Sewing Hope Into the Future

Stitched from Struggle: Sewing Hope Into the Future

For over a decade, Emmanuel worked in fashion houses, draped not in glamour, but in silent frustration. He was the skilled hand behind someone else’s vision, the mind bursting with creativity that no one ever asked to hear. While others cashed in on his long hours and craftsmanship, he was seen as just another worker, not an artist. Not a dreamer.

But Emmanuel never gave up on the dream that lived quietly within him: to create a school of design where those who can’t afford fashion schools or apprenticeships, can learn, express, and thrive. Emmanuel’s heart burned for something bigger than a job: he wanted freedom, not only for himself, but for the forgotten creatives of his generation.
And then one day, walking down a smoky street filled with panic, he met a young boy who reminded him of himself:

“Fire! Help! Fire! Somebody help! Somebody, Anybody, call the firefighters!
“Haaa! Yeeee! Ikunle Abiamo o! “ (what a tragedy!), “Gbese re o! (What a loss!)”
Chaos erupted on the street. Voices screamed everywhere. Feet pounded. People ran in every direction, as if the ground beneath them was on fire, too.
Our shop is burning! Who burned the trash behind the shop?”

I was just passing by, minding my own business, when I heard the noise, and that is how I met Pelumi, in the middle of smoke, panic, confusion and burning dreams.

Amidst the confusion stood a young boy, barely a man, trying desperately to fight back flames with a tiny bucket of water. His shirt edges were scorched, sweat streaming down his face. While others fled, pelumi stayed, trying to help, even though he was just nineteen.
That day, I found out that Pelumi was the sales boy for the shop that was now engulfed in fire. He worked there six days a week, selling household items and snacks. He had completed his secondary school education three years ago, but could not continue, because his family could not afford a university education.

His father had died when he was ten, and his mother, a proud woman of quiet resilience, washed clothes for people to feed her three children. Pelumi became her first hope, her warrior.

He later told me that, though the fire was painful, it wasn’t a surprise. Waste like cartons, nylon, plastic wraps, and fabric scraps were always piled behind the shops. Every week, this trash was routinely burned, a risky habit that everyone ignored until that day. But this time, the fire got out of control. Despite his fear, Pelumi stood firm. He did not speak much, but his actions spoke louder. There was something deeper in his eyes, a silent weight of responsibility that life had placed too early on his shoulders.

The aftermath of the event was devastating. The shop was half destroyed, and with it, Pelumi’s livelihood went up in smoke. That evening, we sat by the roadside. He looked down, with a voice so soft, he said, “Every time I think I am making progress, something just comes and pushes me back.”
Pelumi’s life was one of quiet endurance. He lived in a crowded one-room apartment with his mother and sisters. His day began before dawn, sweeping, fetching water, walking 45 minutes to work. Lunch was often Garri and groundnuts, or nothing at all.
On the outside, he was the polite boy behind the counter. On the inside, he was constantly worrying about money, survival, and dreams that felt out of reach.

Pelumi is a creative young man with a passion for design, but he couldn’t afford the fees for a design school, nor could he afford the cost of apprenticing with local tailors.
He told me how he had approached several tailors, offering to pay them later once he started earning an income, but none of them agreed.

He would share with me his dream for making special clothes and how frustrated he felt not being able to afford University education at the same time skill learning, which comes with outrageous fees in Nigeria.

What many didn’t see in Pelumi was the invisible burden he carried. It went beyond poverty, he lived with the constant weight of feeling stuck, the fear that no matter how hard he tried, nothing would ever change. Some days, it felt like his dreams didn’t matter at all, because survival had to come first.
One memory he shared stayed with me. When his father died, his mother looked him in the eye and said, ‘Pelumi, you are the man now.’ He laughed as he recalled it, saying, ‘Imagine, small me, the man.’ But from that day on, he never looked back. He embraced the responsibility and never once complained.

Pelumi’s dream was either to return to school to study business or to learn a skill he could turn into income and build a better future with. One day, he hoped to own a big shop, one where things are done right. ‘I just want a better life for my family,’ he said. After hearing about my work, he added softly, ‘I want to be creative like you.

As I listened to Pelumi, his words brought back sharp and painful memories of my childhood. I told him how my father died when I was five years old. My mother, a widow like Pelumi’s mum, became my pillar. I remembered how, at the age of five, I could not go to school for 3 years, as my mum could not afford basic education for me. I went from market to market, searching for any job I could find, pushing wheelbarrows, selling pepper, even selling firewood. Eventually, I was sent to a remote village, where I faced a hard life working as a farm laborer.

I also remembered the fire that burned down my tailor boss’s shop when I was an apprentice. It wasn’t just his shop; four others were completely destroyed, leaving nothing to save, all because of carelessly burned waste.
That fire left a deep impression on me about the dangers of neglecting waste management and how we think about it. This experience helped shape how I see the world and understand the true value of things.

In Pelumi, I saw my younger self: a boy who had no choice but to be strong, who held on to courage when the world offered nothing else, fighting battles no child should have to fight.

As the smoke settled and the crowd dispersed that day, I realized something: the fire that consumed the shop did not destroy Pelumi’s spirit. His fire, the one inside, still burned fiercely. His story is far from over.

Meeting Pelumi reminded me exactly why I’m on this journey. He represents thousands of young people whose talents are buried under poverty, pressure, and a lack of opportunity.
I now carry a clear plan to bring my vision to life. I am starting a design school without borders, a place where young people like Pelumi won’t need to wait years for university admission, or pay unaffordable apprenticeship fees, just to unlock their creativity.

They will have a space to explore, invent, and grow. A place where discarded materials become masterpieces. Where young minds become problem-solvers, innovators, and leaders of sustainable design.

Because I believe that every young person deserves more than survival. They deserve a chance to create and to thrive.

Learn more about Emmanuel Adebayo
Read more blogposts on: https://www.kanthari.org/coronablog/