The House Without a Ceiling
Tunde grew up in a one-room apartment in Mushin, Lagos. The roof leaked during heavy rain. The walls were cracked. When generator noise filled the street at night, their room remained dark because there was no money for fuel.
His mother sold akara by the roadside. His father had once worked at a factory before it shut down. Since then, life has become a daily calculation.
School fees were always late. The uniform faded. Exercise books reused. But Tunde had something stronger than money. He had hunger. Not just the hunger for food, but the hunger to change his story.
Whenever neighbors mocked his worn sandals, he smiled quietly.
One evening his father said, “My son, nobody will dash you success. You go work for am.”
That sentence stayed with him.
When WAEC results came out, he passed well. But the admission letter meant nothing without money.
The first real test of his character came when a friend suggested joining a quick online scheme that promised fast cash.
“Na small thing,” the friend said. “Everybody dey do am.”
Tunde looked at the broken ceiling in his room and felt the temptation pressing hard.
But something inside him refused.
He said no.
And that decision changed the direction of his life.
The Road Is Not Friendly
Tunde secured admission into a state university after help from a church scholarship.
University was not the paradise he imagined.
Hostel overcrowded. Water is scarce. Lecturers are strict. Rich students showing off new phones and sneakers.
He started doing small jobs. Typing assignments. Running errands. Fixing phones after learning basic repairs from a roadside technician.
One day, a wealthy classmate named Kola approached him with an offer.
“I like your hustle,” Kola said. “I can plug you into something bigger.”
The business was not violent. Not loud. Just manipulation of digital systems to redirect small funds unnoticed.
“It is not stealing,” Kola insisted. “Na system we dey use.”
Tunde felt that same pressure again.
Rent was due. His mother was sick back home.
This time, he almost agreed.
But he remembered his father’s voice.
He walked away.
The next week, authorities quietly expelled three students involved in fraud activity.
Tunde watched from a distance and understood something clearly.
Fast money has slow consequences.
The Village Girl Who Spoke to the Wind and the Whole village was in shocks
When Pride Is Not Enough
The final year came with bigger pressure.
His father fell seriously ill. Hospital bills stacked up. His mother’s akara business reduced because of road construction.
Tunde nearly dropped out.
He began teaching secondary school students in the evenings. He reduced his feeding. He trekked long distances to save transport fare.
One night, exhausted and frustrated, he shouted at God.
“Why is everything hard like this?”
An elderly landlord who overheard him said calmly, “Young man, suffering no be permanent. Character na permanent.”
Weeks later, one of his tutoring students scored highest in mathematics and recommended Tunde to her uncle, who owned a small tech firm in Ikeja.
It was not a big company. But they needed someone honest and hardworking.
For the first time, someone saw value in him beyond pity.
He got an internship with small pay.
It was the first clean breakthrough of his life.
The Weight of Integrity On Tunde Ednut
Working in the tech firm exposed him to corporate Nigeria.
Office politics. Quiet competition. Silent envy.
His supervisor once asked him to adjust figures slightly to impress investors.
“It is normal,” the supervisor said. “Just make the numbers fine.”
It was not criminal. But it was not honest either.
Tunde did not sleep well that night.
He thought about all the times he rejected shortcuts. Would he compromise now because the setting looked professional?
The next morning, he respectfully declined.
The supervisor was angry.
Weeks passed in tension.
Then during an investor audit, discrepancies were discovered in other departments. Because Tunde refused to alter his reports, his integrity became visible.
The company director called him personally.
“People like you are rare,” he said.
That moment changed everything.
How Tunde Built His Own Silver Spoon and Plate
Years later, Tunde stood in a newly rented office space of his own modest tech startup.
Nothing came easy.
No inheritance. No connections. No silver spoon.
Just discipline. Hard choices. Patience.
His father recovered enough to attend the small office opening.
His mother cried quietly in one corner.
When someone congratulated him and said, “You are lucky,” Tunde smiled.
Luck had nothing to do with it.
It was the thousand small decisions nobody saw.
It was saying no when it was easier to say yes.
It was believing that slow growth is still growth.
He looked at the new ceiling above him, strong and finished, and remembered the broken one from Mushin.
Life did not give him a silver plate.
But he built his own table.
And this time, he was the one serving.
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