I looked at the remaining balance I had in my account which was only N7,000. I blinked twice and continued staring, desperately wishing it was just a network issue, but it didn't change. N7000 stared back at me.
“I was stranded," I said silently to myself.
The bus I entered continued moving through the bumpy roads. N7000 was all that remained from the little money I had saved up after paying the driver from Aba to Port Harcourt. I looked around, confused. I knew no one, where was i going to stay?
I looked outside through the window, while the bus drove through the busy streets of Port Harcourt. I noted that the roads were busy. Drivers blaring their cars in a rush get to their destination. Children, running across the streets to get to school. And some traders, selling by the road side. Port Harcourt was indeed a busy place. It was a hustling city and that was why I came here. My family thought I was stupid to to leave home to a strange land where I knew no one. But I was determined to succeed and Port Harcourt was where I wanted to start from.
But as I looked on how busy the streets were and how everyone was performing their tasks with a definite purpose, I could only think about how I didn't belong. I came in this area for new life start and to open a small business of selling and repairing phone accessories. I learned some of the basics back where I am from, and I was very handy. People always brought their chargers, Bluetooth speakers, and phones for me to repair back at home.
My dream was simple: open up a small kiosk and start up something, continue to grow it until eventually I can get my own store. But now, I wasn't so sure any more with the amount that I had in my account.
I relaxed fully back into the seat and relieved a heavy sigh. I had nothing, no tools, no shop, nobody. Only N 7000, a small button phone and my bag of clothes.
“This is the last bus stop, Oya, Everybody come down,” I heard the taxi driver shout, pulling me from my thoughts.
People began coming down. I held my bag of clothes tightly, it was all I had after all, and also came down from the bus. The bus had stopped us in a park. There were also several other buses parked there, some coming, while some were going with their buses filled with passengers. The park was quite roudy. Different drivers, screaming at the top of their voices, each trying to load their buses, market men and women sampling their markets on display for people to buy.
I held my small bag on my and began walking in search of some food first. After I had found something to eat and a place to stay for a few days, I came across Chuka, a guy from Enugu who sold secondhand phones and spare parts in Mile 3 Market.
“You sabi repair?” he asked me one night after I had told him my dilemma.
“Yes, I dey fix the charging ports and speaker problems for back home.”
“You fit come help me for stall tomorrow. No pay o, but you go learn the work.”
I immediately agreed, excitedly. At least it was better than doing nothing.
The next day, Chuka took me to the market. Everywhere was busy. Shops after shops lined all over the market. Agberos stood at the roadside, finding customers and people to drag. People filled the market with some shouting prices, others bargaining with the traders. It was utter chaos but somehow it excited me. It was a place of hustle.
We finally arrived at his shop. It was a just a small space, with a table under an umbrella, but he sold everything, from earphones, to chargers, power banks, and screen guards.
I followed him closely, went everywhere he went, and watched as he talked to customers, bargained on prices with them and how he advertised his market. I helped him with anything I could. Even helped fix some speaker problems, arrange his market and went some small errands for him.
At the end of the day, he handed me ₦1,000.
“You try,” he said. “Come tomorrow.”
I smiled. That was the first money I earned in Port Harcourt. It was not much, but it was a start and that was all the encouragement I needed.The following day, I followed him, and kept on showing up day after day. Every small naira I earned I saved. I started doing small repairs in the shop. I repaired people's phones, screens, power banks and the likes. Customers began asking for me more and more. Chuka noticed it and advised me.
“Guy! You fit get your own table. I will help you find a small space.”
I thought about the idea, saved towards it. By the end of the month, I was able to rent a small space close to Chuka's shop. Borrowed a small stool and a table. Manged to buy an umbrella. And soon enough, I started my own phone repair business. It was nothing grand. Just my tool box with a small shade. I called it Fix-it -Hub.
GENERATED USING META AI
One woman came to fix her phone’s charging port. I fixed it quickly. She payed me N1500 The next day, another mam came to fix his screen guard. Soon, more customers began coming in. I fixed speakers, changed screens, soldered boards even under heavy rain that poured or the hot sun in the afternoon. Sometimes, I would get soaked by the heavy rain. Sometimes the hot sun would heat my skin up. But I endured it all. The important thing was that I was moving, growing gradually.
Months passed by gradually. I bought a second stool. Added more accessories to my small stand and started selling. Some days I would make up to N5000, on other days just N1000. Still I kept on going.
One day, I walked past Garrison and saw a new shop space opening. Small, but with walls and a door. I stopped and asked for the price—₦35,000 per month. I almost walked away, but then I thought back to how far I had grown from my small business and resolved to get the space. I told the man to keep the space for me, before the end of the week I would come by.
I increased my hustle, doubling how much I worked X2. Sometimes I stayed till late at night when everyone had almost closed. I even sold some of my phone accessories and by the end of the week, I had successfully saved up enough for one month rent.
After the day's work, I stood in my new shop. Everywhere was empty. No tables, no accessories, just me and my small bag of tools. I smiled to myself. I had come with nothing, but now I had a small shop that I could call mine.
I called my mother that night.
“Mama, I have a shop now.”
She paused, then said, “God has started your new chapter, my son.”
Yes. It's a new chapter indeed. And this time, I was the one writing it.
Very nice story, consistency pays. Thank God for chika that God first sent into ur life to start a new chapter
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