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Chapter 11
Pity
“Where are your parents? Or your mother? Or whomever should be on this trip with you.”
“They are both upstairs.”
“Who is accompanying you on this trip? Surely you can’t be taking a ride late this evening unaccompanied.”
“They are upstairs.”
“How do you mean?”
“They are at it again. Fighting and throwing things.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Adio paused for a moment to consider the options. He was yet to turn the ignition. His eyes were locked on the boy in his backseat.
He checked his digital wristwatch, it read 11.30pm. Then looked up at the boy.
“How old are you?”
“Ten.”
“Does this happen often?”
The boy nodded repeatedly.
“Where are you headed to, then?”
“My uncle’s place in Ajah.”
“Do you know the exact address in Ajah?
“Yes sir.”
“Have you been there before?”
“Yes!”
Adio checked his digital wristwatch again, it read 11.35pm.Something didn’t feel quite right.
A young boy taking a lone ride in the dead of the night. This situation is a recipe for disaster. By taking this boy on the ride, he would assume the role of a kidnapper.
“KID – NAPPER! See how those words sounds, is that who you wanna be?” Don
“But this kid is troubled and needs help.”
“How is that your business? Did he ask for your help?”
“He is ten years old for Christ sakes.”
“You do know that if you get stopped by the police, you will be treated as a kidnapper. Who the hell goes about town in the dead of the night with a boy that you don’t even know his name! What is wrong with you Adio?”

“Sometimes they fought with knives and break things in the house.” The boy had a lost look about him, as if he had recently awoken from a nap. His face had an unhealthy look to it and his eyes were hard open as he stared through Adio. His voice soft and pleading.
“What is your name?”
“Joel.”
You see Joel, you cannot take a ride alone at this time of the night. It’s not safe and I am sure your parents would be worried sick about you already.”
“But I take a ride every time they get into a fight.”
“How often is that?”
“Sir?”
“I mean, how often do your parents fight?”
“Three” the word came out almost like an accident, spilling out of his drawn inward lips.
“You mean, three times a week?” Adio reiterated the words slowly.
Joel nodded twice.
“My God.” Adio whispered.
“Adio, please don’t do it. This boy is not your problem!” Don warned.
“But I can not leave the poor boy by himself?” Adio checked his watch again. It read 11.48pm.
The drive to Ajah would take him almost 45minutes from Maryland.
“I have some money with me. I took it from my mummy’s purse.”
Adio looked at the boy again. He felt genuinely sorry for the sort of childhood he was dealing with. His pity soon turned to anger. How irresponsible his parents must be.
“I think we should go speak to your parents first, Joel.”
“I am tired of them. They fight all the time and mummy forgets to make food for me.”
Adio’s eyes started to glisten with tears. He wondered how this poor boy deserved such parents.
“I am so sorry to hear this. Have you had anything to eat?”
Joel shook his head rigorously.
Adio had no food in his car, he knew that, after all he was only a “common” cab driver and not running a restaurant.
“Whatever is going on in that big head of yours, do not start the trip. It is dangerous.” Don chirped in.
Sometimes Adio wished there was a switch he could flip off to shut Don up at will. He was easily a pain in the bum.
“Is your uncle aware you are coming?”
The boy shook his head repeatedly again.
The kid reminded him of his childhood friend way back in the village whenever he shook his head.
“Pade.” His friend’s name escaped his lips as his daydream ended within seconds.
There was silence as Adio turned around on the driver seat to face the windshield. His eyes set on the road ahead accompanied by the eerie silence that darkness offered. His hand stroked the bunch of keys, that were already in the ignition, repeatedly. He was lost in his thoughts.
Adio checked his wristwatch again, it read 11.56pm.
“To go, or not to go?” Adio contemplated.
“Don’t do it.”
“I have taken rides every week to Ajah.” Came the boy’s voice again as though to help him make up his mind.
“Do you have your uncles’s phone number?”
“No. I didn’t memorize it.”
“Don’t do it.”
“Please sir, let’s go now. They are fighting. Please let’s start the trip.”
“Don’t do it.”
Adio checked his wristwatch again, it read 11.59pm.
The shrill sound from the alarm perched on the side stool right beside the bed woke Adio up, signaling the crude transition from sleepy dreams to wakeful happenings. He opened his eyes to a blinding headache, a pounding heart and sweaty face, confused and lost for a moment, he adjusted to the darkness in the room with a frown.
“So, it was a dream!”

Every New Year holds promise, as though it is any different from the turn of

I want to tell you something about confidence that most people get spectacularly wrong.
And I mean that without arrogance — because I got it wrong too, for longer than I care to admit. I walked into rooms with my chest out and my chin up and told myself that was confidence. I practiced certain expressions in the mirror before big presentations. I rehearsed answers to imagined tough questions in the shower until the water ran cold.
I looked confident. I performed confidence quite convincingly, if I do say so myself.

There is a conversation you have been postponing.
You know the one. It has been living rent-free in the back of your head for days, possibly weeks. You have rehearsed it in the shower. You have drafted opening lines in your head while stuck on the Third Mainland Bridge. You have imagined seventeen different versions of how it could go, and approximately sixteen of them ended badly.
So you have said nothing. You have smiled when you did not feel like smiling, agreed when you wanted to disagree, and quietly let something important fester because the alternative — the actual conversation — felt like detonating a device in a room you still have to live in.

There is a category of question that polite intellectual company tends to avoid: the kind that, if you pull the thread long enough, begins to unravel not just a specific mystery but the entire fabric of what we think we know about human history. The Pyramids of Giza are that thread. They have been standing in the Egyptian desert for roughly 4,500 years.

Let me take you somewhere. Not to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean — at least, not yet. First, to Lagos. Nigeria. Sometime in the late 1980s. A teenager who should probably have been revising for exams is instead sitting cross-legged on the floor of a library, holding a book that is older than most of the furniture around it, reading about a city beneath the sea.

This is my story of discovering a film that challenged everything I thought I knew about the gift of time, every pulsating detail documented to inspire you to leap beyond your limitations and appreciate the beauty of growing old.
This story explores the paradox of immortality and why a movie from 2015 still resonates so deeply with audiences today.
I hope you find it worth your time.

This is my story, every pulsating detail documented to inspire you to question what you know and leap beyond your limitations.
This story is about the audacity of belief, the power of a well-told lie, and the journey to unlearn the things that poisoned my teenage mind.
I hope you find it worth your time.

There is a category of question that polite intellectual company tends to avoid: the kind that, if you pull the thread long enough, begins to unravel not just a specific mystery but the entire fabric of what we think we know about human history. The Pyramids of Giza are that thread. They have been standing in the Egyptian desert for roughly 4,500 years.

There is a peculiar kind of madness that does not arrive with hallucinations or trembling hands. It arrives quietly. At two in the morning. In a small desert town in New Mexico. It sounds like an idling diesel engine somewhere in the distance — except there is no engine. It sounds like a bass note being held by an invisible orchestra — except there is no orchestra.

Let me confess something. Long before LinkedIn articles, podcasts, and leadership keynotes became my world, I was a teenager sneaking to the library

In an era that increasingly demands hyper-specialization, Akin Akingbogun stands out as a refreshing anomaly. He is a man who refuses to be confined to a single box.

There is a particular kind of silence that falls on a man when the phone stops ringing, the proposals go unanswered, and the diary that once groaned under the weight of appointments sits quietly — almost mockingly — open. If you have ever been there, you know it.

Let me tell you something uncomfortable: the most generous person you know — the one who volunteers every weekend, donates quietly, never asks for anything in return — is probably getting something out of it. Not money. Maybe not even recognition. But something.

Adaeze had been awake since 4 a.m.
Not because she was anxious — though she was — but because this trip felt different. After eighteen months of follow-ups, phone calls, and PowerPoint presentations polished to a mirror shine, the deal was finally ready to close. An investor meeting in Abuja. A partnership that would change the trajectory of her small but gutsy consulting firm. She had triple-checked her flight, her documents, her outfit. She had prayed. She was ready.
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13 thoughts on “Night Runs – chapter 11 -Pity”
Master storyteller. Wonderful! You fooled me completely. Well done.
It is always a pleasure.
None would have believed it was a dream. It looks so real. It must be pointed out the only way for peace to reign in the family is by love and submission. This is the second time I am reading this chapter. Thank you
Ji ma sun!!! A dramatic passenger awaits. Lolz
Even in his dream he is still working. Adio too like work oo. Lolz
This job will not kill Adio. I enjoyed the way Don harassed him in the dream. Nice one bro
Don keeps Adio on his toes.
Great write up
Lovely writeups boss. Keep it up sir. So interesting anyways
Don wanted to put Adio in tight corner …. Wahala
This is lovely boss.
Thanks bud!
Ko ju ma ri bi…….. Alakala
Thank God it was a dream