On Okito Street in Ajegunle, a Lagos slum, the hustle never stops. Families squeeze into one room, water is fetched before dawn, and sometimes food comes only once a day. That was the world where Collins Okeke, the son of an Alaba trader, grew up. But even in the middle of that chaos, he carried one stubborn question: Is this really all there is?
At 16, Collins thought his life had already been written for him. After secondary school, his father sent him into the Igbo apprenticeship system, the famed Nwa Boi hustle. By dawn, he was washing cars. By day, he was hustling at Balogun Business Association’s Trade Fair Market.
I never imagined that the boy who once scrubbed cars at 4 a.m., hustled for customers at Balogun Business Association Tradefair Market, and endured hunger in a cramped two-room face-me-I-face apartment in Lagos, would one day manage multi-million-pound grants as a Finance Officer in the United Kingdom,” he reflects.
Growing up hungry but determined
Born at 64, Okito Street, Ifelodun Ajegunle, Collins knew poverty intimately. His father, determined that all his children would finish secondary school, worked endlessly to pay their fees — but couldn’t afford university for everyone. So three sons, including Collins, were handed to the Nwa Boi system.
That night, when my father told me the decision, I cried. I feared I would never see my family again because Nwa Boi protocol limited contact with home to avoid suspicion of stealing from one’s master. My life, I knew, was about to change forever.”
The market became his classroom. He learned discipline the hard way: “Once, I asked [my oga] which of his three cars he planned to use the next day so I could wash only one. The slap I received taught me my first lesson: An apprentice must never presume.”
Still, books gave him oxygen. By 14, he had read Achebe, Grisham, Ludlum, and more. “Books showed me a wider world beyond trade fair, and that hunger never left me.”
The breaking point
After four years as an apprentice, Collins wanted more than the cycle of trading, settlement money, and building houses. Quietly, he saved ₦38,000 from small commissions. But when his oga discovered it, everything nearly collapsed.
My oga demanded I forfeit the money or risk losing my settlement entirely. My family urged me to submit, but I refused. I knew trading was not my destiny.”
His punishment was severe. Instead of ₦2 million, he was settled with just ₦250,000. Still, that decision freed him to chase education.
I registered for GCE, rewrote my O’Levels, and wrote the Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination. I passed and gained admission to study International Relations at Obafemi Awolowo University (OAU). Seeing my name as number four on the admission list was like winning a lottery.”
At Obafemi Awolowo University, Collins thrived. He graduated in 2015 as the fifth-best student in a class of 120, with a CGPA of 3.94/5.0. His dream was to join the foreign service and be a Nigerian diplomat.
But the Nigerian job market was ruthless. He couldn’t get a job despite several attempts. The age limit also disqualified him from several graduate trainee programs. He had to move back home in Ajangbadi.
Relatives mocked me: ‘If you had stayed at the trade fair, you would be rich by now. My youth service at the National Assembly did not translate into a permanent role—without connections, retention was impossible.”
After enduring numerous rejections, he secured a ₦40,000 position at an insurance firm, ultimately earning a salary closer to ₦150,000, supplemented by commissions. It was survival, not fulfilment.
Then came Covid-19 and the push he needed to leave.
The lockdowns froze the economy but also opened global opportunities. My best friend from the trade fair, now a successful professional, moved to the UK. Watching him succeed stirred my old hunger for something more.”
A leap across oceans
In 2021, Collins met the woman who would become his wife. Together, they made a pact that they would save, plan, and move abroad. With family and mentor support, including a ₦10 million loan, they relocated to the UK in 2022.
Starting over was humbling. I worked 10-hour shifts in an Amazon warehouse through the brutal winter. Friends urged me to switch into care work for quick sponsorship. I refused. I reminded my wife that we had not crossed oceans to trade ambition for survival. My ancestors had endured slavery; I would not willingly chain myself to the menial labour “of washing Whiteman’s ass and documenting his faeces” for five years because of ILR.”
Instead, Collins enrolled on the UK Association of Accounting Technicians (AAT). That choice shifted everything: first a finance role at the University of Leicester, then the London School of Economics. Today, as he nears the end of his Level 4 AAT, he manages a £16 million grant as a Finance Officer.
Collins’ conviction to walk away from “my oga when it meant forfeiting millions. Conviction to return to school when others said it was too late. Conviction to endure ridicule in Nigeria rather than settle. Conviction to upskill in the UK rather than take shortcuts” brought him on the path to prosperity, which hitherto seemed impossible. All it took was CONVICTION and the WILL to push through.
It was never just about leaving Nigeria for Collins; it was about refusing to accept smallness.
A different story
Today, Collins works as a Finance Officer at the University of Leicester, managing a £16 million research grant, and setting his sights on postgraduate study at the London School of Economics.
Collins’ story is proof of the Igbo saying: Onye kwe, chi ya ekwe — when you believe, your spirit believes with you.
And for every young Nigerian and African hustling, it’s a reminder that beginnings don’t have to define endings.
