Chapter Two – Newton's Hustle
The sky over Ikeja was a pale orange by the time Newton reached Alausa. The air was thick with heat and impatience. Civil servants in oversized shirts shuffled between ministries while street hawkers yelled prices like auctioneers. Buses hissed and honked. The ground was uneven. The city was always pushing you forward — even if your legs were shaking.
Newton adjusted his backpack and pulled out the crumpled text message Pastor Ray had sent:
"22B Akinwunmi Street. Ask for Sister Martha at reception."
The building looked more like a converted residential flat than an office. A faded sign read: Ray of Light Deliverance Ministries. The gate creaked as he stepped inside.
Inside, the reception smelled like air freshener fighting a losing battle with sweat and dust. A dusty fan oscillated in lazy circles. Newton spotted a woman in a long gown and headscarf nodding off behind the reception desk.
He cleared his throat.
She opened her eyes, slowly. "Yes?"
"I'm here to see Pastor Ray. My name is Newton."
She gave him a tired smile. "He's expecting you. Go in."
Pastor Ray's office was small but neatly arranged. A large Bible sat in the middle of the desk, surrounded by stacks of prayer request slips and documents. On the wall was a photo of him shaking hands with a local government chairman — laminated and framed in gold plastic.
"Newton," Pastor Ray said with a wide smile. "Come, sit. You've lost weight o. Lagos is not smiling, is it?"
Newton forced a smile. "It's been rough, sir. I've applied everywhere."
Pastor Ray laced his fingers. "We all start somewhere. Even me, I used to hawk pure water before I became a vessel. But today, I'm touching lives."
Newton nodded, unsure how pure water and prayer connected to his dream of producing music.
"I spoke with one of my spiritual sons at the Ministry of Culture," Pastor Ray continued. "They need someone who can help with youth outreach and media. No salary for now, but they may absorb you officially after three months."
Newton's heart sank. No salary. Again.
But saying no felt like turning away from the only open door.
"I'm grateful, sir," he said, though his voice betrayed hesitation.
Pastor Ray reached into a drawer and handed him a sealed brown envelope. "This is the referral letter. Take it there tomorrow. Dress sharp. Carry confidence."
Newton stood, bowed slightly, and took the envelope. Just before he left, Pastor Ray added:
"And Newton... remember, music is fine. But God first. Don't let this city drag you into vanity."
Back outside, the air felt heavier.
As Newton walked down the street, phone buzzing in his pocket, he saw a group of boys freestyle-rapping under a tree, using a car door as a drum. A little kid flipped in the air for coins. A woman argued with a Keke driver over ₦100.
This was Lagos — chaotic, alive, unapologetic.
He unlocked his phone and saw a message from Kmix.
Show up at 6 tonight. Opportunity dey. Dress like you sabi something."
Newton didn't know where any of this would lead, but he was done waiting for the world to fix itself.
He would chase it.