.

“How are my parents, Michmal, and my brother; how is everyone?” Joe probed staring into Michmal’s eyes.

Michmal’s face dropped, “everything is gone, Joe. Everything is gone.”

Joe shook him ferociously, “what do you mean? Talk to me.”

“A few years ago, the King declared that wood would no longer be used as a measure of value. He insisted our traditions kept us poor. We lost everything, Joe. Your father was unable to recover from the shock of seeing his life’s work fall into pieces” Michmal expounded.

“Please, Michmal, take me to my father.”

If he thought the streets were silent, the road to his house smelled like death. The paintings peeled and rolled into a lump that stood upright like a trophy of failure.

As he stepped into his father’s house, he noticed the barns. There were once the pride of his father but now, stood ajar.
Joe ran to hug his father. The lean frail man melted into his grip.

“Father, father” he called whispering in his ears “I’m sorry.”

His father, picked up his strength, shoved up his son and said, “Son, what is going on? Why are you here?”

“Michmal told me everything,” Joe replied.

His father asked showed him a chair as he slowly rested into one. They spoke for hours about the changes that had happened especially about their long-standing tradition that had been discarded. Joe came to learn that two of his brothers had travelled out of the village in search of greener pastures. The only one who stayed back had an expectant wife.

Joe unburdened himself and narrated all had encountered. Sad words were scattered.

They both allowed long minutes without words as they processed their thoughts to make sense of life. His father broke the silence, “you cannot be me, son, you have to go back." He looked into his son’s watery eyes, then tapped him the back.
“You cannot give up now,” He said.

“What can I do now, father, I have messed up. It seems I cannot do anything right.” Joe wept.
His father nodded as he listened, then inquired, “Who told you weren’t going to fail? It’s part of the process, boy. I could always tell you had eyes for bigger and better things. I discovered you to be different and did not impose my thoughts on you. But I will not let you cry over issues you crafted with your own hands.”

Joe lowered his head in grief.

His father stood up, reached out for his walking stick then walked out. Just before stepping out, he turned and said, “you must know yourself and test your thirst. A man is never free unless he conquers greed.”

Joe sat there for two hours unable to move. He was spellbound by the fusion of nostalgia and regret.
At dawn the following morning, he set out to clean and repair the barns. He took out all the broken hinges and repaired most. He tucked himself in deep work and by mid-day, the compound finally regained some light.

His father woke up to the sound of Joe’s hammer. He looked through the window and shook his head the sight. When he decided he had had enough, he stepped out and called out, “Joe, that’s enough. Go get some rest.”

“You can’t wish it away Joe, you do not belong here,” he said. He sat up still backing Joe.

Joe shrugged off the blanket half drowsy to find his father seated on his bed.
He peeped out the window to find the earth was drowning darkness.
He could tell his father had sat there a long time.

His father placed his chin on his walking stick, set his eyes on the still wall, and then continued, “The journey through life is unpredictable. No one knows for sure what could happen. No one knows! But the one thing I can tell you is, you are the only one that can control your thoughts.”

He stopped for a while, waiting for his words to sink in.

“It never stops the battle between the right thing and the easy thing. That’s why you to live by codes. Do you have any codes, son?”

Joe shook his head, he lost his words.

I think I might need those codes too. # BringItOn

“In my early days,” his father begun, “I did what whatever it took to build my barns.” He slowed down for a minute, then impulsively interjected, “it didn’t mean a thing at the end.”

He shifted his body so he had a broad view of Joe’s face, “it wouldn’t matter at the end if all you ever do is become a slave for your dreams… It could vanish in a flash!” He said as he snapped his fingers.

“I will ask you again. What codes do you live by, son?” At that point, he stood up. “Not everything that glitters is worth chasing after, the living is in between the creeks, those moments when it seems nothing’s happening.

A life well spent is measured by the people you touch.” He took two steps, stopped then continued, “I regret not giving more of my time and love out to people. Everything I did,” he said clenching his fist, “was for me, always about me and in the end, it doesn’t matter.”
He stormed out.

Joe’s eyes trailed his steps, spotting the hollows that drowned his wrap. He examined the man he had once looked up to wallow in a bottomless pit of self-pity and regret. Of all the things he heard his father say, no words had more impact than the sight of his thinned skin layered on his bones.

Joe rose before dawn, placed a tender kiss on his father’s cheeks and left. He could tell it was the last time he would see him alive. All through the journey, he ransacked his mind, tracing his soul to things that mattered. He questioned his identity.

He could have been anything. He could have been anywhere. No one owned him, nothing restrained him. Yet all the while he crept around like a slave in chains, chained to the idea of what he thought he should have.

At once, he leapt into ecstasy and hugged the man who stood by him. The astonished man sneered in disgust.
He realised that the path to his dreams was never about chasing tall walls and riches but it him finding himself and becoming the best version of himself while thriving to create value for his fellow man. When value is created, it comes with a magnet that draws everything termed success.

All he had to do was become better each day, taking one step at a time to uncover what was in him. Perhaps he would find his tall walls and look down from an elevated stand or perhaps, he wouldn’t. No one knows.
But now, he found that he could go anyplace, do anything and be anyone he chose to be.

Joe fell to his knees, with outstretched arms to the sky, he yelled, “I am a free man!”


....The End( www.jaysmind.com.ng)

Eberechi24:
calling on literature lover,
Evablizin

queenitee

hewrites

Adesina12 come with popcorn oo

damsel14

TheBlessedman

Damsel14

Mhizsuccess

shekinah190

and literaturelanders

Another food is cooking here oo, come and enjoy with me

What happened to his manhood
Trust the manhood is alive
I am coming with popcorn

Adesina12:


What happened to his manhood
Trust the manhood is alive
I am coming with popcorn