He Lost His Job Helping Her And Life Rewarded Him Beyond His Dreams
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He Lost His Job Helping Her—And Life Rewarded Him Beyond His Dreams
Sometimes life humbles a man so deeply that the world forgets his worth. But destiny has a way of lifting the forgotten, and kindness has a way of returning when least expected. This is the story of Akenwale Johnson, a young man who lost everything only to rise higher than anyone ever imagined.
The morning sun over Lagos was already harsh, beating down on the city’s bustling streets. Danfos honked, okada riders zigzagged, and hawkers shouted prices for gala, sachet water, and puff-puff. In the middle of this chaos, Akenwale pressed his worn brown folder against his chest, inside were his CV, certificates, and a carefully ironed shirt. Today was his chance—he had secured an interview at Balagon Holdings, one of Lagos’s biggest firms. If he got the job, he could finally support his widowed mother and younger sister.
Sweat trickled down his face as he glanced at his cheap wristwatch. Only forty minutes left. “I must not be late,” he muttered, weaving through the crowd. Then, near Marina, a cry stopped him. “Ah! Somebody please help me!” A well-dressed woman in her early thirties had stumbled near the gutter, her high heel snapped, her handbag spilled open. People glanced but moved on—Lagos was too busy for sympathy.
Akenwale hesitated. He had no time to waste, but when his eyes met hers, he saw panic and embarrassment. She whispered, “How will I even enter my meeting like this?” For a moment, ambition battled compassion. He remembered his mother’s words in Yoruba: “Kindness never dies.” With a sigh, he stepped closer. “Madam, let me help you.” She looked up, surprised. “Are you sure? You seem to be in a hurry.” “I am,” Akenwale admitted, “but you need help more than I need speed.”
Together, they gathered her things. She tested her broken heel and shook her head. “This is a disaster. I have an important presentation.” “Don’t worry,” Akenwale said, “there’s a shoe repair stand by the junction.” They hurried to the roadside cobbler, but he shook his head. “Madam, this one don die. No gum can hold it. You need new shoes.” The woman groaned. “Where can I find shoes now?” “Alagon Market,” the cobbler replied. “Just across the road.”
Akenwale hesitated. Time was flying, but when he saw her worried face, he forced a smile. “Let’s go. I know the way.” At the market, traders shouted prices as they pushed through narrow aisles lined with shoes. Akenwale helped her try on several pairs until she settled on elegant black heels. She reached into her bag, then frowned. “Oh no, I didn’t bring enough cash.” Akenwale looked at his transport money—the last note he had for his journey. Slowly, he placed it in the trader’s hand. “Please add this. She must not be late.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Why would you do that for me? You don’t even know me.” He shrugged, adjusting his folder. “It’s nothing. Just make sure you succeed in your meeting.” She smiled softly. “Thank you. What is your name?” “Akenwale,” he said, glancing at his watch. He was now twenty minutes late.
By the time he reached Balagon Holdings, panting and drenched in sweat, the receptionist looked at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir. The interview has ended. The position was given to Mr. Tunday Martins. He came early.” Akenwale’s shoulders slumped. His chest felt hollow, like someone had snatched his future away. He turned to leave, but the receptionist leaned forward and whispered, “Wait, there’s a janitor opening. The pay is small, but at least you’ll be inside the company. Do you want it?”
Akenwale stared at her, torn between shame and desperation. His dreams of being an economist seemed shattered, but his mother’s voice echoed again. He nodded slowly. “Yes, I’ll take it.” As he signed the form for the janitor role, he muttered, “If this is where destiny wants me to start, then so be it.”
The next morning, Akenwale reported for duty as a janitor. His heart felt heavy as he picked up the green apron and mop. The same building he had once imagined entering in a fine suit now welcomed him as the one who would clean its floors. He moved quietly across the grand lobby, marble floors reflecting the light of the chandeliers. Everywhere around him, men in suits and women in heels walked with purpose. Yet here he was, holding a mop.
Whispers followed him. Two secretaries passed by and lowered their voices. “Isn’t that the young man who came for the interview yesterday?” one asked. “Yes,” the other replied with a faint laugh. “Now he is a janitor. Life can be so cruel.” Akenwale heard them, but kept his head down. He remembered his mother’s words: Kindness never dies. He told himself this humiliation would not last forever.
As he continued sweeping, a familiar voice echoed across the lobby. Tunday Martins, the man who had taken the position meant for him, walked in wearing a navy blue suit, shoes polished to a shine. He carried himself with arrogance, trailed by a junior staff. Tunday’s eyes lit up when he saw Akenwale. A smile curved his lips, sharp as a knife. “Well, look who we have here—the latecomer. Yesterday you wanted to be my colleague, and today you are polishing floors.” He dropped a used tissue on the ground. “Be useful, cleaner. Pick that up, and if you have time, you can shine my shoes.”
The junior staff giggled. Akenwale bent down, picked up the tissue, and resumed cleaning. Every muscle in his body wanted to respond, but he swallowed his anger.
Later that afternoon, while dusting tables, he noticed an open file. He could not help glancing at the figures and graphs inside. His trained eyes immediately spotted errors—confusing net profit with operating profit, ignoring inflation sensitivity. “This kind of mistake can ruin a whole project,” he whispered. Just then the door opened and in walked Funke Williams—the very woman he had helped on the street. She stopped short when she saw him by her desk. “What are you doing with those documents?” she demanded. Startled, Akenwale stepped back. “I am sorry, madam. I was only cleaning.” Her eyes narrowed. “Then clean and leave the files alone. You are a janitor, nothing more.”
Something in Akenwale stirred. He straightened his shoulders, his voice calm but steady. “With respect, madam, the calculations in this report are wrong. If it is presented this way, the company may suffer a huge loss.” Funke froze, shocked. No one dared speak to her like that, least of all a janitor. Before she could reply, Tunday entered briskly. “What is going on here?” he asked sharply, his gaze landing on Akenwale. “Why is this cleaner standing so close to your documents?” “I was cleaning,” Akenwale replied evenly. Tunday sneered. “Do not act smart. Stay in your place. If I ever see you near company files again, you will be thrown out.”
Akenwale’s jaw tightened. He looked him straight in the eye. “You may see me as a janitor, but I know numbers better than you think.” Funke quickly raised her hand. “Enough, both of you.” Her eyes lingered on Akenwale longer than she intended. Later, when the office was quiet, Funke returned to where he was arranging his cleaning tools. Her voice was lower now, almost hesitant. “You said the figures were wrong. How could you possibly know that?” “Because I understand them. These are not ordinary numbers to me.” She studied him closely. “Who exactly are you, Mr. Johnson?” He paused, his voice firm but low. “I am more than just a janitor, madam. Much more.”
That night, Funke could not shake off Akenwale’s words. The next morning, she arrived early and found him already at work. “Mr. Johnson,” she began slowly, “yesterday you claimed the figures in my report were wrong. What exactly did you mean?” He explained the errors, recalculating margins, speaking with quiet authority. By the time he finished, her messy figures had become a clear, logical roadmap. “You are right,” she admitted softly.
Before they could say more, Tunday entered, his expression hard. “Cleaner. Who gave you permission to touch official documents?” Funke stood quickly. “Relax, Tunday. He was only pointing out—” “Pointing out? This man is a janitor. He should be scrubbing floors, not pretending to be an economist.” Akenwale rose to his feet, his voice calm. “Sir, with respect, I know more than you think. The report you submitted yesterday had mistakes. If it reaches Chief Balagon like that, the project will collapse.” Tunday’s face turned pale, but he masked it with a laugh. “You hear him, Funke? A janitor teaching me finance? Ridiculous.”
Funke turned back to Akenwale, her eyes filled with questions. “Do not mind him,” she said quietly. “Tell me more.” For the next thirty minutes, Akenwale explained alternative models of profitability, showing how a 10% shift in costs could affect the entire projection. Funke listened, astonished at his clarity. She began to see him not as a janitor, but as someone who truly belonged in that office.
By midweek, tension filled Balagon Holdings. Chief Balagon himself was coming. The boardroom filled quickly. Tunday began his presentation, but the chief interrupted, questioning his analysis. Tunday faltered, unable to explain inflation sensitivity or scenario analysis. The chief thundered, “Who prepared this nonsense?” Tunday swallowed hard. “I—I did, sir.” Funke stood. “Sir, with your permission, there is someone who can explain this better. Akenwale Johnson.”
Confused murmurs filled the room. “The janitor?” someone whispered. Chief Balagon’s gaze hardened. “Bring him in.” Every head turned as Akenwale stepped into the boardroom, green apron still tied around his waist. The chief gestured toward the projector. “If you know what you claim, explain this report to me.” Akenwale stepped forward, breaking down the true net present value, explaining risk adjustments and how a 10% rise in cost could change the entire picture. His voice was calm, clear, and precise.
When he finished, silence lingered. Chief Balagon leaned back, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Who exactly are you?” he asked. Akenwale answered plainly, revealing his education and struggles. The confession rippled through the room. The chief’s voice softened. “So, life pushed you down, but you refused to stay down.” “Yes, sir. Destiny may delay, but it cannot be denied.” The chief turned to Tunday. “You let arrogance blind you. From this moment, you are dismissed.”
Gasps filled the room. The chief turned back to Akenwale. “Remove that apron. From today, you are no janitor. You will join this team as an analyst and this project will be your responsibility.” Applause broke out. Only days ago, he had been mocked for mopping floors. Now he was being lifted into the role he once dreamed of.
The news spread through the company like wildfire. By the next morning, Akenwale was no longer carrying a mop. He walked into the office wearing a neatly pressed shirt and tie. His first official day as an analyst. Funke watched him, remembering how he had stood in the boardroom explaining numbers with ease.
Later, she invited him to her office. “Mr. Johnson, I want to know the truth. Who are you really?” He told her about his journey, his family, and his struggles. Funke felt humbled. “You could have given up,” she said softly. “I almost did,” he admitted, “but my mother always reminded me: kindness never dies.”
She smiled faintly. “Do you remember me on the street that morning?” “Yes,” he said with a small laugh. “I remember thinking I would ruin my own interview just to help you.” “And you did,” she replied quietly. “Yet perhaps that single act changed everything.” Their eyes met, something unspoken passed between them.
As the day wound down, the company gathered in the main hall. Chief Balagon announced, “Today I present to you the new project manager of this company, Akenwale Johnson.” Applause thundered through the hall. Later, Funke joined him at the entrance. The Lagos evening breeze carried the hum of traffic and distant hawkers. She slipped her hand into his. “Ready for that dinner?” she asked with a smile. He nodded, his heart light.
For the first time in years, Akenwale felt both the weight of destiny and the warmth of companionship. As they walked out together, staff members watched with admiration, whispers of respect following them. With Funke by his side and a new life ahead, he stepped boldly into the night, ready for the beginning of a story only destiny could have written.
Kindness never dies.
The End
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