Dele lived in Surulere, a vibrant and bustling neighbourhood in Lagos. Despite its reputation for being one of the more expensive areas in the city, Dele had managed to find a decent apartment in a quiet compound off Ogunlana Drive.
The area was known for its lush greenery, with tall trees lining the streets and a variety of flowers and plants adding splashes of colour to the urban landscape.
As he walked through the neighbourhood, Dele loved the sound of birds chirping in the morning and the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from the local bakeries.
The area was also home to a variety of restaurants and cafes, serving everything from traditional Nigerian cuisine to international dishes.
Dele often grabbed lunch at one of his favourite spots, a small eatery that served delicious jollof rice and suya, a meat-pepper mix delicacy usually prepared and sold by northern entrepreneurs along major roads.
Dele’s apartment was a cosy one-bedroom flat with a small balcony that overlooked the compound. He had decorated it with a mix of modern and traditional furnishings, and the walls were adorned with his own artwork and designs.
Despite the high cost of living in Surulere, Dele had managed to afford the apartment thanks to his successful career as a lead graphics designer at a top advertising agency in Yaba that focused on tech startups.
As a talented designer, Dele was known for his creativity and attention to detail. His colleagues admired him for his willingness to help and mentor others, and he was always the first to offer a solution to a tricky design problem.
He was a master of Adobe Creative Suite and could whip up a stunning visual in no time.
But Dele had a secret. Behind the closed doors of his apartment, he smoked. At first, it was just a social thing, a way to unwind after a long day.
But soon, the occasional cigarette turned into a pack-a-day habit. He hid it well, sneaking puffs during breaks, claiming he needed fresh air.
As time passed, Dele’s addiction escalated. He upgraded to weed, telling himself it helped him relax and focus.
But the high wore off, leaving him anxious and irritable. His colleagues noticed the change in him, but Dele brushed it off as stress.
One fateful evening, Dele’s boss assigned him a critical project for a major tech startup client. The deadline was tight, but Dele was confident in his abilities.
He spent hours working on the design, but as the night wore on, he couldn’t resist the urge to smoke. He lit up a joint, feeling the familiar rush of relaxation.
As he worked, Dele’s judgment became clouded. He clicked through files, uploading images to the client’s folder. But in his haze, he lost track of what he was doing. The next morning, his boss called him into his office, his face stern.
“Dele, what happened?” his boss asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “The client just called, and they’re furious. The files you sent over… they’re not just wrong, they’re… indecent. You sent po*n files, Dele. How?”
Dele’s heart sank as he realized his mistake. He had uploaded nude images, completely unrelated to the assignment. His boss’s words cut through the fog in his mind, and he felt a wave of shame wash over him.
The consequences were swift. Dele was fired, his reputation in tatters. His colleagues were shocked, whispering among themselves about the talented designer who had fallen so far.
As Dele packed up his belongings and left the office, he knew he had hit rock bottom. He thought about the countless nights he had spent smoking, the promises he had made to himself to quit, and the lies he had told to hide his addiction.
That night was long. Trying to get his mind over the ordeal, Dele wandered the streets, feeling like a shadow of his former self. He knew he had to face the damage he had done, not just to his career, but to his own life.
In the days that followed, Dele struggled to come to terms with his situation. He applied for job after job, but no one wanted to hire a designer with a reputation for unprofessionalism.
Bad news sells. The ordeal had become a major gossip point in the advertising industry as the startup had to outsource to another company. Dele felt like he was losing himself, like the person he used to be was slipping further and further away.
One day, as he was walking through Yaba, Dele stumbled upon a support group for people struggling with addiction. He hesitated outside, wondering if he was ready to face his demons. But something about the group’s slogan resonated with him: “Recovery is not about being perfect; it’s about being willing to try.”
Dele took a deep breath and stepped inside. The road to recovery would be long and hard, but he knew he had to try. He couldn’t change the past, but he could work towards a better future.
As he sat in the group, listening to others share their stories, Dele realized he wasn’t alone. There were others who had fallen, who had struggled, and who had risen again. He felt a glimmer of hope, a sense that maybe, just maybe, he could rebuild his life.
Dele knew he had a long way to go, but he was willing to try. And, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he could see a glimmer of light in the darkness.
