by In the fast-moving world of Lagos politics—where dreams, power, and loyalty clash daily—Barrister
Segun Adelakun’s story stands out. It’s a chilling reminder of how far some people will go for power.
A well-loved lawyer with a passion for helping people, Segun was poisoned by his closest friend.
Toun, all because they both wanted the same political seat. The shocking act happened far away in
South Africa, but the real battle was back home in Lagos. Thanks to his loyal friends and quick
Thinking of his personal assistant, Segun survived what could have been his last night. He went on to win
the election, while Toun disappeared into thin air. What followed was a powerful tale of pain,
strength, and victory.
Segun was a popular face in Surulere, Lagos. At just 35, he had built a solid name as a lawyer—
known for defending tenants from wicked landlords and helping small businesses sort their legal
issues. His tiny office near the National Stadium was always full of people needing his help. But
Segun had bigger dreams. He wanted to become chairman of Surulere Local Government. He hoped
to fix broken roads, improve schools, and give people clean water. Lagos politics is not for the faint-
hearted—money, power, and dirty tricks are everywhere. But Segun believed in doing things right.
He believed his honesty and hard work would speak for him.
And by his side? His best friend, Toun. They had been like brothers since their days at the University
of Lagos—late-night suya runs, football arguments, and sharing one room when they had no money.
Toun, a smooth-talking event planner, was always the life of the party. When Segun announced he
was running for office, Toun cheered the loudest. “You’ve got this, bro,” he said with a big smile.
“I’ll help you win.” Segun believed him. He trusted him like family.
The campaign was tough. Segun worked day and night—meeting people at markets, talking to youth
groups, attending endless events. Toun was always there, planning rallies, printing posters, and
hyping up the crowd. Their bond seemed unbreakable, even as the fight for the APC primary heated
up. But behind the scenes, Toun was secretly chasing the same political seat. While acting like a
helper, he was making backdoor deals with party bigwigs. He wanted the chairmanship for himself.
Poison in a Brother’s Cup
Then came the trip to South Africa. Segun had been invited to a conference in Johannesburg—where
Nigerian leaders met with foreign investors. Toun pushed to come along, saying it would help the
campaign. Segun agreed. They stayed in a fancy hotel in Sandton. One evening, after a long day,
Toun said, “Let’s celebrate your bright future.” He handed Segun a glass of red wine. Segun, tired
but excited, took a sip—without knowing the wine had been poisoned.
Minutes later, Segun felt dizzy. His chest was tight. His vision blurred. He collapsed, struggling to
breathe. Hotel workers rushed him to the hospital. Doctors found methanol in his blood—a deadly
chemical. Back in Lagos, his assistant Chika and two close friends, Wale and Kemi, flew down
immediately. Chika had noticed something strange about Toun before the trip—secret calls, avoiding
eye contact, acting too eager. At the hospital, she asked Toun what really happened. He claimed he
was “just as shocked,” but his shaky voice said otherwise.
Chika didn’t let it go. She hired a private investigator who traced the poisoned wine to a shady liquor
seller. They found proof that Toun bought the bottle himself and paid the bartender to give it to
Segun. It was clear—Toun wanted him out of the way to grab the APC ticket. Chika told Segun. Still
Weak in the hospital, he was heartbroken. “Toun? My own brother?” he whispered. The pain ran
deep.
Segun made a tough call. He phoned Toun and said calmly, “We’re done. You’re no longer my
friend.” Toun vanished from South Africa before the police could catch him. Back home, Segun’s
circle stood strong. Wale, a journalist, wrote a story about what happened—without naming Toun to
Avoid legal issues. The news spread fast. People began to see Segun not just as a candidate, but as a
man who had survived betrayal and come out stronger.
The poisoning turned the campaign around. When Segun returned to Lagos two weeks later, he stood
before a crowd and said, “I almost died, but I won’t give up.” The people believed him. His honesty
touched hearts. His pain became his power. Chika ran the campaign with fire—printing posters,
organizing volunteers, and spreading Segun’s message: “Together, we rise.” When the APC
Primaries came, and Segun won by a wide gap. His story had moved the voters.
But the main election was even harder. His opponent was a rich businessman with flashy cars and
empty promises. But Segun’s campaign was different. It was built on real stories, real people, and
real passion. On election day, Surulere came alive. Market women, bus drivers, students—everyone
came out to vote. When the results came, Segun had won. The streets exploded with joy. Drums beat.
Dancers moved. His mother, Mama Ngozi, hugged him tight with tears in her eyes. “God saved you
for this,” she said.
Toun? He was gone. Some say he fled to Ghana. Others say Dubai. The police opened a case, but
With Toun missing, it couldn’t go far. Segun didn’t waste time chasing ghosts. He focused on his
duty. He approved school projects, fixed broken roads, and gave clean water to the people. Chika
became his chief of staff. Wale and Kemi stayed close, showing that real loyalty still exists.
Segun’s win wasn’t just political. It was personal. He had survived a friend’s poison—both in drink
and in heart—and chose to rise above it. His office in Surulere is now a busy place, full of people
coming with ideas and hopes. He’s keeping his promises. He’s proving that trust, once broken, can
still be rebuilt with truth and action.
As I write this, I picture Segun at his desk, signing papers to change lives, with his mother’s prayers
in his heart. His journey reminds us: be careful who you trust, and when they betray you—don’t stay
Down. Rise. Fight. Win.
0
