DOWNLOAD MP3: Bhadboi OML – Alade Ade. The dusty air of Lagos hung thick and heavy, the scent of suya grilling on roadside stalls mixing with the exhaust fumes from a thousand danfos. Osaze, a young man barely out of his teens, navigated the chaotic streets with the ease of someone born and bred on its madness. He clutched his battered phone, the screen cracked but still displaying the glowing promise of his latest download: Bhadboi OML’s “Alade Ade.” The song throbbed in his cheap earphones, the heavy bass vibrating through him as he weaved between hawkers and impatient drivers.
Osaze wasn’t just listening to the music; he was living it. The lyrics, a catchy blend of street smarts and aspirations, resonated deeply. Alade Ade, the song’s namesake, was a hustler, a survivor, and a figure of admiration within the community—someone who pulled themselves up from nothing. Osaze, working tirelessly at his uncle’s mechanic shop, stripping and cleaning engines from dawn till dusk, saw a reflection of himself in Alade Ade’s grit.
He dreamed of escaping the greasy overalls and the constant back pain. He dreamed of having his own shop, of providing for his family, and of living a life where his hands weren’t always stained black with oil. He imagined himself, like Alade Ade, driving a clean car, wearing fresh clothes, and commanding respect.
Today, though, the realities of his life felt particularly suffocating. Money was tight. His younger sister, Fatima, needed school fees. His mother, who worked incessantly selling snacks by the roadside, was starting to show her age. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, heavy as a faulty engine block.
Suddenly, a shout ripped through the music. “Ole! Ole!” Thief! Thief!
Osaze instinctively turned, his heart pounding. He saw a young boy, no older than ten, sprinting down the street, a woman screaming after him, clutching her purse. The boy’s eyes were wide with desperation, his thin frame shaking with fear.
Osaze knew how easily things could escalate. A mob could form, the boy could be hurt, or worse. He also knew the woman had probably worked hard for that money. The song, with its focus on self-preservation and hustle, urged him to look the other way. This wasn’t his fight. Focus on your own grind.
But as he watched the boy stumble and nearly fall, something shifted within him. He remembered Fatima, her innocent face, and her unwavering belief in him. He remembered his mother, her sacrifices, and her silent strength. He couldn’t just stand by.
He pushed past the gathering crowd and extended his leg, tripping the fleeing boy. The boy landed hard, dropping the purse. Osaze quickly grabbed it and helped the boy up.
“Give it back,” the boy pleaded, his voice trembling. “I needed it…”
Osaze ignored him and handed the purse back to the relieved woman. She thanked him profusely, her eyes filled with gratitude.
The crowd dispersed, some murmuring disapproval at Osaze’s actions, others nodding in silent approval. The boy, his eyes filled with shame and resentment, scurried away.
Osaze stood there, the fading echoes of “Alade Ade” in his ears. The song, which moments ago had been a source of inspiration, now felt hollow. He realized that Alade Ade’s success, his hustle, didn’t justify turning a blind eye to injustice. True strength wasn’t just about individual achievement; it was about community, about responsibility, about doing what was right, even when it was difficult.
He walked back to the mechanic shop, the Lagos sun beating down on his back. As he picked up his wrench, the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter. He still had a long way to go, a long way to climb. But now, he knew that his journey wouldn’t be just about personal success. It would be about building something better, something more meaningful, for himself, for his family, and for his community. The hustle continued, but with a new understanding of what it truly meant to be an Alade Ade. He knew his version would be different, a version built on integrity and a commitment to a better Lagos.
Listen and enjoy Bhadboi OML – Alade Ade below!
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