It rained that afternoon, not a heavy downpour, just a slow drizzle that made everything feel slower. Uzo sat by the window of the center, watching the water trail across the glass. His eyes were open, but his mind was deep somewhere else.
They had lost people. Not in death, but in trust. Some left silently. Others stormed out. The rest stayed, but with questions in their eyes. It was not fear that sat on Uzo's shoulders now. It was the weight of responsibility.
Adaeze walked in, removed her wet scarf, and hung it near the fan. The power was out, as usual.
"We need to do something," she said.
"I know," Uzo replied without turning.
"People are beginning to listen to what others are saying about us."
"They always have."
"But now they believe it."
Uzo stood and stretched. "We will not defend ourselves with noise. We need a different strategy."
Adaeze looked at him. "Do you have one?"
"Not yet. But I know what we must stop doing."
She raised a brow.
"We must stop acting like victims."
He walked to the board and cleaned off the plans they had made for the outreach. The ones that never happened.
"We thought we could win them over with one big program. But this is not a campaign. It is not about performance."
Adaeze nodded. "It is about consistency."
"It is about roots," Uzo replied. "We need to plant people. Quietly. Not in the spotlight. Not where they will be attacked. Just one or two. The kind who know how to grow without noise."
Adaeze walked closer. "That is something I can work with."
They called Ikenna, who showed up with a backpack and the usual tired look in his eyes.
"We need to go underground," Uzo told him.
Ikenna blinked. "You mean hide?"
"No. I mean stop announcing ourselves. No fliers. No social media. No noise. Just quiet impact."
Ikenna dropped his bag. "I have been praying you would say this."
They sat at the old table, and each wrote down three names. People they had seen before. People who had shown signs of passion but had pulled back out of fear or pressure.
Uzo wrote the name Onyeka.
Adaeze wrote the name Favour.
Ikenna wrote Dalu.
Three names. That was all.
They planned how to meet each one privately. How to encourage them without exposing them. No pressure. No promises.
The next day, Uzo visited Onyeka's welding space. The boy was covered in sweat and dust, working under the shade of a zinc sheet.
"Long time," Uzo said.
Onyeka looked up, surprised. "You dey here?"
"I came to see how you are doing."
Onyeka wiped his face. "I dey manage. Na small work."
Uzo handed him a small bag. Inside were gloves, protective glasses, and new blades.
Onyeka opened it slowly. "Wetin be this?"
"Tools. I remembered you said your work was slowing down because of broken ones."
The boy looked at him. "Why you remember?"
"Because we still care. Even if you are not standing with us publicly."
Onyeka said nothing. But his grip on the bag tightened.
"I no say anything again," Uzo added. "Just use it well."
He turned and walked away.
Two days later, Onyeka sent a message. "I never forget kindness. Thank you."
Back at the center, Ikenna had spoken to Dalu. It was not as smooth.
"She said she no get time for all this again," he reported. "But she listened."
"Then that is enough for now," Uzo said.
They all agreed to move slowly.
No sudden movements.
Just quiet progress.