Lagos, the city of hustlers, heartbreaks, and hurried dreams. A place where people woke up chanting prayers, only to return home muttering curses. And in the heart of it all, towering above the chaos stood a skyscraper with glass walls that glistened like a jewel under the sun. Inside that tower ruled Adana, Okokke.
Welcome to Niger Prince Folktales, home of dramatic, funny, educating, and touching stories. Please like, share, comment, and subscribe to join the family today. Let’s know where you are watching from in the comment section. She was not just rich. She was the kind of rich that made traffic wardens salute her convoy from two streets away.
Her life was polished, her walk was deliberate, and her voice carried the kind of authority that could silence even a generator at full blast. Adana was power in high heels. This Monday morning, her staff were already trembling before she even arrived. One cleaner whispered, “God, a beg make she no notice the stain for that window. Oh nah, so she sacked Chike last week.
” Another muttered, “If she shout for me again today, I go resign. This work no worth hypertension.” But none of them resigned because in Lagos, better wicked boss than no boss at all. At exactly 8:30 a.m., the elevator pinged. Her stiletto heels announced her arrival before her face did.

Adana stepped out tall, glowing in a silk cream suit that probably cost more than three staff salaries combined. her designer bag dangled from her arm as if it was born there. Good morning, madam. Her secretary stammered. She didn’t look up. If you were efficient, you would have emailed me the report yesterday. Don’t bore me with greetings.
The poor woman almost melted. By noon, she was in the boardroom with 10 executives, grown men with bellies big enough to suggest they had eaten more than their share of Nigeria’s jalof rice. Yet in front of Adana, they looked like school boys awaiting flogging. One of them, a bald man in a navy suit, tried to impress her with a PowerPoint slide.
Madam, as you can see, our projections for Q2 show that Adana’s cold eyes cut him mid-sentence. Projections on this nonsense. Even my gateman can draw better graphs than this. Are you an executive or a primary school pupil? The man swallowed his saliva, his forehead glistening with sweat. Another brave soul tried to defend him.
With all due respect, madam, the data was Adana slammed her Montlank pen on the table. With all due respect, you should be quiet before I send both of you to work under my driver. At least he knows how to drive results. silence. The room froze. She stood, gathered her notes, and walked out with the elegance of a queen who didn’t need subjects to clap for her.
Behind her, the executives exhaled collectively as though they had been underwater. But what no one knew, what Adana herself would never admit, was that after every conquest, after every humiliation she dished out, she felt empty. That evening, as was her custom, she drove her black Gwagon down to Ajo’s Adagun Street.
The five-star restaurant glimmered with fairy lights and chandeliers that could blind a passer by. Other wealthy patrons entered with laughter and partners. Adana entered alone. The waiter scrambled. Her usual table outside had already been polished thrice before she arrived. The chef had already marinated her grilled fish the way she liked it. Tender, spicy, and arrogant like her soul.
She sat, crossed her legs, and adjusted her diamond earrings. She didn’t smile at anyone. Not even the waiter, who almost broke his ankle, rushing her glass of red wine. Around her, families laughed. Couples held hands. Young men teased their dates with chicken wings.
Adana sat eating quietly, her face carved into the mask of a queen who needed nothing and no one. Yet in her chest, loneliness nodded her like a stubborn rat. Her eyes wandered to a family at the far corner. A father cutting meat for his little girl. Both of them giggling as if life was nothing but a song. A Dana shifted uncomfortably, her knife clinking against her plate.
Memories she had buried years ago began to claw their way out. Memories of a young man named Max. The only man who had loved her before wealth hardened her heart. Memories of a child she had abandoned because fear whispered. You can’t build an empire dragging poverty behind you. She shut her eyes briefly and sipped her wine, hoping the alcohol would drown the ghost.
But ghosts are stubborn, especially the kind you birthed with your own sins. For the world, a Danoke was untouchable. The ice queen, Legos wealthiest diva. But in that moment, under the glow of chandeliers and laughter, she could never share. She realized something that made her throat tighten. Her throne was high, but it was painfully empty.
And Legos, wicked, dramatic Legos, was already planning the day when the ice queen would come face to face with the very past she thought she had outrun. The third mainland bridge, where the lagoon sighed in silence, and the city above roared with reckless speed. To the bankers in aironditioned jeeps, it was just a stretch of road. But to Max and his son, Tob, it was home.
The pillars carried not only the weight of cars, but the burdens of forgotten souls. Mats patched with duct tape, rusted pots, nylon sheets tied into makeshift tents. This was their reality. Max lay weak on his mat, his body burning with fever. The sickness had been gnawing at him for weeks. He tried to fight it. But how do you battle malaria when even paracetamol was a luxury? By his side was Tob, a boy of 10, wiry and sharpeyed, who carried the responsibility of a man.
He fanned his father with a carton scrap, his small lips trembling but determined. “Papa, you must not die,” he said softly, as if declaring war on death. Max smiled faintly. “My lion, don’t worry. I am not going anywhere.” But the sweat drenching his brow betrayed the lie. Tob’s life was a routine of survival.
At dawn, while the city yawned awake, he tied a small nylon bag around his waist, muttering to himself like a soldier preparing for battle. Today, I must sell all the pure water. No excuse. If anybody price me nonsense, I go shout louder than their horn. He darted into traffic, weaving between danfos, holding out sachets of water. Oga by pure water.
Cold like ice block. Auntie only 50 naira. Help a brother. Some commuters pitted him. Some ignored him. Others hissed as if his existence was an inconvenience. But Tob never stopped smiling. Even when insulted, he would mutter under his breath. One day I go drive bigger motor than Una.
By afternoon, when the sun roasted the tar and his bare feet achd, he took another hustle, shining shoes at the corner of a bank. He wasn’t strong enough to scrub properly, but his charm carried him through. Ogab banker, see as your shoe day dull like nepalite. Let me make it shine like Dangot’s forehead. The banker laughed, dropped a 50 naira note, and let him scrub.
That was Tob, half child, half hustler, all heart. That evening, he returned under the bridge with a small loaf of a ge bread. Half of it already bitten. He rushed to his father’s side. Papa, see, I bought bread and one sache water. You will eat and be strong. Max raised weak eyes to his son. Keep it, my boy. You need it more than me. Tob stamped his foot. Papa, stop it.
If you don’t eat, I’ll throw it into the lagoon. And you know I’m stubborn. Max chuckled despite his pain. This boy. You want to waste food in this economy? Then eat before I call police for you. Their laughter echoed under the bridge. Short but genuine. These moments of humor were their shield against despair.
Later that night, as Tob slept curled up beside him, Max stared at the dark sky peeking through the cracks above. His mind wandered back, back to the days when his world was not under a bridge, but full of hope. He remembered her, Adana. She had been the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Not just because of her looks, but because of the way she carried fire in her eyes.
She had been ambitious, bold, always talking about the future she would conquer. He remembered walking with her along Marina, holding hands, dreaming of a life they would build together. “You and I, Max,” she had whispered. “We will rise. We will leave all this dust behind.” He had believed her.
He had loved her enough to believe even the impossible. But when the storms of poverty came, when hunger started knocking louder than dreams, Adana changed. Ambition grew sharper than love. One day, she left with nothing but a cold goodbye and a promise that echoed like a curse. I can’t carry your nothingness into my future. That was the last time he saw her.
Max shut his eyes, a tear slipping out. He never told Tob the truth. The boy believed his mother had died. Perhaps that was better than telling him she had chosen diamonds over her own blood. Beside him, Tob stirred, whispering in his sleep. Max bent closer and caught the words, “God, please don’t take my papa. Don’t leave me like mama did. Please, just one miracle.
Just one.” Max’s chest tightened. He turned away, pressing his fist against his lips to stifle his sobs. Above them, the city roared. Cars honking, buses screeching, Lagos moving fast as if it had no time for the forgotten souls below. But destiny had ears.
And even in the darkest corners of Lagos, prayers like toes were not ignored. Because soon, very soon, the paths of the boy under the bridge and the woman eating alone in a five-star restaurant would collide, and the collision would shake both heaven and earth. Ajo’s Adagun street was glittering that night. Neon signs winked at tired Legagos workers.
Danfo buses honked like angry goats, and the smell of roasted suya mingled with a perfume of rich people stepping out of tinted cars. At the corner, a restaurant sparkled brighter than the rest. Walls glowing, waiters and bouties moving like soldiers and soft jazz humming through hidden speakers. Outside at her usual corner table sat a Dana Okkeek. She was elegance wrapped in steel.
Her royal blue gown clung to her curves like it was afraid to fall. Diamonds sat heavy on her ears. Her red lipstick shone under the lights. and her manicured nails tapped her wine glass with a rhythm of a queen too impatient for ordinary life. As always, she ate alone. People watched her secretly. A couple whispered, “Nah, that woman again. Imagine eating alone with all this food.” Another diner shook his head.
She get money but no joy. Not punishment. Adana didn’t care or pretended not to. She sliced her grilled fish delicately, sipping her wine like she was punishing the world for breathing too loud. Then came a small voice. Excuse me, auntie. She looked up sharply, brows furoughed. Standing before her was a barefoot boy, skinny clothes torn, face smeared with dust, but eyes burning with something fierce. Tob Adana’s lips curled.
Eh, what is this manager? Who is allowing street children to disturb my dinner? A waiter rushed forward, ready to drag the boy away, but Tob didn’t move. His voice cracked, but he spoke with the desperation of someone with nothing left to lose. Auntie, please, my papa is dying. He’s under the bridge. Help me save him. The words landed like stones.
Adana froze, fork hovering in midair. What did you say? she asked, narrowing her eyes. My papa is sick, Tobeed, stepping closer. He’s burning with fever. I’ve tried everything. Please, auntie, you look rich. You can help. The waiter scoffed. One muttered. These children’s sabbi lie. Well, well. Another hissed, madam. Ignore amn their work. A Dana waved them off.
But inside her chest, something twisted. The boy’s eyes, those eyes felt too familiar. Still, her pride barked. Little boy, do I look like a hospital? Go and beg someone else. But Tob’s voice didn’t waver. He clasped his hands tightly. If you don’t come, he will die tonight, please. And then silence.
For the first time in years, the ice queen didn’t know what to say. Her wine glass trembled slightly in her hand. Why does this boy look like? She pushed the thought away, shaking her head. Yet against every ounce of her arrogance, she stood. Fine, show me, but if you are lying, I’m not lying. Tob snapped, eyes flashing.
“Come quickly.” He grabbed her hand with his dusty one. Her first instinct was to yank it back, but she didn’t. Instead, she let him pull her out of the glowing restaurant, past shocked diners whispering, past waiters staring with wide eyes. Adana stumbled after him as he darted into the street. Her heels clicked on the pavement. Slow down.
Do you know how much these shoes cost? Louboutons are not made for galloping like goat. Tob glanced back unfazed. If your shoe is too slow, remove it. My papa doesn’t have time for fashion. Adana gasped scandalized. You dare talk to me like that? The boy shrugged. If you don’t want to help, go back and eat your fish. Somebody else will save him.
That pierced her chest. She tightened her grip on her gown and followed. Cars honked angrily as they crossed. Adana screeched. Small boy, do you want me to die before I even reach your papa? If you die, it means God didn’t send you,” Tob replied simply, his small legs pumping forward.
“But if you live, it means you’re meant to help us.” Adana stopped for a split second, stunned. “Who talks like this at 10 years old? This wasn’t a child. This was Destiny speaking.” She picked up speed. Dust smeared her gown. Her perfume lost its battle against the stench of the streets.
And for the first time in decades, Adanake, the ice queen, was dragged by fate into a world she had long abandoned. As they neared the shadows of the bridge, Tob suddenly turned. His voice softened. Auntie, you remind me of somebody. I don’t know who, but you feel familiar. Adana’s throat tightened.
She wanted to ask, “Who? Who do I remind you of?” But she swallowed the question. Her pride was still wrestling with her fear. Instead, she said, “Boy, if this is a trick, I swear it’s not.” He cut in, voice trembling. “Now you will see.” And with those words, he tugged her into the darkness under the bridge. Adana’s diamond world collided with Legos forgotten shadows. And waiting inside those shadows was the ghost of her past.
The man she once loved and the truth she had been running from all her life. The deeper they went into the underbelly of Legos, the more Adana’s polished world fell apart. The perfume she had worn like armor was now drowned by the stench of damp nylon sheets, unwashed bodies, and kerosene smoke.
The bridg’s concrete pillars loomed like silent judges holding up the city above while hiding the forgotten below. Her heels clinkedked against broken bottles. Her silk gown brushed against dust and nylon. She grimaced, but something in her chest pulled her forward. Tob’s voice snapped her back. Here, auntie, just here, papa, wake up. See who I brought.
Adana turned her eyes to the figure lying on a tattered mat. At first, she thought it was just another sick man. Skin sagging, bones sharp against the fabric, breath shallow. But then, then the face registered, the jawline, though thinner, the lips, though cracked, the eyes, though dim, still carried the storm she once knew.
Her breath hitched, her knees buckled, her hand flew to her chest. Max. The man stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. He blinked once, twice as though reality was playing tricks, his cracked lips parted, and out came a voice horse, but heavy with recognition. Adana. The name fell from his lips like a curse and a prayer at once. Adana stumbled forward.
Her designer bag crashed to the ground, spilling her expensive perfume and lipstick into the dirt. She didn’t even notice. She dropped to her knees, her diamonds catching the faint light from a distant lantern, and crawled toward him. “No, no, no, no,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “Max, it’s not you. This can’t be you. What? What happened to you?” Max tried to chuckle, but it turned into a cough that rattled his chest. “What happened? Life happened, Adana.
The life you chose to escape.” Her tears blurred her vision. Her mascara smeared down her cheeks, staining her like guilt itself. She held his frail hand, and her cold fingers trembled against his burning skin. “Forgive me, oh Max, forgive me. I left you when you needed me most. I her voice cracked. I was afraid of poverty.
I was foolish. I thought money was worth more than love.” Tob, who had been standing silently, now stepped closer, his eyes darting between them. His young face carried confusion, fear, and a dawning understanding. “Papa,” he whispered. “How do you know her?” Max’s lips curved into a faint pain smile.
He turned his eyes toward the boy, then back to Adana. “She’s not just any woman, Tob. She’s your mother.” The words dropped like a thunderclap. Tob’s jaw fell open. He blinked rapidly as if trying to erase what he had just heard. My my mother. You mean the one you always said was dead. Adana choked on a sob.
She reached toward him, but he flinched back. No. No. Papa said mama died. He said she left this world. He lied. Max’s voice cracked. I didn’t lie, son. I I only buried the truth. Sometimes telling a child his mother abandoned him hurts more than telling him she’s gone. Tob’s small fists clenched. His eyes brimmed with tears.
He glared at Adana, his voice trembling with both anger and innocence. So all this while you were alive, you were eating in big restaurant while me and Papa were eating Gary without sugar, you left us. Adana broke down completely. She crawled toward him, her knees staining with dirt. She clasped her hands together, begging, “My son, I was young. I was stupid. I thought I was doing the right thing.
I searched for you. I swear. For years I searched, but Legos swallowed you. I never stopped thinking of you. Please don’t hate me.” Tob stepped back, his tears flowing freely. His chest rose and fell like a tiny warrior fighting a storm. I don’t hate you, he spat. But I don’t know you. Papa is the only one who never left me.
Max coughed again, gripping Adana’s trembling hand. Adana, please stop. Don’t let the past kill the present. We are all broken. But maybe, maybe it’s not too late. Adana turned back to him, her tears falling on his arm. It is late, Max. Look at you. Look at what I left you to become. He gave a weak smile, a flicker of the man she once knew. Yet I survived. For him, for Tob.
And now for you. Adana sobbed, clutching both of them. Though Tob’s body was stiff in her embrace. Her diamonds clinkedked against the boy’s rough skin. A cruel reminder of the worlds that had been torn apart. Around them, other homeless souls watched in silence. A woman frying Acura wiped her eyes with her wrapper. A man shook his head.
Even in the shadows, Love’s drama was contagious. And in that moment, the ice queen’s empire melted. Her arrogance scattered like dust. She was no longer billionaire Adana O’Kee. She was just a broken woman kneeling in the dirt, holding the man she betrayed and the son she abandoned. Above them, cars roared across the bridge, indifferent to the miracle unfolding below.
But heaven was not indifferent. Heaven was watching. Because this was not an ending. It was the beginning of redemption. The hospital ward smelled of debt, fresh sheets, and second chances. The hum of air conditioning battled with the faint coughs of patients down the hall. In the VIP corner, all eyes were on one bed.
Not because the man lying there was a celebrity, but because of the woman kneeling beside him. Adana Okke. Yes, that Adana, the billionaire ice queen whose name alone could make grown men sweat in boardrooms. Yet here she was, mascara ruined, designer scarf tied carelessly around her head. Her knees pressed against the cold tiled floor as she clutched Max’s hands like a beggar.
The nurses whispered from afar, “Is that really Madam Okke? Ah, the world is turning. See tears on her face. Money no day by piece. True. True. Adana didn’t hear them. Her voice trembled as she spoke. Max, I can’t undo what I did. I left you. I left our baby. But I never had a day of peace. Not one. Every night I saw your face.
Every morning I heard a baby’s cry that wasn’t there. Forgive me, please. Max, frail but alive, squeezed her hand weakly. His lips curved into a sad smile. Adana, life punished us enough. I can’t keep punishing you. I forgave you a long time ago. But the one who must forgive you most is him. His eyes drifted to Tob. The boy sat stiff in a plastic chair, arms folded across his chest like a tiny judge.
He looked at her with a mixture of anger and curiosity, his eyes too old for his age. Adana turned to him slowly. Her voice broke. Tob, my son, I don’t deserve you, but if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life proving I’m worthy to be called your mother. Tob sniffled, but his chin jutted out stubbornly. Words are cheap. You’re rich, but words are still cheap. Prove it. The room fell silent.
Max chuckled weakly. This boy, he is mine, but his tongue is yours. Sharp. Even Adana managed a watery laugh. She nodded quickly. I will prove it. Every single day. You will never be abandoned again. 2 days later, Tob gave her his first test. Mommy, he said. The words still tasted strange on his tongue. “If you’re really sorry, follow me,” he led her not to a boutique or a private school, but to the Ashidy market where he used to hawk pure water. The place was madness.
Traders shouting prices, buses honking, oka men swerving like demons on assignment. And into this chaos walked a Dana Okke, billionaire in flat sandals and a plain wrapper tied clumsily around her waist. The market women screamed, “You madam okke day inside ashidi. Wonder shall never end.
” One shoe maker muttered. Obby she won by the whole market. Tob strutdded proudly beside her, grinning like he had won a jackpot. Everybody see my mommy. She day follow me today. Adana smiled nervously, waving like a governor on campaign. Then one traitor tried to cheat her. Madam, this tomato now 500 Nigerian naira.
Tob stamped his foot. Liar. Yesterday it was 300 Nigerian nairaas. If you add one naira again, I will carry my mummy and go. The crowd burst into laughter. Even Adana laughed. A sound so light and free that the market women clapped in surprise.
For the first time in years, she laughed not out of mockery, but out of pure joy. Another evening, Tob dragged her to the bua where he and Max once ate, sometimes on better days. The benches were wobbly, the soup bowls mismatched, the generator noisy. Adana sat, her gown brushing against oil stained tables. Tobey eyed her. If you eat here and don’t complain, then maybe you’re changing.
She dipped her spoon into the smoky jalof rice, blew gently, and took a bite. Her eyes widened. This This is delicious. The Bukah owner almost fainted. Yazu, Madam Okke, praising my food. Adana laughed. Your rice is sweeter than that five-star restaurant I’ve been wasting money in. I should have found you long ago. Max chuckled from his seat, shaking his head. See how life humbles even queens.
Tobined. Okay, you passed that test. Word spread fast in Lagos. Have you heard? Madame Okke donated 50 million Nigerian naira to the orphanage. Is that not the same woman who once fired her maid for spilling tea? Not true. She has changed. Oh wonders. Her staff saw it too. She raised salaries.
She greeted cleaners. She even smiled at her driver. One morning when a junior accountant stammered nervously during a meeting, Adana surprised everyone by saying, “Relax.” Even Dango started small. The man nearly fainted. It was as if the woman the world knew had melted, leaving behind someone new, someone touched by love.
Weeks later, when Max regained his strength, they gathered not at the five-star restaurant, but at a small bua by the roadside. The air smelled of fried plantin stew and laughter. Tob slurped loudly. “Mommy, you see this rice beats all those fancy ones you were eating alone.” Adana pretended to pout. So my billions have bad taste. Max laughed. “No, he means food tastes sweeter when it’s shared.” Adana reached across the table, holding both their hands.
Tears shimmerred in her eyes, but this time they were not tears of regret. They were tears of gratitude. “I had everything and nothing, but now I have you both. And that means I finally have everything,” Tobin, his small hand squeezing hers. “Good, because from today, you’re not allowed to eat alone again,” Max added softly.
“And you’re not allowed to run again.” She nodded firmly, her voice steady. Never again. The three of them laughed, their voices mingling with a clatter of spoons and the hum of Legos life. Above them, the same bridge that once sheltered pain now echoed with redemption. The ice queen was no more.
In her place stood a Danoke, the mother, the partner, the woman who had finally found her throne in love, not diamonds. Thanks for watching. Please subscribe.