ABBY:
When they say pride comes before a fall, they are not joking.
At Funmi’s, it was all fun and games at first. She welcomed me with open arms, played the perfect host, and we partied for days.
But after a week, things started to change.
First, she started making sly comments about “contributing something” to the bills.
Then, she began disappearing for hours, leaving me alone, stranded in her flat without any food.
The day everything crumbled, I overheard her talking on the phone—
“She’s still here oh, no plan, no money. I’m just waiting for her to get the hint.”
That was my wake-up call.
I had overstayed my welcome.
But where would I go?
I had burned my bridges with Chief and his wife.
I hadn’t spoken to my parents since that ugly confrontation.
And the few friends I thought I had were Funmi’s circle—not really mine.
That night, lying on the borrowed mattress in the corner of Funmi’s living room, reality hit me like a truck.
I was officially homeless.
And I had no plan.
Pride—crippling, foolish pride—had landed me here.
The next morning, Funmi didn’t even need to ask.
I packed my small bag quietly.
I thanked her, forced a smile, and walked out of her flat with nowhere to go.
On the streets of Lagos, trying to figure out my next move, I whispered:
“Dear God, I don’t even know if you’re still listening to me… but please, help me.”
Little did I know, help was about to come—but not in the way I expected.
Hmmm…
CHRIS:
Oh my gosh, the guide.
I didn’t know whether to run towards him or scream his name.
In the end, I chose the latter.
He turned just as I reached him, and for the first time, he looked genuinely excited.
“Oh my gosh, thank God you’re alive! We thought you and the other guy had met your end! How did you get here? Where have you been?”
He bombarded me with questions, giving me no chance to respond.
But one thing caught my attention—he said “we“.
That meant he wasn’t alone.
So I asked, “We? Are you here with the others?”
“Yes!” he replied eagerly, his face lighting up.
“And you? Did your friend make it too?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling despite the exhaustion, “Thomas is recovering from a fever.”
He clapped his hands in relief and said,
“Brilliant! We all made it, except one. One girl and five guys are here with me. Come, come see them!”
I followed him across the camp to a large tent, and as we approached, I heard familiar voices.
When I stepped inside, there they were—our group.
As soon as they saw me, they jumped up and rushed towards me, pulling me into hugs, examining me, laughing and crying at the same time, asking,
“How? Where? What happened?”
I smiled and said,
“Give me a minute, I need to fetch Thomas.”
I rushed back, helped Thomas to his feet, and together we returned to the tent.
The reunion was emotional.
We all sat down and took turns telling our stories—how they made it to this camp, and how Thomas and I survived.
The second guide wasn’t with them, but they explained he’d gone off to arrange the next part of our journey.
Sitting there, I realised something profound:
We had changed.
All of us.
The desert stripped us of everything superficial.
What was left was pure—a bond deeper than friendship.
In that moment, we were family.
Because out here, in a place where your real family had no idea if you were dead or alive, the people around you became all you had.
Hmmm…
