💔 “She Took Me In When I Was a Thief — 22 Years Later, I Became the Lawyer Who Saved Her House From Being Taken”
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Written by Rosyworld CRN
PART ONE — A LOAF OF BREAD AND A SLAP
2003 | Ajegunle, Lagos
I was 12, shoeless, shirtless, and hungry. I hadn’t eaten in two days. I stood outside Mama Ifeoma’s kiosk watching a loaf of bread like it was gold. My stomach growled louder than the generators behind me.
The moment her back turned, I snatched it and ran.
But she was faster than I expected.
A flying slipper struck my back like judgment.
I fell. Bread crushed in dust. The crowd gathered.
> “Ole! Thief!”
I thought that was it. Jungle justice.
But she raised a hand and said:
> “He’s a child. He’s hungry — not dangerous.”
She didn’t beat me. She didn’t hand me to police.
Instead, she picked up the bread, brushed it off, tore it in half.
> “Eat it here. Then come wash plates in my shop.”
That was the day Mama Ifeoma arrested my future — not with handcuffs, but kindness.
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PART TWO — THE ROOM WITH ONE MAT
Her home was smaller than a classroom. One mat. One lantern. One plastic fan.
She wasn’t rich. She wasn’t even a real “mama” to me. She was 38, unmarried, childless, and selling cooked rice and stew in front of a car wash.
But that night, she made space.
She gave me a wrapper to cover myself.
I cried into it like a baby.
No one had ever given me warmth without warning.
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PART THREE — I STOLE AGAIN
Three weeks in, I stole ₦500 from her apron when she was bathing.
I used it to buy biscuits and toy cards for other street kids so they’d think I was somebody.
But guilt wouldn’t let me sleep.
I put the ₦70 change back under her mattress. The next morning she said nothing — just asked me to wash the pots twice as hard.
Later that evening she said:
> “Your eyes are too smart to be wasted. I’ll enroll you in night school. But if you steal again… I will cry. Not because of money. But because you’ll break what I’m trying to build.”
I never stole again.
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PART FOUR — SCHOOL UNIFORMS AND STREET SMARTS
She paid for school with stew money.
Every day, I sold cold minerals after class. She taught me to say “please” and “thank you.” She made me read newspaper headlines aloud even when I didn’t understand them.
When I failed JSS2 English, she didn’t scold.
She said:
> “Any man can carry sand. But a real man must learn to carry words too.”
That night she read me Of Mice and Men. With every page, I saw dreams grow legs.
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PART FIVE — WHEN THE WORLD TRIED TO RETURN ME TO THE STREET
When I was 15, a man showed up — said he was my uncle. Claimed Mama Ifeoma had “kidnapped” me.
He shouted. Threatened police.
Mama told him:
> “I didn’t kidnap him. I gave him what you abandoned — dignity.”
But he came with community boys. They dragged me out.
I ran away at midnight and came back to her gate bleeding.
She cried.
She took me in again.
That’s when I swore I’d never let the world take her peace again.
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PART SIX — THE LAW AND THE PROMISE
2009 | University of Lagos
I got admission to study Law.
Mama Ifeoma sold half her freezer and borrowed money from her church thrift group to pay my acceptance fee.
> “One day,” she said, “I want to sit inside court. Just once. And watch you win.”
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PART SEVEN — HER HOUSE ALMOST TAKEN
2020 | Ajegunle
I was now Barrister Okechukwu C. John, practicing human rights law in Lagos Island.
Mama Ifeoma called one morning, voice shaking:
> “They said I must leave my house in 7 days. Some family member sold it behind my back.”
I drove straight to Ajegunle.
The house was surrounded by men with measuring tape. A rich buyer had forged documents. Her landlord’s son had sold it illegally while she was away at a funeral.
They laughed when I arrived.
> “Who’s this one in tie?”
They stopped laughing when I served court orders. When I filed for interlocutory injunction. When I used land tenancy law to freeze all their efforts.
I stood in court three months later — and won.
Mama sat in the back. The judge noticed her tears. He asked why she was crying.
She said:
> “Because this is the boy I picked up when he had nothing… and today, he just saved everything I have.”
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PART EIGHT — MY GIFT TO HER
I later bought the land from the rightful owner.
Put the new deed in her name.
Built her a new 3-bedroom bungalow on the same plot.
At the housewarming, I gave her a plaque:
> “For the woman who caught a thief and raised a king.”
The plaque now hangs in her parlour — next to her church calendar and photos of me in lawyer’s robes.
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PART NINE — THE LAST COURTROOM
In 2022, she fell ill. Diagnosed with cervical cancer. She smiled through chemo. Never complained.
I moved her to a private facility.
She fought for 9 months.
Her last words to me:
> “I’ve never been a wife. Never been a mother. But loving you made me feel both.”
She ..............
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