She thought he was just a poor, crippled beggar. Every day, she fed him with her little food. But one morning, everything changed. Who was this man? Why did he choose her? And what secret had he been hiding all along? Sit back and find out as we dive into this shocking and heart-touching story.
This is the story of a poor girl named Esther and a crippled beggar whom everyone laughed at. Esther was a young woman, just 24 years old. She sold food at a small wooden stall by the roadside in Lagos. The stall was made of old planks and iron sheets, standing under a big tree where many people came to eat. Esther didn’t have much. Her slippers were worn out, and her dress had patches, but she was always smiling. Even when she was tired, she greeted people kindly.
“Good afternoon, sir. You’re welcome,” she would say to every customer.
She woke up very early every morning to cook rice, beans, and yam porridge. Her hands worked quickly, but her heart was weighed down with sadness. Esther had no family. Her parents died when she was young, and she lived in a small room not far from her shop. There was no light or running water—just her and her dreams.
One afternoon, as Esther wiped her bench, her friend Mama Titi walked by.
“Esther,” Mama Titi said, “Why are you always smiling when you are struggling just like everyone else?”
Esther smiled again and replied, “Because crying will not bring food to my pot.”
Mama Titi laughed and walked away, but her words stayed in Esther’s heart. It was true. Esther had nothing, yet she still gave people something to eat—even when they couldn’t pay.
She didn’t know that her life was about to change.
Every afternoon, something strange happened at Esther’s shop. A crippled beggar would appear from the corner of the road. He always came slowly, pushing his old wheelchair with his hands. The wheels made a rough sound on the stones. “Creek, creek, creek.”
People passing by would laugh or cover their noses.
“Look at this dirty man again,” one boy said.
The man’s legs were wrapped in bandages, his knickers were torn at the knees, and his face was dark with dust. His eyes were tired. Some people said he smelled, others said he was mad, but Esther never looked away. She called him Papa J.
That afternoon, as the sun burned hot above, Papa J pushed his wheelchair and stopped beside her shop. Esther looked at him and said softly, “You’re here again, Papa J. You didn’t eat yesterday.”
Papa J looked down, his voice low. “I was too weak to come,” he said. “I haven’t eaten in two days.”
Esther looked at her table. Only one plate of beans and yam was left—the food she wanted to eat herself. She paused for a moment, then without a word, she picked up the plate and placed it in front of him.
“Here, eat,” she said.
Papa J looked at the food, then at her. “You’re giving me your last plate again?” he asked.
Esther nodded. “I can cook again when I get home.”
His hands shook as he took the spoon. His eyes looked wet, but he didn’t cry. He just bent his head and started to eat slowly.
People walking by stared at them.
“Esther, why do you always feed that beggar?” a woman asked.
Esther smiled and replied, “If I was the one sitting there in a wheelchair, wouldn’t I want someone to help me, too?”
Papa J came every day, but he never begged with his mouth. He didn’t call out to people or stretch out his hands. He never asked for food or money. He would always sit quietly in his wheelchair beside Esther’s wooden shop, his head always down, his hands resting on his legs. His wheelchair looked like it would break any moment. One of the wheels even leaned sideways while others ignored him. Esther always brought him a plate of hot food. Sometimes it was rice, sometimes beans and yam, but she always gave it with a big smile.
It was a hot afternoon when Esther had just finished serving jollof rice to two schoolboys. She looked up and saw Papa J again, sitting quietly in his usual spot. His legs were still wrapped in old bandages, his shirt had more holes now, but he sat there like always, saying nothing. Esther smiled and scooped hot jollof rice into a plate, adding two small pieces of meat. She walked over to him.
“Papa J,” she said gently, “Your food is ready.”
Papa J looked up slowly. His eyes were tired, but when he saw Esther, they softened.
“You always remember me,” he said.
Esther knelt and placed the food gently on the stool beside him. “Even if the whole world forgets you,” she said, “I won’t.”
Just then, a big black car drove up and stopped right in front of her shop. The door opened slowly, and a man stepped out. He was wearing a clean white shirt and dark trousers. His shoes looked shiny, as if someone had just polished them. He was tall, strong, with deep eyes.
Esther stood up quickly and wiped her hands on her apron.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she said.
“Good afternoon,” the man replied. But his eyes were not on her. He was looking at Papa J, his gaze fixed. The man didn’t blink. He just stared at him for a long time. Papa J kept eating, but Esther noticed something strange—he had stopped chewing.
The man took a step closer and tilted his head, as if he was trying to remember something. He turned to her and said, “Please give me one plate of jollof rice. Add meat.”
Esther quickly served the food and handed it to him. As he took it, he looked back at Papa J one more time, his eyes unsure. He opened the car door, entered without a word, and drove off.
The next morning, Esther woke up early. She swept in front of her food shop and cleaned her wooden table like always. As the sun rose, she kept looking down the road.
“Any moment now,” she whispered. “Papa J will roll in.”
But hours passed. No wheelchair, no Papa J.
By noon, her heart began to beat fast. She walked to the side of the shop and looked down both ends of the street.
“Where is he?” she asked herself.
She asked Mama Titi, the woman selling vegetables nearby, “Auntie, did you see Papa J today?”
Mama Titi laughed and waved her hand. “That old man? Maybe he crawled to another street. He doesn’t have legs.”
Esther didn’t laugh. She asked two boys selling sache water, “Have you seen the old man in a wheelchair?”
They shook their heads.
She even asked the bike man who parked nearby, “Sir, did you see Papa J this morning?”
The man spat on the ground. “Maybe he’s tired of sitting in one place. Or maybe he’s gone.”
Esther’s chest became heavy. She sat beside her pot of rice and stared at the empty spot where Papa J always sat. Her eyes didn’t leave that space. Two days passed, still no sign of Papa J. Esther couldn’t smile like before. She served customers, but her face looked sad. She couldn’t eat much. Even the smell of her sweet jollof rice made her feel sick. Her thoughts kept running to Papa J.
“Did something bad happen to him?” she whispered.
That night, she sat alone in her small room behind the shop. She held the last plate she served him with and looked at it.
“Papa J never misses a day,” she said softly. “Even when it rains. Even when he’s sick. So why now?”
She stood up, opened her small window, and looked out into the dark street. A cold breeze entered the room, and her eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t just worried; she was scared. Something felt wrong. Very wrong. Deep inside, she knew Papa J was not just missing—something had happened. Something big. Something dangerous.
It was the fourth day. Esther was sitting quietly in her shop, slicing onions, setting her table. Smoke rose from the fire as she boiled water for the rice. Just then, a black car stopped in front of her shop. A tall man stepped out, wearing a bright red cap, shiny shoes, and expensive clothes. Esther had never seen him before. He didn’t smile or greet her. He just walked up to her table and handed her a brown envelope.
Esther looked at it, confused. “What? What is this?” she asked, holding the envelope with both hands.
The man didn’t answer. “Read it and don’t tell anyone,” he said, then turned and walked back to the car. Before Esther could say another word, the car drove off.
She looked left. She looked right. No one was watching. With shaking hands, she opened the envelope. Inside was one white paper. She opened it slowly. There were only a few words on it:
“Come to Greenhill Hotel by 4:00 p.m. Don’t tell anyone. From a friend.”
Esther stood still, her mouth slightly open. Her hands began to shake. “Greenhill Hotel?” she whispered. “But I’ve never been to a hotel before.”
She looked at the paper again. Her heart was beating fast. Who sent this? What kind of friend?
She held the envelope to her chest. Looking up at the sky, it was cloudy. But she knew one thing for sure—she had to go.