Chapter 53: Finding His Voice
1068words
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Inner Monologue (Dapo)
I felt very deep guilt. The past of my family could destroy everything Eki had worked so hard for. I felt like carrying a heavy burden, always revealing the hidden darkness beneath the center's bright exterior.
Eki, however, always supported without hesitation. One evening, after a very tough day, she saw Dapo leaning over his camera with a vacant look in his eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle but firm.
Dapo sighed. "I feel useless," he confessed. "Everyone's worried about the center, about your reputation. What can I do? I'm just a photographer, not some financial wizard."
Eki sat beside him, her touch giving comfort. "You are an artist, Dapo," she said with much confidence in voice. "Also, your art can touch the hearts and give motivation. This is what the center really needs now — to show there is beauty beyond all bad things."
Dapo's eyes flickered with uncertainty. "But what about my style? Everything I ever took pictures of felt... limited. Like they were trapped inside the boundaries set by our family business."
Eki smiled. "Then break free," she said, her voice filled with encouragement. "Do not worry too much about taking the perfect photo, one that everyone likes. Try new things and enjoy experimenting." Find your voice, Dapo. Show Lagos through your lens, not your father's."
Dapo's mind was moving very fast. For the first time, he felt some excitement and freedom from all the big expectations that always held him back before. The next few days were full of finding new things. He moved through the crowded streets of Lagos, feeling the lively and happy energy of the city—colorful markets with many people, one quiet moment seeing a person playing chess alone in a hidden park, and the joyful sparkle in a child's eyes.
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The hot sun in Lagos shines very strongly on Dapo's back when he walks through the busy market. The air has many different sounds – sellers shouting to sell their items, a continuous clunking noise from a metal shop nearby, and lively music playing from a small stage where a street performer is performing. He lifted his camera, eyes pulled by the blend of colors – bright oranges from ready mangoes, dark greens from fresh veggies, and red fabric on the woman's head.
Dapo loved surprises and finding beauty in everyday living. He enjoyed capturing photos of friends smiling while eating hot jollof rice, an elderly woman's face filled with many untold stories, and a child drawing complex designs in the dust with a stick. His camera became almost like a part of his body. With it, he could capture the real spirit of Lagos, not only its pretty pictures you see on postcards.
One evening, when the sun was going down and making the sky look like it had flames with orange and red colors, Dapo saw Eki at their usual meeting place by lagoon. He handed her his camera while feeling very nervous inside.
"This... this is what I see," he stammered, his voice laced with uncertainty.
Eki viewed the photos, and little by little a smile formed on her face. Each picture was vibrant and showed an energy that revealed much about Dapo's new way of creating art.
"These are very amazing, Dapo," she said with real wonder in her voice. "You show the true spirit of Lagos." The beauty, the struggle, the resilience… it's all there."
Dapo feels very strong relief and much pride. Finally, he can break free and find a way to share his special thoughts.
"This is only the beginning," Eki said, her eyes bright with happiness. "We need to show your work at the center." Let the world see Lagos through your lens."
Dapo felt his heart become larger. This was not simply about presenting his art; it meant freedom, an opportunity to prove he has worth as a creator and not only be recognized as Olumide. He is considering having an exhibition – a lively show of his photos that maybe can make history for the cultural center and possibly, just maybe, bring back lost trust in their community.
As they walked hand in hand towards the city lights,
Suddenly, a loud ringtone disturbed the quiet moment. It was Eki's phone ringing, and on the screen appeared an unknown number calling him. She hesitated for a moment, then answered with a cautious "Hello?"
A voice, twisted and full of poison, came through the phone with a hiss. "Eki," it said sharply, making her feel very cold deep in her heart. "Your small friend's art is very good. But having only natural talent is not enough to impress serious collectors." He hungers, and the center will soon be his feeding ground."
Eki felt his blood turn cold. The voice came from the head curator, that enigmatic person who had spoken about Ile Ife. But now his words have new seriousness, a danger that feels much more scary than the earlier tries by the real collector.
"Who are you?" Eki demanded, her voice barely a whisper.
From the other side, there came a scary laugh. "Someone who knows the true value of creativity," said the voice in gentle tones. "And you, Eki, are about to pay the price."
The phone call ends very suddenly, and Eki and Dapo look at each other with fear building inside. The happy feeling they had from celebrating Dapo's new artistic discovery went away quickly, replaced by a frightening sense that something bad will happen soon. The problem with the cultural center got very big. Eki, even though he never wanted to be a hero but somehow became one, realized that it was now more than just about saving one building. They were now fighting for the heart of Lagos, and perhaps even their own lives. With new strength, she gripped Dapo's hand firmly. They met this challenge as one, not willing to surrender. Yet, the mystery stayed a mystery - who was this mysterious curator and what dark secret did he hold about the real cost of creativity?
