Femi stuffed the last bite of his greasy bun into his mouth, wiped his hands on his jacket, and slapped his phone back into his pocket. Time to move.
He jogged to his bike—ancient, coughing, and cranky, but it was his. His trusty cracky motorbike that had seen better days, yet somehow still roared to life with a kick and a sputter. He swung his leg over the seat, kicked the starter, and it coughed, spluttered, then screamed like it hated him—and mornings—just like every day.
"Ah, fck, don't die on me now," he muttered, gripping the handles.
And then they were off. The streets of Lagos were already alive, chaotic in their usual way. Danfos arguing, bikes weaving, vendors yelling over frying oil, and the smell of roasted plantain cutting through it all. Femi didn't slow, didn't blink. He weaved through the madness, heart thumping, thinking about one thing: graduation.
Just in time.
He skidded into the school yard, tires skidding over dust and gravel. A few teachers glanced his way, one raised an eyebrow, but it was fine. Perfectly fine, it's not like he was a star student or someone of importance. He hopped off, parked the motorbike with a shake of the stand, and jogged toward the hall.
Inside, the ceremony was already rolling. Students sat stiff-backed, tassels swinging, clapping politely while the principal droned on. Femi slipped in, just in time for the introductions. They were calling names, handing out diplomas.
The results had already been announced, of course.
"Bose, second. Ayemoyi, first." Femi let that sink in. Predictable. Annoying, even.
And him? Somewhere smacked in the middle. 19 out of 41. Safe. Enough to say he passed, enough to not be laughed at. But not enough for a fancy university. Not that he had the money to attend one anyway.
He leaned against the wall for a second, letting the moment hit. Safe. Solid. Could've been worse. Could've been better.
Femi adjusted his jacket, tapped his fingers against the diploma in his hand, and smirked faintly. It was a miracle he made it to the top 20 since he didn't even have access to the books on the Internet. In this era information was as expensive as gold and controlled like money. Infact without bose's tutoring and help he didn't think he would have had such a result. It was good enough to move forward. Not great—but it was his path to figure out.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, the army plan flickered, waiting like it always did.
He shoved that thought aside for now. Graduation first. Survive the ceremony. And maybe, just maybe, catch up with Bose and Ayemoyi before the photos started.
Femi leaned against the wall, diploma clutched in one hand, watching the chaos unfold. Classmates buzzing, photos being snapped, tassels swinging, teachers hustling to keep everyone in line.
Bose and Ayemoyi were already circling each other like two proud eagles. Bose, always perfectly dressed, hair neat enough to reflect sunlight, smirking like he had the universe in his pocket. Ayemoyi, lazy grin, arms folded, barely standing straight—yet somehow still first. Typical.
Femi snorted quietly. Middle of the class, 19 out of 41. Safe. Solid. Not great, not terrible. Good enough to tell himself he didn't need anyone else to get by.
Some would ask how he became friends with these golden birds, it all started back in preschool, bose and ayemoyi's parents weren't always filthy rich they were way better off than femi though but the bridge wasn't that large but at the beginning of high school bose's dad had landed a big contract with is biomedicine company and ayemoyi's dad's company made a big leap in one of their projects
He had asked them why they never switched to a better school and they said their parents wanted them to live a mundane life at least that's what they told him.
Fast forward to today, they had grown up into three good friends despite their social classes
"Oi, Oba! You made it!"
Oba was his family name
He turned. Some classmates waving him over, laughing, joking. Femi pushed off the wall, weaving through the crowd.
"Late, as always," one of them teased.
"Traffic," Femi said without breaking stride. Half-truth, mostly a shrug.
They laughed. Some tried to peek at his results. Femi held the diploma a little higher. "Middle," he said. Straight-faced. "Safe. Survive the ceremony. That's me."
The group snickered. Bose rolled his eyes. "Safe? That's how you describe 19 out of 41? Dude, aim higher next time."
"Yeah, yeah," Femi said, waving him off. He didn't have the money for college, didn't have the luxury to aim higher. For now, surviving was enough.
They wandered out into the courtyard, sunlight hitting the red dust, the hum of Lagos slowly growing louder. Femi noticed it all—the vendors outside the gates hawking small snacks, kids on bikes zig-zagging through the morning heat, the occasional honk from a danfo tearing past. It was chaotic, alive. Perfectly normal.
Femi's mind wandered. The army. College was a maybe if he could scrape enough money, but the army… that was solid. No guessing, no favors, no asking anyone for help. If the last application didn't go through, he'd have a backup ready.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, letting the thought linger. Not for long. Not yet. He decided to throw those thoughts at the back of his mind. Today was for the small wins. Graduation. The laughs. The pictures. The fake smiles for the teachers snapping photos.
But deep down, that spark was still there. That little ember in his chest. Waiting. Planning. Knowing today was just the first step.
His friends tried to coarse him to join in the after-party but he politely declined saying he got stuff to organise at home
Bose and ayemoyi understood it was always tough for an orphan like him especially since he didn't like to rely on anyone.
Ayemoyi grinned and said "gotcha, if you ever need anything remember to call both of us, treat it like we're investing in you and not giving you free cash"
"I'll consider it"
Bose nodded before driving off with ayemoyi who had a woman in his arms who didn't seem to be a student
Oba femi hopped on his motorcycle which was already at the end of its life span
He first of all went to his employer to inform he was quitting
She had already prepared a goodbye gift of 100 federation dollars and a parcel of food for him, she had taken the leverage to employ especially in a time were drones or robots could deliver stuff to any location of your choice without pay or getting tired just a few maitainance from time to time so it was more like throwing money away by hiring delivery boys
Mrs kobi his employer had done this out of pity after his parents died and his brother disappeared.
Thinking back Femi didn't think he would have survived up until now if not for her.
After thanking her, he moved onto the next thing on his agenda. Selling his motorcycle!
His old motorcycle which still use rubber tires instead of hover wheels could be called a relic in this era, he had gotten it from Mr kobi, Mrs kobi's husband who had wanted to throw it away, but after pleading gave it to him for free, it was probably one of the most handy items he had in his possession.
After arriving at the collection centre the best he could sell it for was 50 Union dollars and that was after pleading. The recycling officer kept on telling him non of the parts could be used and it could at best be considered as scrap metal.
He then had to use 10 out of it so he could get home on time.
So he was now left with 140 union dollars
When he arrived home he looked at the decapitated old building his parents left for him
He would be selling it soon if he couldn't get a job since his only choice would be the army
He opened the door and went in
He decided to look in his almost empty fridge some butter, eggs and a half eaten loaf of bread, this should last him this night and tomorrow morning.
After having his dinner which was the bread with some butter he sat on his coach and opened his phone and the first notification on the screen was from kairos, a delivery company were he applied to be delivery boy.
He frowned but then eased up a little.
It was a text saying his application was rejected.
This was to be expected since this was the year 2040 most things were already automated and the chances of hiring someone older, stronger and with a postgraduate degree was already low talkless of him someone who just graduated from high school.
He didn't hesitate and switched to the army application page....