Career and Hustle

Written by Olorunloba Adeniyi. Chapter One – Dreams from Bariga and Ikoyi The first time Lekan saw a computer, he didn’t know whether to bow before it or run from it. He was twelve, barefoot, and soaked from the rain after running errands in Bariga. The gadget sat behind a dusty glass panel at a business center near Shomolu, humming like it had swallowed a generator. On the other side of Lagos, in a mansion tucked away in Ikoyi, Dapo was already navigating his father’s MacBook Pro like it was a video game. His bedroom had an air conditioner, a bookshelf, and a housemaid who always knew where he left his socks. They were from two different worlds, but fate has a funny way of bridging gaps. – They met in University of Lagos, thrown into the chaos of a thousand undergraduates chasing the same dream in overcrowded lecture halls. Dapo, smooth-talking, charismatic, and always looking freshly imported from a UK boarding school, had the casual confidence of someone who had never needed to fight for anything. Lekan was different. Sharp-eyed. Observant. He had a quiet rage that made him study like his life depended on it -because it did. By some twist of fate – or perhaps because the school’s accommodation algorithm had a sense of humor—they ended up roommates. Their first conversation was over noodles. “Guy, abeg borrow me small matches,” Lekan asked, peeking into the room, clutching a pack of Indomie and a tomato the size of hope. Dapo looked up from his laptop. “Matches? Seriously? Bro, it’s 2015.” “You no get?” Lekan asked, deadpan. Dapo burst out laughing and tossed him a lighter. That was the beginning. They studied, cooked, joked, and hustled together. Lekan was a Computer Science major, obsessed with code and hacking forums. Dapo was studying Accounting, with a mind for numbers and loopholes. By 300 level, Dapo could make a budget look like a magician’s act, and Lekan had already cracked the campus Wi-Fi password, earning him the nickname “System.” At night, while others partied, they dreamed. Dreamed of big cars. Big houses. A Lagos life that didn’t involve sweating in molue or chasing BRT buses. “Guy,” Dapo said one night, flipping through an old issue of Forbes Africa, “how many years you wan dey earn 150k salary?” Lekan chuckled. “Who dey earn 150k? Entry level no even reach that. Dem go still collect tax. Na slavery.” They laughed. But beneath the humor, a plan was beginning to take shape. From Noodles to Nightmares Lekan’s hustle began long before university. He had washed plates at buka, hawked bread, even helped his uncle fix radios. He could code in Python, Java, and even PHP, but still had holes in his sneakers. Dapo, on the other hand, had access to everything money could buy – but none of what he truly wanted: respect. People assumed his life was easy, but his father’s expectations were iron-tight. Failure was not an option, and Dapo hated being the “rich kid” others whispered about. He wanted to earn something – anything – on his own terms. Their bond deepened in 400 level when a crooked faculty staff asked them for bribe to “help process” their final-year project approval. Dapo exploded. “My father go sue this school!” Lekan dragged him outside. “Calm down, Oga protest. You wan fail ni?” They paid. And in that moment, something inside them snapped. “Guy,” Lekan whispered one night, eyes red from coding, “you ever think say we fit do something big? Like… shake system.” “Shake am well,” Dapo nodded. “Shake am sotey dem go feel am for CBN.” It was half joke, half manifesto. That night, they wrote the first line of what would become a five-year plan. Graduation, Then the Grind After school, reality hit them hard. Dapo’s father’s influence helped him land a job at CrescentTrust Bank, one of the top-tier institutions with branches across Africa. He started in the Finance Division, earning respect from older colleagues with his charm and quiet brilliance. Lekan wasn’t as lucky. He hustled for two years, bouncing from one IT gig to another. He built websites for pepper sellers, did data entry for shady real estate firms, and even coded a betting algorithm for one street boy called “Dollar.” But Dapo never forgot. When a position opened in the bank’s IT Infrastructure Unit, he pulled strings and got Lekan in. “Na small world,” Dapo said the day Lekan resumed. “From Bariga to boardroom.” Lekan grinned. “From no light to fluorescent!” They celebrated with suya and small stout. It was the beginning of something more than just jobs. It was the start of their real hustle. Corporate Lagos: Where Dreams Go to Sweat Bank work in Nigeria wasn’t glamorous. The long hours. The back-to-back deadlines. The annoying customers. The fake smiles. Every morning was a battle against Third Mainland traffic, office gossip, and KPIs that made no sense. Lekan often muttered, “Dem go use your brain dey fry akara for here.” Still, they endured. And slowly, silently, their five-year plan evolved. They identified weak spots in the system. Dapo noticed how financial audits could be delayed or disguised. Lekan saw how backend logs could be manipulated. They recruited Cynthia, a fast-talking, flirtatious Customer Service Officer who had her own reasons for hating the bank. She knew which accounts were dormant, which ones had soft checks. Then came Martins, a disgruntled compliance staff with a gambling problem. They offered him a cut, and he didn’t even blink. Four insiders. One mission. A billion-naira heist. Pledges and Promises One Friday night, after a long strategy meeting in a dimly-lit short-let apartment in Yaba, they made a toast. “To freedom,” Dapo said, raising his red plastic cup. “To coded moves,” Lekan replied. “To bank wey no go sabi wetin hit am,” Cynthia added, giggling. Martins, half-drunk, said, “Una sure say this thing go work?” Lekan locked eyes with Dapo. “E must work.” And with that, they sealed their