THE MAD MAN IN MY NEIGHBORHOOD

Everyone on Coker Street knew Prince William. Not because he was royalty. God forbid. But because he was mad. At least, that was what we all agreed on. He wore a wrapper tied loosely around his waist like a man who had stopped negotiating with the world. His hair sat in thick, stubborn locks that had never met a comb. He chased dogs, argued with walls, and once threw a mango at Mama Tunde’s okada, looking personally offended when it missed. We kept our distance. That was the rule. Nobody told God’s Favourite. God’s Favourite was nine, in Primary Five, and had no mother or father to speak of. He lived with his aunt across the street and carried himself with a careless ease that made adults click their tongues. Irresponsible, they said. No home training. That Tuesday, his teacher sent him home because his school fees were unpaid. He walked back with his bag slung over one shoulder and exactly one hundred naira in his pocket—money meant for an errand. Money that was supposed to return untouched. He stopped at the puff-puff stand. Bought two for fifty naira. He stood there eating the first one, hot oil still shining on his fingers. That was when he saw Prince William. The man sat beside the gutter, staring at something only he could see. Wrapper dirty. Feet cracked and bare. And he looked at that puff-puff the way a man stares at the last bus he knows he has already missed.I stood still by the window as I watched. God’s Favourite looked down at the puff-puff in his hand. Looked at Prince William. Looked back again. Then he walked over and held it out. “Take,” he said. “It’s the only one remaining.” Prince William studied the puff-puff. Then the boy. Slowly, he took it. They sat together on the kerb—the madman and the schoolboy—eating in silence while the street pretended not to watch.After a while, Prince William spoke. “You are not afraid of me.” God’s Favourite shrugged. “You looked hungry.” Something shifted behind the old man’s eyes. He stood, dusted his wrapper, and said, “Come. Let us eat properly.” Iya Risi nearly fainted when they entered her bukka. Her apprentice disappeared out the back. Prince William sat like a man who had eaten in far finer places, pulled out a phone—not a Nokia, an actual smartphone—and made a short call. “Come and pick me up.” God’s Favourite blinked. “You have a phone?” “I have many things,” Prince William said calmly. “My cousin wanted the throne. The only way to stop him was to vanish. Dead men cannot be plotted against. So I stepped out of the palace and became nobody for a while.” He looked at the boy. “Nobody except to you.” The food arrived. God’s Favourite hesitated. “Who will pay?” Prince William looked at him. “My boy,” he said calmly, “if you want to survive in Lagos, you must learn how to pass your boundary.”Then he paid with a card. He added quietly, “My wife has not given me a male child. Without one, my cousin takes everything after me. But a king’s son is not always born. Sometimes he is found.” God’s Favourite did not fully understand. But he ate his pepper soup. ---Three weeks later, Coker Street stopped breathing. A long black car arrived first. Then drums. Then aso-oke. Then men in agbada worth more than every rent on the street combined. Stepping out—clean-shaved, robed, standing like someone who had never been lost—was Prince William. No one recognised him at first. Then Mama Tunde screamed, from realization.That evening, inside the palace, documents were signed. Witnesses called. Everything verified and recorded. When it was done, God’s Favourite—the boy who had no father, no mother, and one hundred naira to his name three weeks earlier—walked out as the son of a king. The same boy people called irresponsible. The same boy they said had no future. He had been kind once. When it cost him everything he had. It turned out that was enough. <blockquote>This is a work of fiction. Be kind to people, no matter how they look. You never know who you are sharing your last puff-puff with.</blockquote> Do NOT test this with an actual mad person. They will bite your ear. The author accepts no responsibility.🙄

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