From zero to hero

The sun rose over the red earth of Fuoni like a silent promise, spreading its golden light across corrugated rooftops, cracked walls, and narrow alleys where dust lived like a permanent resident. The smell of coal smoke and salt air hung in the morning breeze, carrying the sounds of chickens clucking, buckets scraping against wells, and radios playing half-tuned news from across the island.

In a tiny room barely wide enough for two beds, 17-year-old *Jabir* sat on a torn mattress, staring at the wooden ceiling. It was old, chipped, and filled with the names he had carved over the years-dreams and plans of a life bigger than this cramped, suffocating space. The names of cities he wanted to see. Jobs he imagined. Numbers that once meant hope. Most had faded with time, just like the certainty that he'd ever leave.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him that today started like most others-hungry.

[09/05, 23:02] ChatGPT: He slipped on his worn sandals and pushed open the creaking door. His mother was already boiling water over a charcoal stove, her eyes tired but kind. "Go early today, Jabir," she said softly, handing him a plastic bag of boiled cassava. "If you're lucky, maybe someone will need help at the docks."

Jabir nodded, forcing a smile. He didn't tell her that the docks were now full of young men like him-boys with strong arms and empty pockets, fighting for a day's wage. Sometimes they got picked. Often, they just waited under the sun, watching ships come in and out of the harbor with goods they could never afford.

As he walked past rows of rusted shops and faded posters, Jabir's mind wandered. He thought of his father-a fisherman lost at sea when Jabir was eight. He thought of the promises he had made to his mother: that he would finish school, that he would one day buy her a real house, with tiles and running water.

He paused outside a cyber café, its glass window covered with ads: "GET PAID ONLINE," "LEARN FOREX," "WRITE & EARN." He stared for a moment, heart quickening. The idea had always lingered in his mind-could he really make money from nothing but his mind? But how? He had no laptop. No skills. Just dreams.

"Hey, you just standing there or coming in?" a voice said.

[09/05, 23:02] ChatGPT: Jabir turned to see a boy not much older than him. Neat hair, good shoes, but kind eyes. "I work here," the boy said. "You want to use the net? I'll give you one hour for free."

Jabir hesitated. He had no money-not even for the return daladala fare. But something in the moment told him to say yes.

He walked in. The room smelled of sweat, cheap cologne, and faint electricity. Rows of dusty computers blinked under dim lights. He sat down, fingers trembling.

Google opened. Jabir stared at the screen, uncertain.

Then he typed:

*"How can a poor boy become rich .

B