The hall was quiet.
Even though the chairs were still in their usual places and the whiteboard carried scribbles from the last strategy meeting, something had shifted. It was no longer the same room. Something about confronting Chief Ifeanyi had cracked the ground they stood on, and everyone knew it.
Uzo sat at the edge of the table, fingers laced together. Ikenna paced near the window. Adaeze leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. Zuby was balancing a chair on two legs, chewing groundnuts and watching the ceiling like it held answers.
Uzo finally broke the silence. "We didn't die."
Ikenna let out a half laugh. "We didn't win either."
Adaeze looked up. "That wasn't a fight to win. That was a wall to climb."
"I still dey recover," Zuby said. "That Ifeanyi talk like say na him dey write this life."
Ikenna turned. "You saw his face when the youths didn't chant his name? That cut him more than anything we said."
Uzo nodded slowly. "But he's not done. He's only shifting his methods."
Just then, the door creaked open.
It was Chidimma, one of the quiet volunteers. She came in with a brown envelope and placed it gently on the table.
"They said to give you this," she said.
"Who is 'they'?" Adaeze asked, moving toward the envelope.
"I don't know his name," Chidimma replied. "But he said to tell you, 'Your fire is catching wind. Let it burn here too.'"
Uzo raised an eyebrow.
Adaeze opened the envelope. Inside was a letter with smooth handwriting and a phone number written in blue ink. No name. No logo. Nothing else.
Zuby muttered, "Na code be that?"
Ikenna took the letter and read it aloud. "'You are not alone. Call me when you're ready to build something bigger.'"
For a few seconds, no one said anything.
Then Uzo looked at Chidimma. "Where did he give you this?"
"Behind the plaza, near the yellow kiosk. He just came out of a car, gave it to me and left."
Ikenna walked toward Uzo. "You think it's a trap?"
"It's a door," Uzo replied. "But whether it's open or covered in smoke, I don't know."
That evening, they met again in a smaller circle. Uzo had called only the core team: Adaeze, Ikenna, Zuby, and Nneka.
"I called the number," Uzo began.
Adaeze looked up sharply. "Without telling us?"
"I had to hear his voice," Uzo said. "He said his name is Chief Maduka. Runs a logistics company in Port Harcourt. He said he's followed our work for months."
"And?" Ikenna asked.
"He said he's ready to fund us. Infrastructure. Equipment. Staff."
"Just like that?" Zuby asked.
"There's a condition," Uzo replied. "He wants a seat on our planning committee."
"Ah!" Nneka exclaimed. "So that he can drive us from the back?"
"Is he related to Ifeanyi?" Zuby asked.
Uzo shook his head. "I checked. No links. But he made it clear that his funding comes with expectations."
Ikenna leaned forward. "Which are?"
"He wants us to focus more on business training. Less on activism. He believes that real impact is in entrepreneurship, not agitation."
Adaeze raised both hands. "So we become another agency pushing tech and small business grants? That's not what this movement was born for."
"He also wants quarterly reports. And says all media appearances must go through his PR team."
Nneka blinked. "He's not offering a gift. He's offering a leash."
Ikenna was quiet.
Uzo watched him. "Say what's on your mind."
Ikenna looked up. "I'm tired, Uzo. You know that. We've stretched and pulled and begged and hustled. Zuby almost slept in the center twice because he couldn't afford transport. We talk about independence, but we still dey manage light and water."
Zuby nodded. "Omo, na truth."
"So what are you saying?" Adaeze asked.
"I'm saying maybe we consider it. At least talk to him more. Define our terms."
Adaeze's face hardened. "And when the next demand comes? When he says drop that idea or take down that post?"
"It hasn't happened yet," Ikenna replied.
"But it will," she said. "The moment someone buys into your work, they think they own your voice."
Uzo rubbed his palms together slowly, like he was washing off something invisible.
"What do you think, Uzo?" Nneka asked.
He took a long breath. "Oku has not brought us this far just to make us safe. I believe in growth. I believe in strategy. But I also believe in the cost of compromise."
Zuby scratched his head. "So we go back to beans and garri?"
"Maybe," Uzo said softly. "Or maybe there's another door. One not carved by money."
Adaeze stood. "Then let's find it. Let's not trade our voice for convenience."
Nneka turned to Uzo. "So we reject the offer?"
Uzo paused. Then he said, "No. We ask him to meet us. Face to face. Let him sit in this hall, look in our eyes, and hear our vision. If he walks away, so be it. But we will not bend our work into his comfort."
Everyone nodded slowly.
"Zuby," Uzo said, "go and fix that broken bench in the corner. We might need one more seat."
As Zuby stood, Ikenna said, "What if this burns bridges we'll never be able to rebuild?"
Uzo answered without looking up. "Then we will build new ones. With stone. With sweat. And with truth."
Outside, the wind picked up. Leaves scattered across the dusty ground like warnings.
But inside, there was peace.