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ON THE OTHER SIDE
Everyone around me was getting married or engaged. I didn’t care; I would not settle for just anyone; I knew the one I wanted, and he was going to be mine whether he liked it.
I saw this guy at the cinema with 3 of his friends. He mistakenly bumped into me when we were getting popcorn and the way he looked at me and smiled melted my soul. I knew instantly I had to have him. That day I had gone with Wale, my current boyfriend. To be honest, Wale had asked me to marry him twice, but I just kept asking him to give me more time to decide. I didn’t like him enough to get married to him, but I also didn’t want to be without a man. So I strung him along, besides, he was fine, generous in bed, so what’s not to like? His flaws were that he wasn’t tall enough to be my husband. His English was wonky, his family was very humble, and he didn’t have the money I was dreaming of my man having. Still, for now, I could manage him. He doted on me and at least he had a brand new car that his company gave him.
On wale’s part, he had a complex. He was a brilliant guy, but he still needed a pretty face on his arms to make him feel whole. He believed that with me his status in life was elevated and they could accept him as one of the happening big boys. Come on, I was fine, 5 ft 8 inches, really light, long legs, beautiful curves, flawless skin and a law degree. Whenever I was with Wale and he met anyone, he would say meet my fiancée, she’s a lawyer, she just finished from Yale in the USA, isn’t she amazing? Well, he wasn’t telling a lie, I did just get back; I finished my secondary school in Lagos, then my father insisted I go to America for university, fortunately, I got admission into Yale, did my first and master all in one swoop, then I had to go back to Nigeria to work in my father’s law firm.
Unfortunately, I milked Wale’s insecurity. I could say he gave me 70% of his earnings just to keep me by his side. He didn’t know I was just waiting for my ideal man to come along. How did I meet wale, well My dad introduced him? Since I got back, I dated and dumped 5 guys. Feed up with my attitude. My dad thought I could do with a stable, responsible guy like wale. My dad also felt the other guys were a bad influence cos they all came from rich homes and were over pampered and felt entitled.
My mum was just fed up too, my younger sisters, both of them, already brought home guys they were going steady with. But for me Wuraola, no way, I hadn’t found him yet, until that fateful day at the cinema.
Tosan, his name was, I found out when one of his friends called out to him, Tosan Cole, get over here, the guy had said, so I wrote his name, went on Facebook and I found him. Hmmm, things you could learn on Facebook. He was 31, single, and 2nd to the last of 4 children. His siblings, except for his younger sister, all lived in Canada. His mother was dead, but his father was an ambassador at one time, now a business executive. He went to Leeds and the London School of Economics. Finished his MBA, 3 years ago. He lives in a posh estate in Lekki Peninsula and drives a Range Rover Sport. Has 3 best friends and currently works for himself at Tosan Consultants, Victoria Island.
I got all this from trolling through his Facebook page. It actually took me 2 full days and I knew almost everything about him, oh, did I say he went to church also in Lekki and he was an usher, yes he was. He liked smart homely girls, who could cook, oldies and James Bond movies, the sound of music was his best movie.
So, armed with all this information, I proceeded to his church the following Sunday, thankful wale was in Port Harcourt on a company assignment for 3 weeks, so I had time for myself. I got to church late intentionally, that’s when ushers have to get your seats, I waited and watched as each usher took latecomers to a vacant seat, as soon as I saw him, I moved forward, and he said hello, welcome to church, that’s when it happened, I walked forward, intentionally stumbled and fell, I hit the floor hard; I didn’t mind the nagging pain in my arm from the pretend fall, I was on a mission. Tosan gently lifted me up and asked if I was okay, I said I felt dizzy, and he supported me to a back room, where he asked me to sit and he went to get some water, he brought the water and waited with me for a while, although; I asked him not to worry. So he left and promised to check back in a few minutes. When he came back, I told him I wasn’t feeling too well, I would just like to go back home. He asked if I bought a car, I said, no, even though I parked outside, he offered to drop me off at home, and I accepted.
That day he left the church Service and dropped me off at GRA Ikeja. The gateman came running to ask where my car was, I said my friend took it and sent the gateman back to the gate. Tosan helped me into my apartment and asked if I was okay to stay on my own. I said I was. He then asked that I give him my no so he could check on me later.
Later, didn’t come, it devastated me. Anytime an unknown not called my phone, I would pick it up quickly, hoping it was Tosan, but nope, it wasn’t. Two weeks later, with no response or call from him as promised, I went back to the church. I couldn’t pull the falling down stunt anymore, so I just went and sat as normal and kept looking out for him. I spotted him halfway through the service. He was sitting next to a pretty girl, not as fine as me but pretty. Actually, I had seen her with him on Facebook, but I completely ignored that bit.
After the service ended, I went up to him to say hello, fortunately; he was alone, immediately he saw me, he apologized and said he had misplaced the paper I wrote my number on, could I just type it on his phone now, overjoyed; I typed it and then called my no, so I could have his too.
That evening he sent me a text asking how I was and that I looked great today and then asked if I was In a relationship. I thought to myself, yes!, he likes me, so I replied I wasn’t. He then responded, saying would I mind if he took me out on a date next Friday? I said okay.
From that Sunday to Friday, I wasn’t myself. I was so happy, singing, dancing all over the place. On Wednesday, I went for a facial, did my hair, and nails and got a nice outfit, even though I had loads of outfits, this date was special, it was with my husband to be, I had to get something new, exquisite and expensive to wear.
Wale called twice a day, I just said hello and told him I was fine and got on with my day. But Tosan, I sent him, “how are you doing?” texts every morning, and his response would be, “fine dearie and you? “.
On Friday he turned up in a 2 door jaguar, not the range rover I saw him with on Facebook and he took me to a nice club on the island, we danced, talked and danced some more, around 2 am, he asked if I won’t mind spending the night at his; I feigned surprise and said of course I mind; he apologized and said he was a bit tipsy, he won’t be able to drive to the mainland and back to his place, so if I don’t mind could I just come over to his, wait for him to sleep it off, then go drop me in the morning. I said that was okay.
So we get to his house and the same lady I saw him with on Facebook and in church, opens the door. He introduced her as his younger sister who stays with him, I was so relieved. Anyway, he went to crash, while my sister and I sat in the lounge watching films. She was nice, but didn’t really say a lot.
Anyway, 2 weeks later, Tosan asked me out, and I said yes. We started a relationship, at this point I asked wale to give me a break, I told him I needed time. he insisted he couldn’t live without me when I told him I wanted to break it off with him, he said I could go sow my royal oats. He’ll be waiting for me. This guy was unbelievable. Anyway, I said okay and left.
Being with Tosan was like heaven, I fell hard in love with him, our relationship was the opposite of what wale and I had, Tosan told me what to do I did it, as for wale I told him what I wanted, he did it. But I didn’t care, if we were to do the math, wale loved me 90, I loved him 10% I loved Tosan 70%, and he loved me 30% but that was okay with me.
Shortly after we started dating, I got to know Tosan better he was possessive, he would get upset if he called me once and I didn’t pick up if he sees me talking to a guy, trouble if I get a call, the question, who was that? Would definitely come after my call. But on the bright side, he pampered me, bought me everything I ever wanted, a new car, trips to Paris, London, New York, Singapore, and South Africa, with him, never on my own. He didn’t like any of my friends, soon he isolated me from everybody, even my family, it was Tosan alone and no one else.
Then one day my sister’s fiancé saw me at ShopRite, and gave me a hug. He was still holding my hand when Tosan came from behind and dealt him a punch. I couldn’t believe it, I was about to protest when he dealt me a slap right in the middle of the store; it was so painful tears rolled down my eyes, I stomped off with my sister’s fiancé and left him standing there shouting after me to come back here.
For two days he called and came to the house. I refused to see him, then one morning I was going out. As the gateman opened the gate, Tosan was kneeling down on the driveway with an enormous bunch of roses. That day, he swore he would never lay a finger on me ever again.
Now, remember, wale was still calling once a week to ask if I had thought about our relationship. I would say I was still thinking. 6 months later Tosan proposed, up until then he hadn’t hit me. So I believed he had changed and said yes I will, what followed was a great big engagement party. At the party, he introduced me to a friend of his who just come in. When I saw him, he looked familiar. As the night progressed, we found out we were in Yale and then it clicked. We started laughing and chatting. Tosan would come round once in a while and then go off and talk to some other friends.
That evening when we got back to his place, he asked if his friend and I dated when we were at Yale, I said No, I barely knew him. He called me a lair and said he heard us catching up on old times. I tried to correct his impression but to no avail and that’s when he beat me to a pulp. He just lost it. By the time he was done with me, I was barely breathing. His sister had to rush me to the hospital.
The doctor said I was lucky, I had a broken rib, fractured arm, wounds all over my body where he had punched me repeatedly and a broken wrist. at that point, I asked his sister to call my parents and the entire story came out. My dad was upset. He felt I brought this upon myself, having warned me that boys like Tosan, spoilt and entitled, had no manners or respect for a woman. Wale would never raise a finger on you, he said. That marked the end of my relationship with Tosan. He begged and begged, but it was too late. That ship had sailed already.
As for Wale, God bless him, he forgave me wholeheartedly and now am back with him and totally content.
I learned my lesson the hard way. Most times, what God wants for us, which will surely do us great good, is not what we want for ourselves. A spirit of contentment is what everyone should pray for. I had everything I needed right in front of me, but I could not see it, I thought Tosan was better for me. It just goes to show looks can be deceptive and the grass is not always greener, on the other side.
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Entry 47 –
Abby-Fear can drive you to do things you never imagined. Looking back, I realise it wasn’t just common sense that led me to open a new bank account and hide most of my money—it was survival instinct. And thank God I listened.Chief had been everything to me: saviour, provider, lover—and now, the man trying to take everything. When he showed up that night, pretending everything was normal, acting like we were still in our ‘us against the world’ fantasy, I played along. I smiled. Ate the tasteless rice he brought. Nodded while he gave me his poetic speech about “ours is ours” and “my family is your family.” Then he dropped the real question: “Where’s your debit card?”
Without flinching, I handed him the old one.
He sighed like a man saved from drowning, kissed my forehead, and promised to send money when I needed it. Just text—don’t call, especially if his wife was around. That’s when it hit me: this was the end of the illusion. I was no longer his hidden treasure—I was an expense. A line item. A liability.
As he pulled off, smiling like he’d won, I walked back into the guest house, paid the bill, packed my bags, and left. No message. No explanation. I vanished.
Thank God I had transferred most of the money out earlier. Because if I hadn’t? I would have been left with nothing—not even my dignity.
CHRIS
After my talk with Adenike, I barely slept. The next morning, it all happened so fast. At 10 a.m. on the dot, three people arrived—one of them a police officer. They uncuffed me, read me my rights, and walked me out to a van with five other men. No one spoke.
We drove through a town, then into the countryside, finally stopping at a fenced-off compound that smelled faintly of the sea. It looked like a warehouse from the outside, but inside it was something else—like a prison pretending to be a hostel.
They called us in one by one. When it was my turn, two people sat across from me. They asked my name. My reason for entering. My story. To everything, I said one word: “Asylum.”
Eventually, a bell rang and someone escorted me out. “You’ll be held here while your application is processed,” he said. “You work here. You live here. You do not leave until it’s finalised.”
Then he showed me to my room. Six bunks. One shower. A shelf full of old toothbrushes and towels. A welcome pack lay unopened: two t-shirts, a jumper, a puff jacket, socks, toiletries. My backpack was gone. Everything I had left behind in the boat was gone.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring into the grey walls of this strange new life. I was finally here—but where was here?
This wasn’t the Europe I dreamed of. But it was the Europe I fought for. I just didn’t know what would come next…
Hmmm.
Life choices
Entry 46
Abby: “Project” indeed. That’s what I was, Chief’s little side project. Nothing more.
A few days after the chaos in the flat, after constant bickering and his wife’s sharp silences, I got a text from Chief: “Come into the living room. Tell us you’re leaving to stay with a friend. I’ll explain later.”
My heart skipped. I thought, Finally, he’s sorting something out. Maybe a new place. Maybe things go back to how they were.
So I walked into the living room, held my head high, and said, “Uncle… Aunty… please, can I have a word?”
His wife eyed me like I was the dirt under her shoe. “This better be good,” she muttered, kissing her teeth. Chief nodded calmly. “Of course, go on.”
And like a puppet, I said the line I’d been told. I was leaving to stay with a friend.
“Thank you, God!” she yelled. “Are you leaving now? Please do.”
I glanced at Chief. He nodded again. His wife caught it. “Why are you looking at him? GO.”
I walked away with what was left of my pride, headed back to the room where the kids had already turned my things upside down. I packed up my two suitcases and just as I zipped the last one, another message came in: “Go round to the guest house on Yemi Street. Book a room. I’ll come to see you later.”
So I left. Rolled my suitcases down the sunlit street, still half-hoping Chief would fix everything.
At that point, I still had my bank card, my account, and the money Chief said would “sustain the household.” So I thought, Well, at least I can start over.
But something in my spirit whispered, This man will leave you dry.
So I went to the bank. Quietly opened a new account, transferred 70% of the money, and told them not to issue me a card. If I needed it, I’d walk in. Just like that, I reclaimed a little control.
But this story, my story, was only just starting to twist. The next chapter? Wild. …hmmmm
Chris: When I finally woke up properly, I tried to sit up only to realise my left wrist was cuffed to the hospital bed.
I pressed the bell. The nurse came in. “Why… why am I handcuffed?” I asked.
Her face was blank. “Immigration. They said you’ll be detained once you’re fit to leave.”
My eyes scanned the room. “Where’s Thomas?” “He was taken last night. Immigration came while you were sedated.”
I froze. My chest tightened. I was terrified.
Later, a woman came in to tidy and drop off food. Her name tag said Adenike. Nigerian. My eyes lit up. “Sister… please help me,” I whispered.
She paused, looked around, then leaned in. “They’ll move you to a migrant centre soon. That’s where they’ll ask about asylum. You need a strong reason. Say you were targeted, maybe by a politician. Or claim you’re fleeing the Niger Delta crisis. Something serious. That’s how I got my papers.”
She asked how I arrived. “Dinghy,” I replied. “Good. Did you have a passport?” “No.” “Even better. They can’t prove where you’re from. You can say Sudan. Syria. Just don’t say Nigeria. Tell them your country is at war.”
I nodded. I just wanted to let you know that I took it all in. Rehearsed the story in my head. She patted my shoulder. “They’ll come today. Or tomorrow morning. Be ready.”
I was no longer just Chris, the village boy chasing destiny. I was now… an asylum seeker. …hmmmm
Entry 45
ABBY: When Chief’s wife walked in with her children and a suitcase in each hand, it was like a scene from a badly written soap opera, only it was my life. She stopped in the doorway, looked me up and down and said, “So, you’re the girl?” Not hello, not thank you for letting us stay, just that, dripping in sarcasm. The kids said nothing. Just stared. Wide-eyed. Confused. Angry.
Chief tried to smooth things over. “My dear, let’s not start. We’re all in this together for now.” His wife snapped, “I didn’t come here for a lecture. I came here because you’ve turned our lives upside down. And now you want to play house with your project under the same roof as me and my children?”
That word project hit like a slap. I wanted to scream that I wasn’t the villain here. That I didn’t ask for any of this. But I stayed silent.
I watched them move in. My things were pushed into corners to make room for their bags. The fridge, once filled with food for one, suddenly looked bare. The peace I had built in this bubble of luxury was shattered.
Later that night, Chief came to talk. Said he was sorry. Said it was just temporary. That he needed me to cooperate, to “help hold things together.” I just nodded. What else could I do?
But as I lay on the floor that night beside a 13-year-old boy who snored like a bulldozer, I realised I had hit the express road my mum once talked about. And there was no exit in sight… hmmm
CHRIS: When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was a white ceiling and the soft blur of lights. For a moment, I thought it was heaven. But then I heard a machine beeping and felt the tug of tubes in my arm. I was alive.
We were in a hospital somewhere in southern Italy, they said. Rescued. Registered. Saved.
They had stripped and disinfected us, fed us warm food, and wrapped us in clean clothes. Thomas was beside me, thinner than I’d ever seen him, but breathing. Alive.
The nurse smiled and said, “You made it. You’re safe now.”
I cried.
Later, we were interviewed. Names, countries, families. They took our photos, gave us ID numbers, and told us about the refugee camp where we’d stay until they processed our cases.
But I didn’t hear most of it.
I was stuck on one thought, made it. I chased my destiny and somehow survived. But was this it? Was this the start of something better, Or just another beginning I hadn’t prepared for?
I didn’t know. All I knew was I wasn’t dead. And for now, that was enough. …hmmm
Entry 44
Abby:
“Abby, Abby!” I heard my name, but I was too dazed to truly comprehend what Chief was saying. He knelt beside me, his face tight with stress.
“Abby, my darling, there is a situation… the government is after me for something I didn’t do. They’ve seized all my properties and frozen my accounts. This apartment is the only one left because it was bought in my wife’s maiden name. I’m sorry, but my family will be moving in here. And… the money in your account, I need it. Please, that’s what we’re going to survive on.”
His words felt like punches. That luxury—the chef, the flat, the car, the travels—was all a house of cards. And now? He needed the money in my account. The jeep? Gone. The allowance? Stopped.
He continued, barely letting me speak. “I’ve told my wife you’re a friend’s daughter. He’s based in America and pays rent, but he can’t keep up right now. I told her you’ve invited us to stay.”
I sat there, numb. He spoke about bunk beds. Sharing my room with his three children—15, 16, and a 13-year-old boy—as if it was a camp retreat. “You’ll all manage,” he said. “After all, he’s just a boy.”
I couldn’t even process it. Not until the next day when his wife actually showed up, carrying luggage and dragging the kids behind her. I heard their argument as soon as she stepped in: either I leave, or she goes to the EFCC and tells them Chief owns this property too.
And that was just the beginning…
Chris:
Seventeen started. Ten left.
By day 23, I was half my original weight, covered in insect bites, and my gums ached from not brushing. Thomas looked skeletal. The dinghy’s motor gave out and we drifted, baking under the sun, freezing under moonlight.
The guides said we were near Europe, drifting into a shipping lane. That was our only hope.
The nurse, her lips swollen and body dotted with sores, whispered prayers at every sunrise and sunset. She was hanging on by faith.
Three days later, in the dead of night, we heard a loud horn.
Lights.
Shouts in another language.
Then figures in orange jackets appeared, abseiling down ropes. They wrapped us in foil blankets, strapped us to harnesses, and lifted us into a ship. I barely registered it. I drifted in and out of consciousness as warm liquid pulsed into my arm through a drip.
I remember thinking, “Am I dead? Is this heaven? White men, flashing lights, and injections? Maybe heaven is warm and fuzzy…”
And then everything went dark.
…hmmm
Entry 43
Abby:
I know one isn’t supposed to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help it. The three men I let into the apartment, whom Chief addressed as SAN — Senior Advocate of Nigeria — didn’t seem like the usual visitors. The last man carried two large suitcases, which Chief instructed him to leave in the corner before returning to the car. The others sat, and the mood shifted. I quietly left the door slightly ajar and sat nearby, trying to listen.
Chief asked, “So what’s the situation now?”
Now, before I tell you what I heard, let me just say this: sometimes I look back and laugh at myself, and other times, I cry. The level of naivety I displayed still shocks me. I ignored every red flag, every sign, and just kept driving down a road that eventually became an expressway with no exits.
What I heard that day chilled me. One of the SANs said, “Chief, you have no choice. You’ll need to lie low for a while. The good news is that this property is in your wife’s maiden name, so she and the children will be moving in with you tomorrow.”
My heart dropped.
Then Chief asked, “What about my girl?” referring to me. One of the lawyers mumbled something I couldn’t catch.
An hour later, after the lawyers left, Chief called me in. His tone was soft. “Baby, my darling, please sit down. I have something to tell you.”
He began to explain, but as the truth unfolded, my whole body went cold. I was frozen. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, until I heard him shout my name and shake me.
“Chief… I…” hmmmm
Chris:
We rode the waves all night, switching between the two guides who managed the motor-powered dinghy. They seemed to know what they were doing, using a compass to keep us on course. But after 15 gruelling days at sea, people began to fall apart.
It started with vomiting. First one man, then another. And then diarrhoea. Soon 11 of the 14 people left were heaving, weak and crying.
The nurse we had onboard was the first to name it: cholera.
It hit me like a slap. Where had it come from? That’s when we realised — the only people not affected were the guides, Thomas, myself, and the nurse. The rest had drunk from the shared water container after the dinghy capsized.
Turns out, one of the guides had topped up the water with seawater when we were running low. He said, “I’ve done it before. Nobody died.”
But this time, people were dying.
The nurse came to us with a small packet of tablets. “I only have enough for six people,” she whispered. “There are eleven who need it.”
She handed us sticks. We had to draw lots.
I wanted to scream. Why should I get to decide who lives and who dies?
We picked.
Two days later, five were gone.
There were no funerals. No goodbyes. Just the sound of bodies being pushed into the ocean.
I cried until I blacked out.
Thomas didn’t cry. He stared into the sea and muttered, “Survival of the fittest.”
Only much later did I realise he was deeply traumatised. He just couldn’t process it.
…hmmm
Needs not wants: A Gentle Discipline in a Loud World
Abstaining from non-essential spending is not about punishment or deprivation. It is about peace. It is about learning the difference between desire (Wants) and needs, emotional impulse and intentional living.
We live in a time where we are constantly encouraged to buy more, do more, be more. It is subtle and relentless. A sale here. A must-have trend there. A haul, a link, a checkout. Before we know it, we are working harder to fund habits that do not nourish us. The noise gets louder. Our clarity fades.
Wanting to look like our favourite stars, our friends, neighbours, buying things we can’t afford, just to others like us.
I know someone who works as a courier delivery person and bought a Range Rover. took a loan to pay the deposit and then spent all his hard-earned money to try to keep up with the repayments. After 11 months of asking everyone for help with petrol, he decided to sell, but unfortunately couldn’t get the original price and got into more debt. When I asked, he said, I wanted to belong, be part of the in-crowd, – and that’s the problem there. Always wondering what people will say. A lot of this stems from low self-esteem, believing that what you have makes you who you are; it doesn’t. But that’s a topic for another day. Today, we focus on how to ensure you focus on needs to wants.
What’s the difference, you ask?
Wants are things you can do without but want to have for one reason or another, even if you can’t afford it, and needs are essentials that you need to live within your means and not get into debt.
It’s time to say no more.
You begin to reclaim that clarity when you decide to step back and say no, not today. It starts small. Not buying the extra top “just because”. Skipping the coffee out when there is one waiting at home. Letting go of the need to “treat yourself” with things that end up forgotten. It is not about never enjoying life; it is about knowing what actually feeds your soul versus what just fills a moment.
The Deeper Implications
Saying no to non-essentials reveals what you have been avoiding. Spending is often a distraction from discomfort: stress, loneliness, self-doubt. When you stop using purchases to soothe those emotions, you start facing them. That can be confronting, but it is healing.
You also start to see how much of your self-worth was wrapped up in what you wore, what you owned, and how “put together” you looked. Removing that layer brings you face to face with the real you. And if you are patient, you will realise she is more than enough.
Financially, the impact is powerful. The money you used to leak out without thinking now creates space, space to breathe, to save, to invest in what truly matters. A safety cushion. A debt repaid. A future planned with care.
How to Spend on Needs, Not Wants
- Pause Before You Purchase
Ask yourself: Is this useful, necessary or just nice to have? Can it wait? Often, just delaying a decision by 24 hours clears the fog. - Define Your Essentials
Essentials are not only rent and food. They include anything that sustains your health, home, and well-being. But be honest. A gym membership that you never use is not essential. A journal you write in might be. - Use Cash
Create categories for essentials and give them strict boundaries. Seeing a limited pot forces you to be intentional. If it helps, use cash. It makes spending feel more real. - Curate, Do Not Accumulate
If you need something, choose it with care. Buy less, but better. One good coat instead of five trend-led ones. A skincare routine that works, rather than chasing every new launch. - Find Emotional Alternatives
If spending is your go-to when you feel low, find something else. Journaling, movement, calling a friend, doing nothing at all. Emotional maturity is learning to sit with discomfort without numbing it. - Track It All
Keep a simple log of what you spend. No shame, no judgment. Just awareness. Patterns will show themselves, and so will your progress.
Options for Supportive Living
- Join a No-Spend Challenge: Alone, it is hard. With others, it feels possible.
- Follow creators who reflect your goals: Choose voices that guide, not glamorise.
- Set meaningful goals: Saving for therapy, travel, a course. Something that lifts your life, not just your wardrobe.
In truth, not buying things you do not need is an act of radical care. It is a commitment to yourself. A choice to live in alignment with your values rather than the expectations of the world around you.
You are not missing out. You are tuning in.
Entry 42
Abby:
A kept woman. Hmm. What did that even mean at the time? I didn’t really think about it too deeply. After a few weeks of settling into the luxury Chief provided, I began convincing myself I wasn’t doing anything wrong. After all, I didn’t go after him – he came after me. Morality didn’t factor into it. I needed help, and he provided it. The price? I didn’t take the time to think about what I was paying or who I might be hurting. Selfishness ruled.
Could you blame me? The luxury flat Chief gave me was around the corner from Bourdillon Road in Ikoyi. If you know Lagos, you know that’s prime property. A two-bedroom flat, tastefully furnished. A chef and housekeeper arrived every morning to do whatever I wanted. The apartment complex had an indoor gym and a swimming pool. He gave me a Toyota Land Cruiser and a driver. As for the allowance, let’s just say, it was plenty.
And then there were the trips. Chief travelled often for business, once or twice a month, and guess who became his handbag? Me. I never went to the embassy to get a visa. My passport was picked up empty and returned with visas to multiple countries. Chief travelled on a diplomatic passport, and to most places we flew private. On the rare occasion we flew commercial, I was in first class, beside or behind him.
Looking back now, I see it. I was selfish. Self-centred. I didn’t care who I was hurting. I didn’t even think about his family. Not once.
Until one day, two years into the relationship.
That day, Chief came over to the apartment. He wasn’t his usual cheerful self. He hugged me, then slumped into a chair.
“Abby, I have something to tell you,” he said.
Just then, his phone rang, and the intercom buzzed at the same time. He asked me to open the door for the guests and to excuse him as he went into the bedroom. The solemn look on his face said it all. Something serious had happened.
I thought maybe it was a bereavement.
But I was about to find out…
Chris:
“Chris, please wake up! Wake up!”
I heard the voice, distant and fading, then closer and more urgent. Slowly, I opened my eyes. Thomas was shaking me violently. Water burned my throat and nostrils as I coughed it out.
“Thank God,” he said, relieved.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We capsized,” Thomas replied. “But the dinghy is upright now. We’re trying to get everyone back in.”
He must have seen the confusion in my face because he added, “Oh, I swam in competitions in university. Don’t worry. You’re in good hands. These life vests saved most of us.”
“Most?” I repeated, alarmed.
He nodded. “A girl and her father didn’t make it. And one guy might have spinal injuries—he can’t stop screaming.”
Two other guys appeared, and with Thomas, they pulled me into the dinghy. People were soaking wet, shivering, and some were crying silently. The trawler was long gone, just a memory, and we were back to drifting.
The sun was out now, scorching. We began to dry up, slowly. Supplies were dangerously low. Each of us received two capfuls of water and one biscuit, told to chew slowly.
A woman who I believe was a nurse gave out paracetamol and told us to lie still. As for the injured man, he lay limp at the side of the boat, screaming in agony with every jolt.
The nurse whispered, “He won’t survive this trip. And if he does, he may never walk again.”
How do you process something like that?
Later, I woke up from a restless sleep. The sun was dipping again, the dinghy racing through an endless sea. Nothing but water. Not even a shark or whale in sight. Just us, floating. Drifting. Waiting.
And maybe, somewhere up there, God watching and wondering:
What, in my name, were you all thinking?
…hmmm
Entry 41
Abby:
That night’s ordeal haunts me to this day. I made one of the greatest mistakes of my life. Notice I said “one”–because there were others. Chief did what he did, and while it wasn’t violent, it wasn’t truly consensual either. And he knew it. Because not long after, he sat beside me, sighed deeply and said, “My dear, I’m sorry. I feel guilty for what happened. I want to take care of you. Deolu is a good boy, but a woman like you needs someone mature who can ensure you have everything you want. I promise not to impose myself on you again until you feel comfortable.”
Then he added, “To start, I want to give you one of my apartments on the Island. Let’s go see it now.”
I remember sitting there, torn and violated, yes. But here was the answer to my prayer – support, stability, freedom from Deolu and his grip. My space. No more being pimped out. My decisions, my body, my choices. I told myself this was an escape. So I said yes.
“I would love that,” I whispered.
But it didn’t turn out exactly how I imagined…hmmm
Chris:
It took a while before we could make it out clearly on the horizon. At first, just a speck. But as it got closer, we realised it was a fishing trawler. And the men on board didn’t look friendly.
The tension in our dinghy shifted. The guide looked uneasy, yelling for us to hold on as the waves from the trawler churned the sea, tossing us violently. He ordered us to wave the red cloths he had given us earlier, to try and signal that we needed help. But the trawler kept heading straight for us, too fast, too deliberate.
And that’s when it hit us. They weren’t here to help. They were charging at us.
The trawler drew closer and began hurling rubbish at us – dead fish, old tins, anything they could find. Swearing, yelling in a language I didn’t understand but whose hate was unmistakable.
Our guide panicked, veered the dinghy to change direction. The trawler followed.
And then it happened.
A monstrous wave, stirred up by their engine, crashed against our dinghy. The balance broke. Screams echoed around me. The world spun. I was tossed into the air like a rag doll.
I didn’t feel the fall. Just the slap of the sea and the silence that followed.
Then, nothing.
Just blackness.
…hmmmm
Entry 40
Abby:
Some would say I got myself into that mess—and they wouldn’t be wrong. But here’s the thing about the human mind: when you’re convinced you’re doing the right thing, even the obvious can look like a lie. I was determined to make it on my own. I turned my back on Chief—now revealed as my father—and on the man who raised me. I ignored my mother too, her secrets and her shame. I wanted independence. I wanted to prove I didn’t need them. And, for a brief, foolish moment, I thought Deolu would be my way out.
Looking back, I realise how blind I was. They say common sense isn’t so common—and in my case, it was practically extinct. Even after all he’d done, part of me still felt something for Deolu. That’s what makes manipulation so dangerous. It dresses up as care, spoils you, pampers you—until the moment it controls you.
As I ran from that house, something in me whispered to go back. “Where will you go, Abby? You’ve burnt every bridge.” And just like that, the doubt pulled me around. I stopped running. I convinced myself again—he took you in, didn’t he? Fed you, clothed you. Maybe this was his way of helping. Maybe you misread it.
So I went back. I smoothed my clothes, rehearsed my lines, and walked in. Deolu was furious—his jaw clenched, eyes wild. But I ran into his arms and said, “Baby, I’m sorry. There was a mouse in the bathroom—I panicked and ran out.”
He pulled me close, leaned in, and whispered coldly, “I’ll deal with you later. Now behave.” Then, without another word, he shoved me towards his ‘friend’—who was suddenly all smiles again.
And as that man gripped me by the waist, pretending I was something he owned, I felt it—revulsion. Shame. Disgust. But I said nothing. Because for now, I had nowhere else to go.
…hmmm
Chris:
Sometimes I still wonder how I thought that was my best option—chasing destiny in a leaking dinghy across an indifferent sea. But I did it. Young. Foolish. Vulnerable. And desperate.
The sea had become our only reality—salty, relentless, unending. We’d stopped counting days. There was no time out there, only survival. The storm had passed, but now we sat in silence, the motor long dead, our guides offering nothing but haunted looks.
People withdrew into themselves. Some just stopped responding. A boy no older than fourteen stared blankly ahead, muttering names only he understood. A woman stripped naked and jumped in, swearing she saw land. We never saw her again.
Thomas tried his best to lift spirits. “We’ll make it,” I told him—but even I didn’t believe myself anymore. Still, I had to say it—for him, if not for me.
By the fourth day, the sun was merciless. The last of the water was gone. Some turned to the sea for thirst—poison masked as relief. Others just curled up, waiting for something—rescue, death, maybe even peace.
But then, on the horizon—a shape. Small. Distant. Moving.
I nudged Thomas and pointed. “There,” I whispered.
He opened his eyes, just barely. “A boat?”
I nodded, refusing to look away. I didn’t know what it was yet. But I knew one thing.
We were not done.
…hmmm
Entry 38
Entry 39
Abby:
The house looked perfectly ordinary from the outside—calm, tasteful, framed by manicured hedges and a tall, well-oiled gate. But the moment I stepped through the front door, I felt it. Something wasn’t right.
There were too many eyes. Men in suits stood like silent statues, positioned as if part of the décor—but they weren’t guests. They were watching. Deolu’s hand tightened around mine as we walked in. It wasn’t affection. It was possession.
We were led into a lounge where his “friend” was waiting. An older man, perhaps late fifties, dressed in silk and sipping whisky from a heavy crystal tumbler. He stood when we entered, his eyes scanning me before his mouth curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You’re even more stunning in person,” he said.
I didn’t respond.
Deolu did all the speaking. He was animated—boasting, laughing, showing me off like some sort of prize he’d won. I sat there, still foggy from whatever he’d slipped into my tea that morning. My body was there, but I was somewhere else.
“Let’s have a drink,” the man suggested.
I seized the moment. Mumbled something about needing the bathroom. Once inside, I locked the door, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water on my face. The girl staring back at me in the mirror looked like me, but wasn’t. Her eyes were glazed. Her lips, too red. Her spirit, muted.
Then I heard it—Deolu’s voice, sharp and rising. The older man was irritated I hadn’t come back quickly enough. Panic surged.
There was a small window above the sink. Without thinking too hard, I slipped off the heels, climbed up, and dropped down into the garden below. My ankle twisted beneath me, but adrenaline took over. I didn’t look back.
I ran. Limping, yes—but running. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew I had to leave.
Anywhere was better than staying…..hmmmmmm
Chris:
By now, we had been drifting for days. I couldn’t even tell how many—time had lost its shape. I asked Thomas and he said, “Three.”
Only three? It felt like forever. My throat ached. Tears slid down my cheeks, and I wasn’t even crying.
We were told to ration—one bite of bread, one sip of water per day. I remember asking how long the journey would take. The guide shrugged and muttered, “Depends… maybe two, three—”
“Days?” I interrupted.
“No,” he scoffed. “Weeks.”
The storm had passed, but the stillness it left behind was worse. The motor had died in the night. The guides had gone quiet—grim-faced, barely meeting our eyes.
One of them cursed in Arabic and threw an empty bottle overboard.
Behind me, someone murmured a prayer. Others lay motionless, eyes wide and fixed on nothing, their will worn thin.
Then—hope. A dark shape in the distance. A ship? An island?
Excitement surged. People stood too fast, waving, shouting. The boat rocked violently. We pleaded with them to sit back down, to wait.
It wasn’t a ship. It was just a rock. Lifeless. Cold. We drifted past it, unnoticed, unseen.
The heat intensified. Our water ran out.
Some started drinking seawater—first out of desperation, then delusion. One woman kept whispering her mother’s name, stretching out her hand as though reaching for a ghost.
Thomas leaned towards me, voice hoarse: “If we die here… at least we tried.”
I looked at him, and something in me rebelled.
“No,” I whispered. “We’re not dying here. We’re not done yet.”
The sea said nothing. But the sky shifted, just slightly. A faint speck on the horizon. A ship? A rock? Or maybe… something divine?
I didn’t know. But I kept my eyes fixed on it. I clung to hope.
Because I knew, deep down, we were not done yet….hmmmm