“Warri, I be real Warri pikin — na we go later run all streets.”

Born into a family of wealth and discipline, Anthony Oluwafemi Ejiroghene Black—known on the streets as Tony Black—was never meant to become a legend in the underworld. But from a young age, he chose a different path. A path paved with betrayal, blood, and blunts.

While his father climbed the political ladder and his mother clung to religion, Tony embraced the fire of the streets. Introduced into cult life by his cousin Tega—then betrayed by the same blood—Tony learns the first rule of survival: trust no one.

From the oil-stained alleys of Warri to prison networks and shadow wars that stretch across Africa and beyond, Tony’s journey becomes a violent symphony of loyalty, power, and revenge. As the gangs grow darker and the stakes grow higher, Tony rises through the ranks—not by fear, but by fire.

The Streets Raised Me is a raw, cinematic urban saga of a gangster who didn’t fall from grace—he burned the throne and built his own. It’s not just about guns and drugs. It’s about code, war, and what happens when you make the streets your only mother.

This is not only a crime story. This is a war story. A street gospel. And Tony Black is the preacher.
(Warning:

This novel is a work of fiction. It contains mature themes including crime, violence, cult activity, and moral conflict, all portrayed for the purpose of storytelling, cultural reflection, and character development. The book does not promote or glorify illegal behavior, but rather seeks to explore the psychological, societal, and emotional consequences of crime and betrayal, especially among youths growing up in challenging environments.

The protagonist’s journey from innocence to criminal entanglement is portrayed as a complex evolution shaped by personal choices, betrayal, systemic failure, and environmental pressure. All characters, organizations, and events are fictional. Any resemblance to real persons or incidents is purely coincidental.

Reader discretion is advised.)

(Content Advisory:

This is a fictional story intended for mature audiences. It contains themes related to personal struggle, societal pressure, street life, and the consequences of poor choices. The characters and events are entirely fictional and are not meant to encourage or glorify illegal behavior of any kind.

The story follows the emotional, mental, and environmental challenges faced by young people growing up in high-pressure environments. Its aim is to raise awareness, spark conversation, and deliver a powerful narrative, not to promote violence or crime.

Reader guidance is advised for younger audiences.)

The sky above Warri didn't shine. It hovered. Thick. Brown. Waiting.


Down below, in a quiet compound off Airport Road, a boy stood barefoot in the open, blood dripping from his knuckles, sweat running down his ribs.


Behind him, the tall black gate was shut. Behind that gate was silence.


Inside the house—three floors of painted perfection and air-conditioned lies—nobody moved. Not even his mother.


She'd only seen the blood once. On his school socks. And she'd asked him,


She looked at him again, long and hard. But she didn't ask twice.


Chief Godwin Black was too busy meeting people who wore agbadas and spoke in code. Politics, contracts, meetings, alliances. He didn't even see his son. Not clearly. Not truly. Tony was a ghost in his own house.


But outside—in the real world—he was something else.


Out there, on the streets, in the corners, by the school fences, behind the broken buses and gutter streams, Tony was seen.


He had just beaten one of Tega's boys. Big boy. JSS2. Big mouth.


Now he was spitting blood by the block wall, crying low, while Tony wiped his hand on the boy's shirt.


> "You move mad, I swear. But I like that. I like how you dey reason. Come roll with me small. I wan show you something."


The first taste of blood oath. Brotherhood.


A gang, but deeper. A cult, but louder.


The thing that would make Tony's name ring from Effurun to Okumagba.


From the inner streets of Lagos to Europe, to Jo'burg, to Atlanta—


A fire inside him that nobody gave him, nobody taught him, and nobody could put out.


The streets had called. And he had answered.


This was a boy you feared—or followed.


The streets didn't raise him gently. They raised him on war.


Chapter 1 - Prologue – Born Fire