---

Challenges to Becoming a Pro Dragonracer in Apapa-Downtown

By Uchechukwu Nwaka

The gear is too expensive.

Honestly. There isn’t enough competition in the market. The Immersion® console alone costs an arm and a leg. Ọmọ. You’ll sweat to even get a Nigerian-used console on Jiji or at Computer Village for less than 200k. And that’s just the console. We’re not even talking about the vests or the mats.

Or the chair!

For real though. How else does somebody experience the saddle—on dragon-back—if they can’t experience the full flex of the dragon’s powerful muscles under their thighs? I’ve seen the streams of American pro dragon-racers in full Immersion® gear—visor, suit, chair! The rich kids here are enjoying, on God!

Brother Cosmopolitan’s place boasts of a few consoles, and his charges are pretty OK. One or two people swear he has a mat rig inside for the members of his game team. See, forget it. There’s no way anyone can go pro while paying 1k per hour in a game centre.

Dapo, my padi from work, splits his wages three ways at the end of each day. “One for food, the other for ajo, and the final for Bro. Cosmopolitan,” he says. In three days he has enough to VR. Personally, I’d rather not. Most of my wages go into helping sister Tade with pocket money, and making sure Oga Najim doesn’t kick us out to the streets while Aunty goes out on “work trips.”

I digress.

I don’t hate VR, don’t misunderstand me. I love that shit with all my life. That initial out of body sensation once the neural sync completes? Pure heaven. Don’t even get me started on the loading interface, where you become nothing but a blob of data hovering inside a colourful void. And the links to the million ports available on the virtual landscape.

But I can’t afford it.

People who live in Apapa-Downtown generally cannot. Hmm, they can barely eat, let alone buy games. Especially not with that naira-dollar rate. The first time I go to Bro. Cosmopolitan’s place, it’s on Dapo’s insistence. The guy wouldn’t just SHUT UP about how much I was missing, using only an Android phone. I decide it’s worth a shot to experience, in VR, some of the videos I’d been watching recently on YouTube about hardware and repair.

Instead, this guy tricks me into playing as a guest in this one game everybody can’t seem to stop talking up about.

Infinisis.

Infinisis was once a PC game that went quiet for about 4 years before returning with its VR update. In fact, Immersion® was designed for the Infinisis gameplay. Since then, many developers have been piggybacking on Immersion’s massive popularity.

And you know what? Thank God I followed Dapo to play that game.

Because that’s the first time I see a dragon, and it changes my life completely.

---

The internet sucks.

All the streams on YouTube look seamless and liquid. Don’t be fooled. Those guys use 5G+ connections. We can barely get good 4G here to run our personal devices. Only commercial places—or, you know, the rich—actually have 5G routers. Sister Tade once said that our 4G services aren’t even 4G, but like an extended 3G.

These are the issues.

I stumble upon dragonracing by complete accident, then wonder how in heaven I did not know about this. I usually take my break from work in a buka opposite the workshop; Aunty Ejiro’s place. Two reasons why. First, for her hot puff-puff. Second, the internet in her shop is somewhat manageable. I’ve also learned to ignore the stares of passer-by, or some of her non-regular customers. Usually, people find it hard to reconcile me with their image of a woman. I’m an auto-mechanic, you see, and people expect us mechanics to smell like grease and sweat. Understandable, because this side of town also smells like smoke and gutter-water, and our overalls look like a blend of both. When some of the clients talk to us, they hold their breath, talking 1.5 times faster than normal.

Fat luck oh.

Still, for someone who dropped out of school after SS1, the options were limited to being this or a salesgirl, or a house-help, or an escort. But Aunty’s got the last part covered.

What was I saying again?

An ad pops up halfway into my video on chips and integrated circuits. Normally, I just ignore the five obligatory seconds for the ad and hit “skip.” But… somehow, somehow at that moment, Airtel’s network spikes, and the resolution switches to 1080p. Dragons fill my screen, their flared manes trembling under the wind of Infinisis. There are riders mounted on each of the dragons, six in all, waiting for the starting signal. Before I know what’s going on, I find myself waiting for the signal. A thunderclap flashes and the riders kick off. The view pans out, rendering such amazing graphics, my eyes burn in their sockets. The world zips past them below, fast and beautiful. The fastest I’ve ever been is on an okada on Third Mainland bridge on an emergency delivery. Ọmọ! Even half of that time was spent praying that the bike’s brakes not fail.

This is freedom.

Freedom.

“Dragon racing,” the ad says. “Only on Infinisis. Get your Immersion® gear today and sign up.”

The network fluctuates suddenly and the quality drops so fast, it hurts my eyes. The images are now more pixelated and I groan. I go on to search for more dragon racing videos. By the end of my break I’ve watched three races in varying resolutions, but I know this is the VR experience I want for myself.

I’ll set my wages today for Bro. Cosmopolitan’s place.

---

Bro Cosmopolitan’s game centre is a one storey building whose ground floor is occupied by a fast food joint. His place is well lighted, with ACs on low setting. There is a receptionist desk where you pay, then about six cubicles on each side of the room with a large space in the middle. There are always people here. Then again, Cosmopolitan always provides vests. I just want to watch a race; I don’t need full feedback. I follow the signs to another room. It seems wider, and there are benches with many visors linked to two consoles. I’m about to grab one when the owner of the shop walks in. The man is tall. He has sharp facial bones—does that description even make sense? His goatee is well trimmed with a mane of dreadlocks on his head. He wears a shiny wine-coloured shirt, folded to the arms, top buttons undone, gold chain. Fine man, with muscles on his lean body, dark skin.

OK that’s enough.

He sighs, taking the space next to me. “Haven’t seen you around before. You new?”

“Yes,” I answer automatically. “Here to watch the dragon race on Glacier Peak.”

“Soft,” he says, picking a visor. His voice is rumbling and sweet, even though he’s doing a fake accent to sound classy. “Me too. See you there?”

He slips on his visor and his body relaxes. Mine too, weirdly enough. I slide on my visor. First there’s darkness, then weightlessness, then a loading interface.

Redirecting to Infinisis.

<Login> / <Guest>

<Guest> / Choose location

I materialize in a frozen tundra. Mountains line the landscape as far as my eyes can see. I imagine a chill blow through and instinctively I rub my arms. Maybe it’s the shop’s AC. There are so many avatars here at Glacier Peak, dressed in different fantasy attires, and with so many fantastical creatures, I’m almost terrified.

“Guest account?” I turn to see Bro. Cosmopolitan’s avatar approach me. It looks just like him, except here, his dreads are white. He wears a kind of black armour with a flowing red cape. Looks very regal. Above his avatar’s head, I see ID: <Ajebo Cosmopolitan>

I look at my avatar’s hands. They look chubby and I somehow feel shorter. Not at all like real life. I nod. “I don’t really play.”

“You should…” His eyes flick up to my icon, “Ishola. Did you know that DR is one of the largest sports on the planet, even if the game itself isn’t predominantly dragon racing? Or dragon based. In fact, it’s been so much monetized that people strive to go pro.”

Large screens begin to appear in the sky. In the distance, a dragon’s cry pierces the air. Goose bumps prickle over my skin and my heart begins to pound in anticipation. Bro. Cosmopolitan grins.

“It’s starting.”

On the screen, various dragon riders and their dragons appear, bigger and clearer than anything I’ve ever streamed. My breath is stuck in my throat. How did they design such things if dragons aren’t even real? The riders wear armour, and some others carry swords. A rider could attack another rider if the situation ever called for it.

Cosmopolitan slides an interface box towards me. “Bets?”

I shake my head. “I don’t gamble.”

He clicks his tongue. “Shame. That’s good money, too.”

Thunder snaps overhead. The dragons take off, screeching as they fly below our heads. A stroke of envy hits me as these ginormous beasts soar through the sky at dizzying speeds. An amazing sport which you get paid from? Ha, count me in!

I decide then, to go pro.

---

The gear is too expensive II.

Exactly. Can’t go pro if you can’t afford gear or take loans.

After the race, Ajebo Cosmopolitan tells me he has a racing team. Apparently, to work your way up to pro level, a stage where you can even represent Nigeria, you’d have to rise up from regional tournaments. OK. I thumb his card into my pocket but don’t give him an answer. He might be a fine man, but after the betting thing, he rubs me the wrong way.

---

My oga sends me to deliver a generator to one of the houses in GRA. Ọmọ, that place is fine die. They don’t even let in okada. I heave the generator and my tool bag into the estate’s gates and oh boy! The place is what I imagine London or America to look like. The roads are clean and almost empty, nothing like Apapa-Downtown at all. Well-trimmed bushes and flowers line the pavement on both sides. The GRA even smells different and I almost believe it’s like one of those dome-cities the Arabs have been building in the Sahara that’s all over the news.

I take one of the keke, self-conscious. Hope I don’t stain anything.

But as it turns out, I don’t even get to see the house I’m delivering the generator to—unless the roof counts. I only interact with the gatekeeper, who grumbles as he takes the generator from my hands. He opens the carton and makes a grand show of examining the gen itself, before muttering something about the gen not overloading their pumping machine.

I wait for the money to enter my account and leave. Mumu man.

But not before noticing—I can’t fucking believe this—a visor in the house’s outdoor bin. I turn back, but the gate’s been closed. There are no cameras either. SLOWLY, I walk to the bin. The visor just sits there. One side has a spider web-like crack over it. There is a console by the side, too. From my game centre visits and recent interest in Immersion® hardware, I recognize it as the Immersion® 2027. The earliest model. It looks intact. In fact, the 2027 model works fine. It just doesn’t support security patches from 2030 upwards. And, as all hardware goes, the newer models are better.

But for me, this is gold!

So I pull it from the trash. I guess you think differently when you’re rich. I stuff the Immersion® gear into my work bag, and leave the GRA.

---

Internet is also expensive.

My plan for the gear is simple. Explore the VR for all it’s worth. Aunty Ejiro said her son drives a Lexus now. All he did was write code for some Chinese company he met through Immersion®. I can’t write code, but surely there’s something I can do.

With the console in my bag, it feels like the entire street is watching me. I pass by the area-boys smoking weed by their usual spot at a broken-down Caterpillar. I don’t make eye contact, moving silently down the street. The houses on this side are several shapes of apartment blocks. I heard that the area was once a stretch of private land, and later the population explosion forced the land owners to capitalize on real estate and convert their bungalows and duplexes into rentable blocks. There’s nothing like breathing space between each house, in case you were wondering. The walls are almost shared, and the fences are short and formed of rusted chain links. Generators grumble into the evening. Kids play ball with old car tires as goal posts. The streets smell like smoke and refuse and congestion. The few VR/football viewing/gambling shops I can see on the street are packed.

I climb to my apartment. There are three rooms, each rented to a different family. The living room, kitchen and facilities are shared. There’s also no light. It doesn’t seem like anybody’s home. Sister Tade is in boarding school. At least there she can access her school’s VR facilities for whatever advanced training kids do these days.

She’s our hope, really.

Aunty’s not around, no surprise there. I sit on the bed we all share and just stare at the console. The building beside us has their generator on. A shaft of light falls into our room, and an arc of light slices along the console’s black body. My breath catches in my chest. I plug it into the extension box at the edge of the window connected to the next house—remember how tightly buildings are packed? Plus, I’m friends with the girl who lives in that room. Her family rents the whole flat. We can barely pay Oga Najim every month for just one room.

I sigh and slip on the visor.

I don’t know what to expect when I load Infinisis. My data plan is a measly 20gb which I manage for a month. That’s 3k off my salary. With creating an Immersion® account, setting up the console and finally setting up a user profile and avatar for Infinisis—thank God whoever threw out the gear had already updated their Infinisis resources—I’m raring to go. The interactive text pops up.

Welcome <Ishola> to Infinisis.

Yes, yes, yes. Let’s get to the dragons!

Error. Unable to connect to server.

Eh?

Check your internet connection or contact your service provider.

What?

I open my phone’s linked interface and click on the Airtel chat.

10:59: CONGRATS, you’ve recharged 20GB data valid for 30 days. Check your balance here.

19:23: Sorry, your data bundle has expired. Click here to get more data plans.

What?

SPECIAL4U! Immersion® Data Bundle. Get 50Gb for 3days. N7240 only. Get 50% extra when you recharge through your bank app—

I scream.

---

The server is filled with moguls.

This game is hard!

You start off classless till level 10. Then to become a rider—according to the online forums—you need to choose a beast tamer class. Then gain XP till around level 30 before you can start hunting for dragon eggs and whatnot. See, I don’t mind exploring this game. It’s just, money speeds things up very fast.

It takes me three months of playing every night before Aunty comes back, or after she leaves, to finally hit the XP enough to hunt for an egg. Then it takes eleven nights, with all of my creatures, to raid the nest of an elemental Longtail. I might not have money, but I have to increase my chances at this game. Elemental dragons cost heaven on earth, and the drop rate at free spins is 0.1%. Funny how, somewhere, some kid on Lagos Island is blowing 20k weekly on XP boosts and hunting grounds. Funny how many Naija streamers can afford elemental dragons from sponsorships on their channels.

You think going pro is a joke?

I don’t want to live in this shack, listening to the other neighbours shouting or fucking in the middle of the night. I don’t want to wake up to a filthy kitchen, or have to brave the stares of drunk area-boys in the morning. I don’t want to watch Aunty come back in those hours of the morning when Imams call Muslim brethren for prayer, smelling of alcohol or weed and something else. I’m tired of it. I’M TIRED OF THIS SHITTY AREA. I want to live in a GRA or go to one of those schools where they have nice uniforms and computer clubs that participate in regional tournaments.

So when I eventually survive the egg heist and awaken a thunder elemental Longtail, I’m fucking ecstatic enough to name it Happiness.

---

Tech Danger.

I once heard a church on the edge of our workshop talk about the VR world as being created by Satan and heralding the Antichrist.

“How will children be riding on dragons and be calling it a game?” the pastor yells. “Do you knowwww? The dragon will come. It is said in the BOOK OF REVELATIONS! Are you with me? The whore of Babylon will come with THE DRAGON! Have you seen what your children wear in these games? I SAID HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT YOUR CHILDREN WEAR IN THESE GAMES? Nakedness! They barely cover their breasts or their private parts! They grow horns and devil wings and they say it’s self-expression.

“Do not be deceived! It is the work of the ENEMY! ALLELUIA somebody? I said, it is the work of the Enemyyyyyy!”

Man, your congregation can barely afford the tithes they pay to your ministry, and here you are, dragging Infinisis.

---

Dragons’ growth rates are mad slow.

You hatch the egg and think you can go pro after a few successful hunts? Wrong. Remember our cash friends? Money drives growth, don’t get carried away.

It’s not until seven months after my entry into Infinisis that I apply for my first online race. There’s a Nigerian server that ranks racers. I enter the arena, unranked. It’s a desert strip, wider than my eyes can see. Happiness undulates beneath me on the saddle. Elementals get a lot of buffs. A thunder elemental gets a speed boost. Longtails on the other hand, are designed after Chinese dragons. Perfectly aerodynamic. Five other riders appear beside me with a variety of dragons, none elemental. They must think I’m some mogul, but that’s alright. People generally posit moguls don’t play as well as their gear suggests. I think that’s just my poverty/grinding mentality. Thunder snaps in the sky. I kick my dragon into motion.

I have never felt so free.

Clouds zooming past, the earth a blur below, the rush in my chest, the speed. I win. And win. And win. And win. VR is like a drug. Escapism like I’ve never known.

I search for local competitions. Something pops up on the message board. Some game center in Port Harcourt issuing an open challenge. I meet the entry requirements, but just barely. It’s also free and the cash prize is 20k.

---

Tech Danger II.

You hear a lot on the streams. I don’t think anything beats the kid who drained his father’s ATM card after falling for some troll’s schemes. YOU CANNOT HACK INFINISYS! That’s why DR is the biggest sport on the Immersion® console.

Closer to home is the gambling.

I clear the DR competition from Port Harcourt. I cannot fucking believe it. I’m screaming in my room, my avatar jumping as Happiness does arcs across the sky, lightning flashing across its scales. Message requests assault me in their tiny interface icons. I ignore everything and approach the organizer. Compared to my plain black cloak he wears a silver armour, with a great sword strapped to his back.

“Ishola,” he says. “Ọmọ! I should have known you’re the newbie that’s been aggressively climbing up the leaderboards. That’s you, right?”

I nod. I keep vocal comms to a minimum here. Tech danger, imposter syndrome, whatever.

“You want to join my team?” he asks. As he does, an interface box pops up, asking me to accept a N20,000.00 transfer. “We’re one of the best in PH, and we’re aiming to become state team.”

“Man, I just schooled your crew. Did you see my time? A good eleven seconds.”

“I can see. That’s why I’m recruiting you,” he says, sliding up another interface box to me. This one asks me to accept N5,000.00.

“Are you trying to buy me?”

“This is your percentage from the bets. Once in a while, someone comes along and shakes up the status quo. My name’s Asuquo.” He slides something else to me. It’s his contact info. “The offer’s still open. Think on it.”

---

Politics.

The Arabs have been outsourcing work on their dome cities. We basically control bots doing hardware work via VR, and they save on AI cost. Philanthropy work really. But this country does not do well with foreign currency. Immersion® does conversions within its system, and with peer-to-peer trades, we can bypass whatever laws they make against our bank accounts or limits on foreign currency. Plus, the official exchange rate is peanuts compared to the black market.

Now they’re cracking down on VR access.

It’s funny because older model Immersion® gear has been getting more widespread with the release of newer models. Now everyone is trying to get the older versions. More game centres are popping up, too.

You can’t put a price on freedom!

A fight breaks out on my street when police officers show up trying to close down the game centres. On the other hand, my world ranking has hit the 5000s and I’ve been racing in global events. Nothing significant yet, but, a year ago I wouldn’t have pictured this happening to me.

My savings are at N150,000.00 now, too. All from Immersion®.

I enter the Naija Racers Tournament. The entry fee is 50k per head, 400k per team, six max. The grand prize is one point five mil, winner takes all. Chai. There are over a THOUSAND entries. My ranking in the Naija server is 99. I like my chances.

---

Family.

I walk in from work to find the lamp in the room on. Aunty stands over my console, visor in one hand. Judgement is scripted over the lines on her face and the downward dip of her lips.

“Ishola, what’s this?”

I storm in, grabbing my stuff from her hands.  Sister Tade stands in a corner, arms folded in front of her skirt, face down. I’d given her access to my Immersion® console since she was on holiday. Explicitly told her Aunty must not find out!

Can’t blame her, VR can make hours seem like minutes.

“Ishola I asked you a question!”

“None of your business.”

“You’re now doing rubbish on the internet, and you want to bring Tade into it?” she yells. “How did you get that game thing sef? Where did you get the money?” She pulls my vest from Tade’s chest and Tade whimpers. “I ASKED YOU WHERE YOU GOT THE MONEY TO BUY THESE! Is your work not to repair generators? You’re selling your body, too?”

“I’m not like you,” I mutter. Not quietly enough, it seems, because a slap lights my face, sprinkling stars into my vision.

“Sister Ishola! Mummy!”

“Not now Tade!” Aunty snaps. “We’re doing everything to get you a better future. Don’t allow this girl to distract you!”

“I also want to have a future,” I say.

“By being useless all day. Doing rubbish. Not in my house.”

“Is this what you call a house? This?” I’m yelling. Tears blur my vision. Ah. “Give me back my vest!”

Aunty raises her hand again to hit me. I dodge. She slaps the console from my hand and it crashes to the floor.

FUCK.

“You’re going back to that village I brought you from. Awọn were, awọn omo wobe, oloriburuku oṣi, God punish you.”

The insults fall like rain. The tears are threatening to spill. I have Naija Racers prelims in thirty minutes. I storm out.

---

Life is generally shitty and unfair.

I sleep at the shop. Dapo covers for me; if not, oga will sack me when he finds out. I play the Naija Racers Tournament from Bro. Cosmopolitan’s place. His team is in the competition, too. Tch, what am I saying, all the bigwigs are in it. The school teams, some state teams, Naija’s top streamers. The top ten racers on the NG server. This is the ultimate stage, and it’s FUCKED UP that I have to play in a game centre.

Sister Tade comes to the shop to find me two days after the fight. She tells me sorry, but what can she do? I tell her that I don’t care anymore. I haven’t cared for a long time.

“Come back,” she says, beautiful eyes pleading.

“I’m going to become a pro-gamer,” I reply instead. “That one-room is not big enough for my aspirations.”

“Of course you will. I’ve never once bested any of your records.”

“I’ll come back for you one day, Sister Tade. If you’re still here.”

“Or I’ll come to you.”

“Or you’ll come to me.” I smile. It feels genuine. When she leaves, I message Asuquo about his offer to join his team.

---

Happiness outraces Naija no.5’s elemental dragon by a narrow margin. God!

I rise up the brackets, can’t afford to lose.

I get bet commissions into my account as I advance.

I wait for Asuquo’s reply.

I sleep on a bench in the shop and survive mosquitos and area-boys and eat at Mummy Ejiro’s.

I play like I have no other alternative, like my life depends on it, because it does.

I cannot afford to fall out. That grand prize will change my life completely.

And somehow the bracket sets me against Cosmopolitan’s team.

He approaches me in-game, white ‘locks billowing, telling me to forfeit. Offers me 200k. It’s mad tempting but I refuse. Winning will open doors for me that quitting will not. I also know he wants to cash out on the bet commissions, since they’re stacked in my favour. Mumu man. Besides, I’m ranked 5 in Nigeria already. The only way is up.

That night, I get assaulted in the shop.

I barely manage to escape.

---

Yourself.

How far are you willing to go to become the best? To reach the top? To get paid for mentioning a company’s name while making streams of yourself on dragon-back? To make state team, then national team, then continental team? Dreams are like drugs.

I’m tired of just dreaming.

Blood licks down my face. My left side burns and my mouth tastes like iron and metal. Rain patters down hard and the night is dark. I have a game in a few hours and I don’t know whether my assailants are behind, still pursuing. My head pounds. My legs cannot bear my weight and I stagger to the muddy floor.

It’s cold. Stinks of filth and my ego. Aunty was right. I am nobody to think I could go pro.

---

Dapo finds me, curled in the dirt, shivering, bleeding, the rain punishing me. He carries me to his place, a one-bedroom he shares with someone. He says he’s had a bad feeling since he let it slip that I slept at the shop to Cosmopolitan. Then he saw the fixtures. He keeps apologizing, asking me to drink something hot, more apologizing. I don’t remember much of what happens after. Only later, when he taps on me furiously, that I have a game. That I have to win.

Me?

“Ishola!”

“Do you even have Immersion® gear?”

“I rented one.” He hands me the visor. “Or did they break your spirit, too?”

I hold his fierce gaze for the longest time. Then I grab the visor from his hand and log into the race. In time, too, before getting disqualified.

I make sure Happiness injures every single rider with her fangs before winning. They would be in Cosmopolitan’s inner rooms with full gear. Oh, it would hurt.

I cross the finish line and sight him. I walk up to him and poke him on his chest.

“I’m untouchable, bastard. And I’m coming for you.”

His eyes are condescending. “You can do nothing, ọdẹ oṣi.”

Oh? We shall see.

---

Life is generally shitty and unfair II.

By the broken-down Caterpillar, three of the area-boys sit in a semi-circle. They watch me approach, Dapo close behind. When I stop before them, my shadow falls over the biggest of the three, seated in the middle. He glares, eyes bulging in irritation and confrontation.

“You don lost?” he asks in pidgin English.

“Where’s your oga?” I answer. “I have a business offer.”

“What business?”

“Your oga only.”

The one at the edge of the group stubs his cigarette on the floor and snaps his fingers. “Spider, enough.” He turns to me. “What do you want?”

“Are you the oga?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“Who I am is not important,” I tell him. “What’s important is all the money you’re about to make.”

The leader looks at me with red-rimmed eyes. “Talk.”

“Not here,” I say. Dapo shifts behind me. The leader gives me a scrutinizing look before leading us to a car garage. Here, there are only discarded spare parts and the rusted skeletons of former cars.

“I know a place where you can get Immersion® gear. But you have to take them all.”

“We look like thieves to you?” Spider growls, smacking the garage door. I motion to Dapo, and he brandishes two wads of N200 notes.

“That’s 40k.” I say, voice measured. My injuries still burn, and I don’t know, but maybe the bruises on my face makes the leader take me seriously. Maybe it’s my tone. “This is for your time and effort, oga sir. You can clean the shop. You can burn it.” I draw closer to the leader; let the odour of nicotine fill my sinuses and harden my next words.

“Let it fucking pain him.”

---

I don’t win Naija Racers, losing to a team of NG server’s no. 2, 3, and 4. I make enough from the bet commissions though. Asuquo eventually gives me the green light. I buy myself some okrika dresses, tell oga thank-you and leave the workshop and auto-mechanic life behind. I buy one last puff-puff from Mummy Ejiro for the road. Asuquo’s team is close to becoming a state team, and they have a hostel there in PH that I can live in.

In the back of the bus, en route to Port Harcourt, I listen to a voice note from Dapo describing how Cosmopolitan got hospitalized after getting caught up in the robbery/gang clash at his game centre.

Fat luck.

---

Host Commentary

By Valerie Valdes

Once again, that was Challenges to Becoming a Pro Dragonracer in Apapa-Downtown, by Uchechukwu Nwaka.

Given the various tools already at our disposal for escaping unpleasant realities, including video games, using fictional virtual reality as a means to the same end feels like an extremely reasonable peek into our potential near future. What I love about this story is how it doesn’t paint dragon racing as merely a fun diversion for the people of Apapa-Downtown; the virtual reality is an avenue for escape from their actual reality, through the financial promises of esport competition and gambling. The two worlds aren’t separate and distinct, one pure fantasy and the other harsh truth. Instead, they inform and impact each other, and we’re reminded that no matter how exciting the temporary refuge of the unreal may be, the world beyond the digital realm stops for no one. Even so, sometimes taking the reins of the proverbial dragon can lead to similar empowerment in real life, and winning that race can be the greatest challenge of all.

Escape Pod is part of the Escape Artists Foundation, a 501(c)(3) non-profit, and this episode is distributed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International license. Don’t change it. Don’t sell it. Please do share it.

If you’d like to support Escape Pod, please rate or review us on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, or your favorite app. We are 100% audience supported, and we count on your donations to keep the lights on and the servers humming. You can now donate via four different platforms. On Patreon and Ko-Fi, search for Escape Artists. On Twitch and YouTube, we’re at EAPodcasts. You can also use Paypal through our website, escapepod.org. Patreon subscribers have access to exclusive merchandise and can be automatically added to our Discord, where they can chat with other fans as well as our staff members.

Our opening and closing music is by daikaiju at daikaiju.org.

And our closing quotation this week is from Douglas Adams, who said, “Being virtually killed by virtual laser in virtual space is just as effective as the real thing, because you are as dead as you think you are.”

Thanks for joining us, and may your escape pod be fully stocked with stories.