ABBY:
Needless to say, I found myself at the University of Ibadan.

Now, you’d think I’d be full of gratitude to Chief and his wife for turning my life around—and don’t get me wrong, I was—but deep down, I still wanted more.

By now, I was 17. I’d lived with them for over a year, and I was no longer the Abby from the village. My blackmailing tendencies had been curbed—at least I’d learnt the hard way that life outside the village wasn’t always as straightforward as it had been with my dad and aunt.

Chief’s wife made my stay in Ibadan extremely comfortable. They rented me a beautifully furnished apartment, bought me a brand-new car, and opened a bank account that was generously topped up every month.

For four years, I lived a life of luxury.

I studied hard—surprisingly—considering the number of friends and parties I had, and I graduated with a 2:1 in Law.

At 20, I was unrecognisable from the naïve girl I once was.

As a graduation gift, I was given a two-week holiday in London. Not my first time out of the country, mind you—I’d already been to Dubai, Spain, South Africa, and Zanzibar with Chief’s wife. Every time she “needed a break,” I was the lucky one she dragged along.

Shopping. Sun. Spa days.

We flew business class, sat side by side, sipping champagne like mother and daughter.

But one thing still puzzled me—why was nothing ever said about her children?

And I found out, in London.

Chief arranged for someone named Aunty Tracy to pick me up from Heathrow. She dropped me off at Chief’s flat in Chelsea—a lush three-bedroom apartment overlooking the Chelsea Bridge.

She showed me the fully stocked fridge, the new phone with credit, the chauffeur’s number, and the credit card I could use for anything I wanted.

All arranged by Chief.

The next three days, I did what any excited 20-year-old would do—soaked in the jacuzzi with the doors open to the city view, ordered pizza, ice cream, Chinese takeaway, watched films on the big screen.

Bored, I called the driver and asked to be taken to a nightclub. Definitely not like the ones back home.

For three days, I lived like a princess.

Then, one afternoon, I went out to the London Eye and came back home…

…only to find Chief sitting in the living room, staring straight at me.

Hmmm…

CHRIS:
I never imagined walking could hurt like that.

Blisters. Sunburn. Legs that felt like lead. That constant fear that one more step might be my last.

We walked all day. Only stopping when the sun was too harsh or someone nearly collapsed.

Our guides hardly spoke. And when they did, it was always the same: “Keep moving.”

Thomas and I stuck together. We shared what little water we had left, whispered prayers under our breath, and gave each other nods of encouragement.

The desert had no mercy.

By the time we got to our first resting point, the heat was unbearable.

We were drenched in sweat, panting for breath. The guides tied us together with rope around our waists, so if one person stopped, everyone stopped. It forced us to move as one.

They led us into a shallow cave—not deep, but cool enough to give us some relief.

We were told to eat, lie down, and sleep. At sundown, we’d continue.

There was a wave of silent relief as we untied ourselves, flopped to the ground, and took slow sips of water. I ate a bit of bread, laid my head on my bag, and before I knew it, I had passed out from exhaustion.

A few hours later, I was jolted awake by screaming.

Disoriented, I sat up—only to see what was left of the boy who had been lying closest to the entrance.

A mountain lion had attacked.

Half his body was gone.

The girls were wailing. The rest of us stood, frozen, trembling.

The guides, emotionless as ever, stepped in.

“This is the reality of the desert,” one of them said flatly.

They picked up what was left of him and ordered us to dig a shallow grave with old tin plates. We buried him silently, no prayers, no goodbyes. Just sand.

Then the guide turned to us and said,

“That’s his life now. The rest of you—pack up. We’ve got a long way to go.”

Hmmm…

ENTRY 19

ABBY:
Madam J. I had no idea what I had just stepped into.

That day, she drove me straight to her house. She called for her maid to serve me food and show me to a bedroom at the back of the building.

The next morning, I was invited to eat breakfast with her. She asked if I’d slept well, then said she had a proposition for me.

I was excited. I told her yes, I’d slept well and asked her to please go on.

She leaned in, her voice calm but deliberate.

“Abby, I’ve been where you are. My stepmother kicked me out of the house when I turned sixteen. My father just folded his arms and said nothing. He stayed there with the three children she brought in from her previous marriage.

I was the black sheep. My father had told her I was his niece, so she treated me like a slave.

When she eventually found out I was his daughter, the treatment only got worse. She framed me for theft, constantly started fights between me and her daughters—two of whom were older than me.

Every day my father returned from work, it was one issue or another she had cooked up about me. He never wanted to hear my side of the story.

The final straw was when she lied that her gold chain had gone missing. A ‘search’ was done and, surprise surprise, it was mysteriously found in my luggage.

That day, she insisted my father kick me out. He said no, because I was underage—not even sixteen.

A year and two months later, the day after my sixteenth birthday, I got home and found my clothes already packed.

She said, ‘We can’t harbour a thief in this house. You lie, steal, fight… we don’t want you influencing the other children. You’ve got to go.’

And my father just sat there, nodding in agreement.”

She paused for a moment, then said, “So you see, Abby, I’ve been where you are. And I want to help you—because someone helped me too.”

“So, what do you say?”

I was elated. From hopeless and homeless to hopeful and sheltered.

Then she smiled and asked, “You do know how to show appreciation, right?”

I replied, “Of course, Aunty. Name it, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” she asked again, curiously.

“Yes,” I replied.

Then she gave me a long, knowing look with a sly smile and said, “My darling girl… remember this day—when you promised me anything I ask.”

“Go and have some rest. I’m travelling for a few days. When I return, I’ll tell you what that ‘anything’ is.”

Hmmm…

CHRIS:
My destiny. That’s all I could think about.

I had just turned down a fully-funded Master’s scholarship—with a guaranteed job at the end. It sounded perfect. But it wasn’t my path. My destiny, according to the prophet, was across water.

Meanwhile, Edward was already building his destiny. And that made me anxious. He had an eight-month head start.

So I intensified my search. That’s when I stumbled upon a website: Fulfilled Dreams – Travel Abroad Alternatives.

Excited, I called the number immediately.

I was put through to someone called “The Coordinator.” She asked how she could help.

I said, “I want to go overseas.”

She asked why. I replied, “To fulfil my destiny.”

Then she asked, “Where?”

I hesitated. “What do you mean?”

She said, “UK or Europe?”

I asked which was better.

She replied, “Europe.”

So I said, “Europe.”

She then asked if I was on any regular medication. I said no.

And finally, she asked, “Are you sentimental?”

I didn’t understand that question—but I was about to.

After answering all her questions, she gave me an appointment to come to their office—six weeks from that day.

The only issue? I had told her I had more money than I actually did.

So now, I had six weeks to find a way to raise the extra cash…

Hmmm…

ENTRY 18

ABBY:
Madam J.

She was formidable, alright. Cruising up and down our street in her black Jeep, just to flaunt how much money she had—it wasn’t a secret. A few times she’d wave like she was the Queen of England, feigning a posh accent mixed with our local dialect. Honestly, it used to make me laugh.

Anyway, on that fateful day when Uncle kicked me out—after the whole Mr 16 incident—I found myself wandering the streets aimlessly, completely lost.

Uncle insisted I return to the village and live with my parents. Aunty didn’t even bat an eyelid. I suppose she was relieved the only person who knew her secret was finally out of the house.

But going back to the village? That was never an option—not even for a second. Still, I had no clue where else I could go. No money. No relatives I could think of.

So I walked—up and down the street—no destination, no plan, just… walking.

That’s when Madam J pulled up beside me.

“Hey, you! Come here. Where are you going?” she called out through her tinted window.

I hadn’t even noticed her driver stop the car beside me—I was so deep in thought. I looked up to see her beaming, eyes waiting for my answer.

“Good evening, ma. I… I don’t know,” I stammered.

Obviously, she demanded an explanation.

I told her it was a long story. She simply said, “Get in.”

With no other choice and nowhere else to go—and besides, I knew her—I thought, What harm could she do?

But I was wrong.

My choice to follow Madam J took me down paths you wouldn’t believe…

Hmmm…

CHRIS:
Destiny across water.

That phrase stayed with me. Day and night, all I could think about was going abroad. It made so much sense.

I imagined the money I’d earn, the look on my parents’ faces when I started sending money home, the mansion I’d build in the village… my thoughts ran wild.

But then reality kicked in. I didn’t have enough money for a plane ticket. My parents couldn’t even afford my university fees, let alone fund me to go overseas. So… what now?

I started researching online—looking for alternate ways to travel abroad. That’s when I discovered something shocking: some people were going by road. Walking, taking boats, even swimming.

But before I went that far…

About eight months after graduation—and after the prophecy—Edward landed a job at a multinational company.

He rang me up, buzzing with excitement.

“Bro! I’ve found my destiny! I’m gonna work hard and climb to the top—I’ll be a partner one day!”

I laughed and said, “Slow down, bro. How do you even know this is the place?”

Edward replied confidently, “My heart tells me. I’m putting everything into this.”

I was happy for him. Truly. But it made me think… Will my journey abroad go that smoothly?

Six months later, I was still researching—still searching. Looking for cheaper ways to make the move.

I found some routes—using other people’s documents and connections—but they were ridiculously expensive. Costing an arm and a leg.

I grumbled to Edward, and he said, “Bro, my office is offering Master’s scholarships to all First Class Economics graduates. Why don’t you apply and join us?”

“Absolutely not,” I replied. “Are you trying to stall my destiny?”

Hmmm…