When I was a boy, I thought fear was normal.I thought every home went quiet when a man walked in. I thought every child learned to listen to footsteps before lifting their head. I didn’t know there was another way to grow up.We lived in Lagos, in a house that looked ordinary from the outside. Neighbors greeted us. Children played football on the street.Some nights, I lay awake listening to the walls, wondering how a place called “home” could feel so unsafe. I wondered if anger was something you inherited, like a name. I wondered if one day, without meaning to, I would become him