On the night of June 23, the rain didn’t just fall — it roared. By midnight, Ikosi’s familiar streets had disappeared under angry waves of floodwater. Cars floated like toys. Furniture bobbed against cracked compound walls. And for many families, what they had spent years building was swallowed in hours. I met Mama Joshua two days later, sitting on a broken wooden bench outside what used to be her home. Her eyes were red — not just from tears, but from the sting of mud and sleepless nights. “Joshua was all I had,” she whispered, almost as if speaking his name would tear her open again. Joshua, her only son, had been caught in the chaos that night. Trying to save a neighbor’s child, he was pulled under by the current — a hero no one could reach in time. Around her, neighbors carried out soaked mattresses, twisted gas cylinders, family photo albums stuck together in clumps. Some argued with government officials, others simply stared at the ruin, too tired to be angry. ...