Chapter 1: Inside Oji River Cave

Everybody sabi Chijioke—the boy wey dey wear designer, dey form hard guy for street. But this time, im craze pass level: he dive alone inside Oji River Cave, live on Instagram.

As e enter that cave, all him followers dey comment for him live stream, dey ginger am: "Omo, you dey craze oh! Na you get this level!" But dem say if you hear whistle for inside, na spirit dey call you. That cave no be where you dey play. Before you know, everywhere dark, water cold like harmattan night, and im waka enter deep trouble.

As a diver, I spent almost a whole day rescuing am. I remember as dem rush call me, my hand dey shake small. Last time I answer this kind call, na wahala follow. My people for home dey pray, some dey say, 'Tayo, abeg, try comot for wahala.' But as na my work, I gats answer call.

But afterwards, he join hands with area press people to accuse me of trying to kill am underwater. Even after I risk my own neck, the guy twist the story. I dey look am like, 'Ehn? Na me save you, now you dey talk say na me wan kill you?' For Naija, na so e be.

Even though knocking him out was my last resort, my name scatter online, and the upcoming diving competition was cancelled. People wey no even know wetin happen dey drag me. Competition wey I don dey train for since last year, dem just cancel am. I just dey look.

They even seize my professional diving license. All my hard work just vanish. License wey I sweat for—gone. Na that time I begin dey ask myself, 'Tayo, wetin you do? Who send you?'

One year later, the same Onwudiwe boy try the challenge again—and get trapped again. As if lesson no enter him head, the guy repeat the same thing. E come be like say na film wey dem dey rewind, wahala start again.

And for that area, na only me fit reach am. You know as e dey be—Oji River Cave, na my home turf. When matter hard reach there, na me be the last bus stop.