In the busy neighborhood of Surulere, football is more than just a game; it's a way of life. Every weekend, the local boys gather at the dusty field near the market to play. Among them, Emeka was known for his passion and enthusiasm, even if his skills left much to be desired. Little did anyone know that one of Emeka's penalty kicks would become the stuff of legends.
It was a bright Saturday afternoon, and the usual crowd had gathered to watch the match. Emeka’s team, the Surulere Stars, was up against their rivals, the Ajegunle Warriors. The score was tied, and the tension was palpable. Then, in the final moments of the game, a foul was called in favor of the Surulere Stars. A penalty kick. And who else but Emeka to take it?
“Emeka, abeg no fall our hand o!” shouted Chinedu, his best friend and teammate.
“No worry, I go score this one. Dem go hail me today!” Emeka replied, brimming with confidence.
He placed the ball carefully on the spot, took a deep breath, and ran up to strike it. With all his might, Emeka kicked the ball. But instead of heading towards the goal, the ball soared high and wide, veering off the field entirely. The crowd gasped as it flew towards the street, heading straight for a parked car.
“BOOM!” The sound of shattering glass echoed through the air. The ball had smashed right through the windscreen of a sleek green SUV. The owner, a stern-looking man named Mr. Okoro, rushed out from a nearby shop, eyes blazing with fury.
“Who do this nonsense?!” Mr. Okoro bellowed, surveying the damage. The crowd fell silent, all eyes on Emeka.
“Ah! I don die today,” Emeka muttered under his breath, slowly walking over to face the music.
“Bros, abeg no vex. Na mistake,” Emeka pleaded, hands clasped in supplication.
“Mistake ke? You go pay for this windscreen today!” Mr. Okoro shouted, veins bulging on his forehead.
“Chai! I no get money for new windscreen o. Make we settle am like men,” Emeka begged, trying to look as pitiful as possible.
Mr. Okoro wasn't having any of it. “Settle wetin? My motor no be football post! You go pay or I carry you go police station!”
Chinedu and a few others quickly gathered around, trying to mediate. “Oga, abeg, make we find solution. This boy no get money like that. E just be small pikin,” Chinedu implored.
Mr. Okoro looked around, seeing the sympathetic faces of the crowd. “Okay, fine. But this boy must work for me to pay for the damage,” he declared, finally relenting.
“Thank you, sir! I go work tire, I promise!” Emeka said, relieved but anxious about what was to come.
Over the next few weeks, Emeka found himself at Mr. Okoro's shop, washing cars, running errands, and doing any odd job he was given. His friends teased him endlessly, but Emeka took it in stride, grateful to avoid a worse fate.
“Emeka, how your new job dey go?” Chinedu teased one afternoon.
“No be small thing o. My body dey pain me every day. But at least I no go prison,” Emeka replied, shaking his head.
One evening, after a long day of work, Mr. Okoro called Emeka over. “Boy, come here. You don try. You don work well. I don see say you be good boy.”
“Thank you, sir! I dey try my best,” Emeka said, smiling.
“I go forgive the rest of the money. Just make sure you no kick ball near my motor again,” Mr. Okoro said with a chuckle.
“Ah! Thank you, sir! God go bless you!” Emeka exclaimed, overjoyed.