Chapter Two - The Blood of Pablo
At Oshodi Bus Stop
The heat of the day rose as Samuel reached Oshodi bus stop, one of the busiest places in Lagos. Yellow danfos screeched as conductors shouted destinations, "Ojuelegba! Yaba straight! Ikeja, Ikeja!" The air was thick with exhaust fumes, fried akara smells, and the shouts of hawkers selling sachet water, plantain chips, and phone chargers.
It was there that Samuel met Pablo, a well-known thug.
Pablo leaned lazily against a rusted iron pole, a bottle of dry gin in one hand and a cigarette dangling from the other. His bloodshot eyes narrowed as he spotted Samuel approaching.
"O boy, drop something!" Pablo barked, stretching out his rough palm. His voice was laced with menace.
Samuel looked at him calmly. "How are you, sir?"
Pablo sneered, blowing out smoke. "Better pass you if you no wan wahala."
Samuel clutched his Bible tighter. "Do you know the truth?"
Pablo's laughter was loud and mocking, drawing the attention of nearby bus conductors. "Truth? For Oshodi? Na money be truth here, abeg. Wetin you dey yarn, small boy?"
Samuel stepped closer, eyes fixed on him. "The truth is this: For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."
The laughter froze on Pablo's lips. He shifted uneasily, then masked it with a scornful grin. "Abeg, go sit down. Jesus no fit save person like me. You see my hands? Blood dey here. My heart? Na stone. You dey tell me say God still get time for me? God no even dey exist!"
Samuel's voice grew firmer. "Jesus came for sinners, not the righteous. He came for you, Pablo. He loves you, even now."
Pablo shook his head violently. "Forget am! No God go forgive wetin I don do. I don kill, I don steal, I don shed blood. Na me you dey preach for here? Na waste of time."
The Sudden Attack
Before Samuel could answer, a group of rough-looking young men stormed the bus stop. Their eyes locked on Pablo immediately. They were cultists, armed with daggers and broken bottles.
"There he dey!" one of them shouted. "Pablo! Today na your end!"
Samuel barely had time to react before he was shoved aside. He fell hard on the ground, scraping his elbow, but his hand never let go of his Bible.
The cultists circled Pablo. One snarled, "You think say you fit kill nine of our boys and waka free? We don dey find you!"
Fear flashed across Pablo's face, but he masked it with bravado. "You no fit touch me for Oshodi!"
But his words were cut short. A blade flashed, and before the watching crowd could process it, Pablo screamed as steel pierced his eye. Blood poured, his bottle and cigarette falling to the ground.
The attackers, satisfied with their vengeance, bolted into the crowded streets, disappearing as quickly as they came.
The Crowd Gathers
Chaos erupted. Market women screamed, clutching their children. Bus conductors cursed and shouted. Passersby rushed forward, some filming with their phones, others shaking their heads in pity.
Pablo lay writhing on the hot tarred road, clutching his bloodied face, groaning in agony. His once defiant look was replaced with sheer terror.
Samuel crawled toward him, still holding his Bible. His young voice trembled but carried urgency.
"Pablo! Listen to me… the truth is Jesus loves you! Even now. He can forgive you! He is the way, the truth, and the life!"
Pablo's one good eye widened, locking on Samuel. Blood streamed down his face, but his lips quivered. For the first time, he was silent, no arguments, no mocking.
The market women whispered among themselves. Some were saying, "Na God dey fight am o. All the bad thing wey him don do, e don meet am." Others murmured, "Maybe God dey truly send this small boy."
Samuel pressed on, his voice breaking but filled with passion:
"Confess Him, Pablo! Even now! For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life through Christ Jesus!"
The whole bus stop held its breath.
The wail of women still echoed through the air, the smell of blood mixing with fried akara and exhaust fumes. Samuel knelt beside Pablo, his Bible clutched tight against his chest, his heart pounding with grief.
Tears streamed down his face as God's voice from his dream rang loud in his spirit:
"Samuel… tell the world the truth. For the time is short."
But time… time was slipping away from Pablo.
"Lord, why now?" Samuel's voice cracked. His eyes stayed on Pablo's trembling lips, but no confession had yet escaped them.
Suddenly, the atmosphere changed.
A thunderous roar of engines approached. Then footsteps - heavy, synchronized, dangerous.