ABBY:
Deolu. The name alone still brings a mix of feelings. At the time, he was charming, confident, and sounded like he had the answers I desperately needed. We exchanged numbers and he promised to call later. True to his word, that evening he called and asked if I had a place to sleep. I hesitated, then lied and said I was staying with a friend but could use a break from the tension there. He chuckled and said, “Well then, come and cool off where there’s no tension—just me and good vibes.”
I didn’t know what else to do. I had no plan, no home, and only a few naira in my pocket. So I went. His place was modest but neat. He offered me food, a clean towel, and told me to sleep in his bed while he took the couch. “You look like you haven’t slept in peace for days,” he said. He wasn’t wrong.
The next day, he asked no questions, didn’t probe, just told me to rest. For the first time in weeks, someone wasn’t judging me or demanding anything in return. Or so I thought. It wasn’t until a few days later, when I offered to leave, that he said, “Why go when you’ve already found where you belong?” I didn’t know it yet, but I was walking into another chapter of my life that would test me in ways I never imagined.
Deolu wasn’t just some random guy. He had a past. And soon, that past would become my present…
CHRIS:
At the checkpoint, time felt like it froze. The voices of the armed guards were getting louder. They were arguing with the driver, questioning why the back of the truck was sealed tight. We could only hear muffled Arabic and the occasional swear word. The guide whispered, “Don’t breathe loud. Don’t cough. Don’t even think of moving.”
We were hidden under tarps and sacks of what smelled like onions and raw grain. The air was choking. Thomas was pressed up beside me, his shirt soaked with sweat. The girl who had ‘bought’ her way onto the truck began to tremble. I squeezed her hand lightly, just to let her know someone saw her—because I did.
Suddenly, the tarp was yanked open. A torchlight flashed across our faces. All I could think was, this is it. We’ll be arrested. Deported. Or worse.
But just as quickly, the light was turned off and the tarp dropped again. The driver must have handed over something, because the shouting stopped. A door slammed. The truck roared to life.
The guide exhaled loudly and whispered, “That was close.” We didn’t respond. We couldn’t. The fear had silenced us.
An hour later, the truck stopped and we were told to get off. “You’ve made it to the last camp before the boat,” the guide said. Relief washed over me—but only for a moment. Because we were told the next crossing was by sea, and the boat… was a dinghy.
hmmm…
