He leaned on the wall. "And then?"
"One man raised his hand. That was all. The water paused. Then it fell back."
Uzo said nothing. She poured the hot water into a plastic flask.
"I think we need to pray again," she said. "Not the short kind. Not the casual kind. The kind that bends something."
Uzo nodded slowly. "Tonight. After the session."
Later that day, a group of older boys arrived at the gate, asking to speak to Uzo. They had not been part of any formal training.
One of them, wearing a long chain and a football jersey, walked in with boldness. "We came to warn you."
Uzo looked up from the papers he was sorting.
"The man sponsoring that side of Owerri," the boy continued, "he says you are trespassing."
Uzo placed the paper down. "What trespass?"
"You are teaching boys he already owns."
Adaeze stood to the side. She did not speak.
Uzo stood calmly. "I own no one."
The boy stepped closer. "You are not from here. You don't know the rules."
"Maybe the rules need changing."
The boy smiled coldly. "If you stay, someone will get hurt. And it won't be us."
Then they left.
That evening, Adaeze locked the gate carefully.
"You should sleep at home tonight," she told Uzo.
"I will stay here."
"There is no honour in being foolish."
He looked at her. "And no peace in fleeing."
She watched him for a long moment. Then she walked away without another word.
By midnight, the sky had cleared. Uzo knelt on the bare floor of the small office, beside the chairs, his hands on his knees.
He did not speak loudly. But the words were clear. Sincere. Long.
He prayed for peace. For light. For the strength to keep going when the room gets emptier. For the youth who were beginning to see something real. For Adaeze, whose eyes were heavy with burden. And for the men whose shadows hovered at the corners of their work, ready to break what was being built.
In the morning, the broom he had used to sweep was broken in half and thrown beside the gutter.
Adaeze found it first.
Uzo said nothing. He picked it up and placed the halves inside the bin.
A young boy came running up minutes later. "They've scratched the wall again," he said.
They walked to the back of the center and saw the spray paint.
CLOSE OR BURN.
This was no longer silence. It was a warning.
But still, Uzo gathered the team. Still, they ran their sessions. Still, they laughed and taught and shared bread.
One of the boys began writing songs. Another started drawing again.
And still, something deeper brewed in the background. Something not yet seen but strongly felt.
The next day was Friday. A day Uzo normally used for reflection and planning. But as he arrived early at the center, he saw three chairs overturned in the compound. Someone had entered during the night.
He picked the chairs and returned them without a word. Then he sat under the mango tree for a while, watching the leaves shift in the morning light.
By eight o'clock, two boys arrived. Then five more. Then ten. The room filled, laughter rising like wind through broken windows.
Ikenna stood in front of the whiteboard with Adaeze by his side. Today's lesson was communication. He was teaching them how to speak boldly without raising their voice.
Midway through the lesson, Uzo stepped outside to take a call.
It was Chuka.
"Guy," the voice said, "you need to come and see this. Someone's putting up posters with your name."
Uzo frowned. "Where?"
"Main roundabout. Come now."
He ended the call, alerted Adaeze, and made his way to the roundabout with a bike.
There, pasted on the walls near the newspaper stand, were three large posters with Uzo's face. But not the usual kind.
These had bold red words above the photo:
" HIDDEN HANDS. FOREIGN MISSION."
Underneath were fake claims: that Uzo was trying to recruit boys for foreign politics, that he was working for outsiders, that he was an agent pretending to serve.
Uzo stared.
The people nearby whispered. Some stared. Some moved on.
He peeled one of the posters down slowly, folded it, and left.
Back at the center, he laid the paper on the desk.
Adaeze entered and saw it.
"I don't even know what to say," she whispered.
"They want fear to win."
"But this… this looks official."
"Which makes it more dangerous."
He sat down.
Ikenna entered and saw the poster. He froze.
"Is that real?" he asked.
"No," Uzo said. "But lies feel real when shouted loud enough."
The air in the room changed.
Later that day, Adaeze received a message. Her cousin had been told to stop visiting the center.
"They said it's not safe anymore," she told Uzo.
He looked at her. "Do you still believe in what we are doing?"
"Yes."
"Then that's enough for now."
That evening, they held a discussion session with the youth.
One boy raised his hand.
"If everyone is against us," he asked, "why not just go? What are we even fighting for?"
Uzo let the silence hang for a moment.
Then he said, "We are not fighting people. We are fighting what people fear."
"What do they fear?" the boy asked.
"Change," Uzo said. "Truth. And a generation that no longer bows because of who holds power."
The room went quiet.
Ikenna stood slowly and walked to the board. Without being asked, he wrote the word:
RESIST
Uzo did not tell him to erase it.
Later, Mama Nnena called. Her voice was firm.
"Do not forget," she said, "the hand that lays the foundation must be clean."
He nodded, even though she could not see him.
When he ended the call, Adaeze was still sitting by the window.
"What if this keeps getting worse?" she asked.
"Then we keep getting stronger," he said.
She turned. "How?"
"By not forgetting why we started."
She stood and walked to the door. "I am not afraid," she said. "But I am tired."
He understood. And he let her leave without answering.
That night, he swept the compound slowly, feeling every movement in his bones. He lit a small candle and left it by the wall.
When he closed the gate, he paused and looked out.
Two men stood at the far end of the street.
He said nothing.
He turned. He entered. And he locked the gate behind him.
The poster incident began to ripple.
By Saturday, two boys who had been consistent stopped showing up.
One of them sent a message to Ikenna:
"My uncle say make I no go again. Dem talk say police fit come arrest people."
Adaeze read the message aloud during a team meeting.
There was a long silence.
"I do not blame them," Uzo finally said. "Not everyone has chosen to fight the invisible battle."
"It's not invisible," Adaeze replied. "It's loud now. This is war. Just not with guns."
That evening, Chuka visited the center for the first time in weeks. He leaned on the doorframe, looked around, and gave a short whistle.
"You still dey here?"
"I live here now," Uzo said with a tired smile.
Chuka laughed. "You? You were the boy who used to avoid even ordinary student union meetings. Look at you now."
"What do you see?"
Chuka looked serious for a moment. "I see a man who is trying to do something different in a place that resists different."
Uzo nodded. "That's fair."
"I came to warn you," Chuka said. "You have stepped into a place with buried loyalties. Money flows underground here. Influence is old and layered. You are shaking things you don't see."
"I do not want power," Uzo said.
Chuka gave a half smile. "That's the problem. You are not asking for power, but the people are beginning to listen to you. That alone is threat enough."
He paused. "They will try again. But not with graffiti this time."
Uzo leaned back in the chair. "Then we pray harder. And think deeper."
That night, Uzo barely slept. He kept hearing the sound of a knock that never came.
On Sunday morning, a woman from the local market arrived at the center. She looked anxious. "You don't know me," she said, "but I know one of the boys in your program. My nephew. He came home crying last night."
Uzo stood to listen.
"They beat him. Told him to stop learning from you. Told him you are trying to spoil the boys."
Uzo felt the slow fire inside him rise.
"I want you to know," she continued, "some of us believe in what you are doing. Even if we cannot come out to say it."
"Thank you," he said gently.
She left quickly, looking over her shoulder.
Later that day, Ikenna found Uzo writing something by hand.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Something to put on the wall. A reminder."
Ikenna sat beside him and read the words:
They may try to block the road, but they cannot block the sky.
The next morning, it was posted in bold on the notice board.
Some of the boys nodded when they saw it. One even whispered, "Na true."
Still, tension remained. Eyes from the other side of town were watching.
One afternoon, a man in a black cap came to the gate.
He said nothing.
He stood, watched for a while, then turned and left.
Adaeze began locking the gate earlier.
They started ending classes thirty minutes sooner.
Still, they did not stop.
One of the boys who had left earlier came back and begged to join again. He said he had been forced to stay away but could no longer sleep well. "My heart no dey rest. I need to continue," he said.
Uzo welcomed him back.