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🪫Chapter 65🪫
Unedited

14th of April

6:30 am

Brenda listened intently as Ugo's line rang for the fifth time that morning. Frustration bubbled within her, and she quickly opened WhatsApp to drop him a message. Her fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before she pressed record on a voice note.

🎙️"For the umpteenth time, Baby, I'm sorry. I miss your voice. You've not answered my messages yet. Please respond,” she said, her voice tinged with desperation. After sending the message, she sighed heavily, scrolling through a long list of "Congratulations" from friends and family members. Each notification felt like a dagger, reminding her of the chaos that had unfolded two nights ago.

Suddenly, her eyes caught Hilary's message, which included a link. Curiosity piqued, she read the text:

I guess congratulations are still in order. 😂
Well, I saw this recent news; the images they used were just too... How can I describe it, just check it.

Ha ha! Very funny! I'll check it

Brenda typed rolling her eyes as she clicked on the link. She had already seen other news headlines she wondered why this one was different to have attracted Hilary's attention.

"Engagement Shock: Millionaire Proposes to Tourist—Is It True Love or Just a Fad?"

The accompanying pictures made her blood boil, each one a reminder of the narrative being spun around her life.

Brenda tightened her fists, her nails digging into her palms as anger surged through her. Without a second thought, she dashed towards her parents' room, her heart pounding in her chest. She knocked sharply on the door, and her mother opened it, a look of surprise on her face.

“Ah han, is anything the matter, why so early?” her mother asked, concern lacing her voice.

“I want to see Dad!” Brenda snapped, her tone sharper than intended, "Your father is having tea in the dinning room. Good morning to you too." "Ugh! Good morning Mom." She greeted and  brushed past her mother and headed straight for the sitting room.

Her father was seated on the beige sofa, a delicate china cup in hand, steam curling up from the tea. He was watching the news on television. He glanced up at her, his expression shifting from surprise to concern. “What is it, my princess?” He asked, setting the cup down on the glass coffee table with a soft clink.“I want to sue these bloggers that keep reposting this crazy engagement!” Brenda exclaimed, her voice rising with each word. She stood before him, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides, her long fingers pale from the pressure.

"It's not a crazy engagement."

"Whatever Dad, I want to have them sued."

“Why?” Her father asked, leaning forward slightly, his brow furrowing as he took in her distressed expression.

"Because I want to keep my life private! I love being private!" she snapped, her voice rising with indignation. She could feel the heat of her anger rising, her cheeks flushed.

"Since when?" he asked, a hint of amusement creeping into his tone, as if he found her sudden desire for privacy somewhat ironic.

"Since I gave my life to Christ!" she shot back, her voice laced with conviction. The living room felt stifling, the air thick with tension. She crossed her arms, her fingers digging into her skin as she tried to rein in her emotions.

Her father, unfazed, continued, "Her father's expression turned thoughtful. "Brenda, you have to understand that when you put something on the internet, it's out there for the world to see. You can't control how people use it."

Brenda's face reddened with anger. "That's not the point! The point is they're invading my privacy and I'll be speaking to secondary students today, how will they view me when they come across those pictures?" "Whose Instagram did they take it from?" He asked, "Mine." "If you didn't want those pictures there, you could have certainly deleted it. They took pictures of you, pictures you saved on the Internet, and they wished you well. Where is the crime there?"

Her fists tightened further, her nails digging into her palms. "You're right! From today, I'll delete every old picture that doesn't glorify God and my body," She declared, her voice a mixture of determination and frustration.

He glanced at her left hand, noticing the absence of the engagement ring. "Why aren't you wearing the ring?" He asked, his tone shifting to one of gentle concern.

"It's not even 7 yet Dad," She replied, rolling her eyes as if the answer was painfully obvious. She turned away then she glanced at him.  "It's a very expensive show of love by my soon-to-be son-in-law. You should treasure that. They are real diamonds."

"Dad, I don't care if he mined it himself," She spat, her frustration bubbling over. "I just want to sue Bella Afrik and the others who have been posting my news out there. Do you know the CEO of Bella Afrik is an insane idiot who tried to have my friend killed? I want to sue!"

"On what grounds exactly?" He asked, his tone now serious. "My dear princess, when you find something valid, you can come over to the office so we can talk about it."

"Ugh!" She groaned, throwing her hands up in exasperation as she walked past her mother, who had been standing in the doorway, arms crossed.

Mrs. Arolowo glared at her husband, her voice low but sharp. "Have you seen what you're doing? Is it until she goes insane?" "What exactly am I doing?"

With a huff, she walked into the kitchen.

7: 10 am

Kilahi was seated in the parlor, alongside Sefa, the campaign manager for the initiative, and her media manager, sorting through a stack of customized t-shirts for the program. The scent of freshly brewed tea wafted through the air, mingling with the  fried eggs and yam.

There were stack of papers on the table—plans, budgets, and a list of attendees—lying in disarray.

"How many volunteers do we have in total? I remember we had about eight yesterday," Kilahi asked, leaning forward with a look of determination in her eyes as she examined the vibrant t-shirts.

The campaign, her hair tied back in a neat bun, glanced up from the flyers she was sorting. "We’ve managed to gather about twelve volunteers, but let’s be honest, some might get cold feet as we get closer to the event. On Saturday, we’re expecting a full house—five hundred capacity! If even three hundred show up, we’ll need all hands on deck." She gestured animatedly, her hands slicing through the air to emphasize her points.

Kilahi’s eyes widened slightly at the thought then she continued , "We’ll need at least three to four servers for water and snacks, two or three to coordinate with the media team, and a solid welcome crew at the entrance. Let’s not forget logistics, the information desk, parking, transportation, and first aid. The list goes on." She shook her head, exhaling slowly as the weight of the responsibilities settled on her shoulders.

Kilahi exhaled, "So how many volunteers can we vouch for?"

The campaign manager nodded, her expression serious. "Right now, we can count on eight solid volunteers," "We should keep putting up flyers to recruit more." Kilahi suggested, "Exactly Ma."

The media manager, a quiet woman with a notebook and pen, scribbled down notes, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Honestly, do we really need medical support? It’s not like we’re planning for any accidents," Sefa remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Kilahi's gaze sharpened as she replied, "Sefa, accidents are unforeseen. Someone could slip on the stairs or faint from the heat. I’ll remind Ugo to be prepared just in case." She clasped her hands together, her fingers interlacing as she emphasized her point.

Sefa nodded, a hint of understanding in her eyes. "Fair enough. I can talk to Ire as well. Saturday is his day off, and he might be able to lend a hand."

Kilahi smiled appreciatively. "All hands on deck, my dear. I feel like my mind is racing in a hundred directions right now. Have we reached out to Mrs. Omale yet?"

"Not yet, Ma," The campaign manager replied, her voice calm but focused.

Kilahi chimed in, "Sefa, Did you send the complimentary rose and card to her office yesterday, like we discussed?" "Yes, I did, Ma. I’ll give her a call later," Sefa replied, her fingers quickly gathering the flyers on the table as she prepared to move on to the next task.

Kilahi rose up, "You know what? I think I should call her personally," She said, a determined smile spreading across her face. With that, she dialed Mrs. Omale's number, her fingers moving deftly over the phone's keypad. As she waited for the call to connect, she turned back to Sefa and the campaign manager. The soft ringing echoed.. After a few moments, she heard the familiar voice on the other end. "Hello."

"Good morning, Mrs. Omale."

"Good morning, my dear. How are you?" The warmth in Mrs. Omale's tone was comforting and she smiled.

"I'm fine, Ma, and you?"

"I'm doing great.Now, tell me, how's the program going? Everything in place for Saturday?" Mrs. Omale asked, her voice laced with genuine interest.

Kilahi's eyes darted to the stack of papers on the coffee table. "We're getting there, Ma. We thank God. I was just calling to remind you of the event."

Mrs. Omale's tone shifted to one of inquiry. "Ah, yes, the event. Oh. I know this is your first time, but I do hope everything is in place—the venue, the ventilation, the press. I do hope you've arranged for press coverage. It's essential for events like this, you know."

Kilahi's heart sank at the mention of the press. She cleared her throat, "The press?" "Yes. Don't mind me asking, which news channel will be covering the event?" Mrs. Omale inquired, and Kilahi opened her mouth in surprise.

"None, Ma'am."

"In other words, zero publicity?" Mrs. Omale's tone shifted, and Kilahi could sense the disappointment.

"No. We have the social media. Actually, Ma, we're focusing more on social media promotion for now."" She replied, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

"How many followers do you have, Kilahi?" Mrs. Omale asked, her voice steady and probing. "Um... My social media presence has grown over the weeks," Kilahi stammered, her mind racing to recall the numbers.

Mrs. Omale laughed lightly, but it lacked warmth. "My dear, I will not deceive you. My name is Viviana Omale; ask everywhere, I am a very blunt person, so I am going to be blunt with you. I hope you're listening."

"Yes, Ma'am," Kilahi replied, her stomach twisting into knots.

"If there will be no press or news channel covering this event, I will not come, oh."

Kilahi felt her heart drop. "Ma, you came highly recommended because of your wisdom and your experience. You've hosted seminars like this."

"Forget recommendation. Make I tell you wetin dey on ground. Before people recommended, where did they see me? On television. Do you think if I was doing shows in all these small events, I would rise to this level? No! That is the truth, Kilahi."

Kilahi exhaled, trying to absorb the weight of Mrs. Omale's words.

"There's this Igala proverb that says we use money to get money. You invest in all this glamour—not for now but for the future. Last week, the Minister for Health hosted a women's health awareness meeting, and I was one of the chief speakers. Where did I start from? A little beginning, but I used wisdom. I reached out to local news channels and found out if they would be interested to cover my events, I even paid some at the time. Charity work is charitable, but it is also profitable only to those who apply wisdom. You need to do everything with a camera. As I am, e no go do anything to take ten cartons of Indomie go motherless home to go give the motherless, but I must snap so that people will see beyond the heart that gives. Human beings are doubting Thomases; they always want to see. And how can they see if they don't air it on Channels News, or even though it's one of the local ones."

Kilahi exhaled deeply, feeling the pressure mount.

"Do you know how I got to where I am? Like I was saying, It was from investing in small news channels. I would even pay some of my friends to add me to newspapers. That was how I got my first visibility and validation. The Governor's wife, exactly ten years ago, needed someone to appoint in charge of secondary school welfare. That was how they appointed me. If I did it in secret, nothing for don happen. It was after I landed my first visibility, only then did I start reaping the money I invested in the previous years. Let's not deceive ourselves; God will not put you in people's minds. I blame all this new age Pastor that will be preaching, God will whisper your name into someone's hear. God is not a town crier! If I need a town crier, I'll go to Ayingba and get one. Let's talk reality, God is not a town crier! If a building falls in Plateau, if they don't announce it on the news, will you know? Because of distance. God no dey too do announcements again; him don carry microphone and sense to take run the matter carry put for our hand. Your announcement is in your hand, the megaphone dey you hand. It’s social media and news that’s doing that work now. This is my 30-something years in Lagos; my dear, you must be smart in this charity work or you go do charity, na for only heaven you go reap your reward."

Kilahi exhaled, feeling overwhelmed. "But Ma, you're one of our main facilitators. I understand what you're saying, Ma, but we're on a tight budget. We can't afford to hire a press team."

"Unless, oh, unless you call news channels, I don't think I'll be able to come. I am sorry."

"No problem, Ma. Thank you, have a nice day," Kilahi managed to say, trying to keep her voice steady.

As she hung up the phone, Kilahi looked up at the ceiling, her heart heavy with worry. "Hey, God. It's well, it's well." She exhaled, dialing Gbadamosi's number and approaching her room.As she waited for him to pick up, she felt a sense of calm wash over her. She knew that she could count on Gbadamosi to support her, no matter what.

"Hello, love," Gbadamosi's soft voice came through the line.

Kilahi's face relaxed into a warm smile. "Hey... " she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She plopped down on the edge of her bed, the cushions sinking under her weight.

"What's up? Your hey sounds unusual."

" I just got off the phone with Mrs. Omale. She's not coming to the event."

"Did she state any reason?"

"She said unless we have press coverage."

Gbadamosi's tone was concerned. "That's a bit extreme, don't you think? I mean, she's a key facilitator, but—"

Kilahi cut him off, her frustration boiling over. "I know, I know. She said she doesn't go to events that doesn't get aired on news or where there's no press."

Gbadamosi scoffed, "Na wa oh! Is she a newscaster?" He asked and she laughed getting the joke. "But is she right? Maybe we do need to think about publicity. And that means getting the press involved."

"Hey, chill."

"I'm worried."

"Breathe in and out," Gbadamosi advised, his voice calm and steady over the phone. Kilahi took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment as she inhaled, then exhaled slowly. "It's going to be fine. Just calm down," He continued, his tone soothing.

"I just finished going through a sermon about how I must use money to make money," She replied in disbelief. She ran a hand through her hair, feeling the weight of the day pressing on her. "How I must put everything I do on the Internet to succeed. The crazy part was when she said God doesn't put you in people's minds anymore; it's the publicity you do that announces you and not God."

Gbadamosi chuckled softly, a sound that made her smile despite herself. "Really?" He asked, incredulous.

Kilahi nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. "She even went ahead to cite an example that if a house collapsed in Plateau, would I know if it's not aired on the news? I understand her point, but the way she crippled God in this equation… as if God is so handicapped that He can't move mountains to save His people. Like God's power and ability to communicate with humans are limited by human technology."

"Ah, I see," Gbadamosi said, his voice thoughtful. "As someone who has spent her career in the public eye, after years of relying on media coverage to get her message across, she may have unintentionally projected her own reliance on human systems rather than on God. Isaiah 55:8-9, 'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.' God's ways are not limited by human understanding or technology. God does not need the media to tell me there's something wrong with Temitope who lives in one house in Epe. That's the work of the Holy Spirit, and it's unlimited."

Kilahi smiled, feeling a flicker of hope. "Ride on, Pastor," She teased lightly, her tone playful.

"Are you whine-ing me right now?" He asked, a chuckle escaping him. She couldn't help but giggle, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

"I just knew I had to call you. Choicest, there's so much to do," She said, her voice softening as she laid on the bed.

"It's going to be fine," He reassured her,  "I know, but I'm just so sad," She confessed, a sniff escaping her as she wiped away a stray tear. "My love, she's not worth your tears," he said gently, his words wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

"I know," She replied, her voice cracking slightly. "I'm not happy about what she said and—slash, the baker that disappointed me. When are you coming back from Ibadan? I want to see your face."

"Maybe it's because I'm on my period," She admitted, a hint of embarrassment creeping into her tone. Gbadamosi burst into laughter,  "Pad a girl host is wearing Pad to her own event," He joked, and Kilahi couldn't help but laugh along, the sound brightening her mood.

"Avoid me before I pad your lip," she snapped playfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief even though he couldn't see her.

"Or maybe I should have planned this properly and not fixed it so close to my wedding. Did I rush it?" she pondered aloud, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Shhh… You've started it, and God will surely see you through. This is just God separating the chaff from the grain," He said, his tone serious yet encouraging. "I'm sure if this event eventually brings some form of visibility in the future, I'm sure women like Mrs. Omale will brag about how they made you when in true form, God did. You don't need those kinds of women. God will bring you women after His heart, women whose vision aligns with yours. Saturday is a success already."

"Amen," Kilahi replied, her heart swelling with hope. "Who is going to be our main facilitator now?"

"God," He answered simply, and she chuckled sweetly, feeling lighter.

"I meant human fascinator, I meant falicita, ugh! Facilitator!" She corrected in frustration.

"I think you should call Mrs. Aisha and inform her that your Fascinator—no, falicitator—or is it facilitator—changed her mind," Gbadamosi suggested, a teasing lilt in his voice.

Kilahi sucked her lips, a playful pout forming as she replayed his response, "I'm sure you think you're funny right now," She said, rolling her eyes even though he couldn't see her.

"I know I'm funny," He admitted, his laughter infectious. "Avoid me!" "But seriously, don't let this get you down. You have so much potential, and this event is just the beginning."

Kilahi took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his encouragement wash over her. "You're right. I just need to focus on what I can control and trust that everything will fall into place."

"Exactly! And remember, That woman may  have disappointed you, but God will never."

"Amen." She answered seeing a call from Mrs Mba. "Choicest, Mrs Mba is on the line, I'll call you back." She ended the call and answered Mrs Mba's call.

"Good morning, Ma," She greeted, her voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of worry.

"Good morning, dear," Mrs. Mba replied warmly, her voice crackling slightly through the phone. Kilahi could imagine her mentor smiling. They exchanged pleasantries, the comfort of their long-standing relationship evident in the ease of their conversation.

"How is it going?" Mrs. Mba inquired, her tone shifting to one of genuine concern.

Kilahi sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly. "Yesterday's turnout was okay, but we had a shortage of volunteers because a few couldn’t make it. I’m really hoping today will be better," She explained, her fingers nervously tapping on the bed.

"I remember my first meeting," Mrs. Mba said, her voice drifting into nostalgia. "It was a struggle. We faced funding issues, a lack of manpower, and it was held in a remote area. But look at us now—God has helped us, and He'll help you even more."

"Thank you, Ma," Kilahi replied, her heart swelling with gratitude. Mrs. Mba’s wisdom brought her a sense of comfort.

"I wanted to mention that I might not be able to attend the meeting on Saturday," Mrs. Mba said. "I may send my assistant instead."

Kilahi’s heart sank a little. "Oh no." "What’s wrong?" Mrs. Mba asked, picking up on the shift in Kilahi's tone.

"Our main speaker just pulled out," Kilahi revealed, "Who?" Mrs. Mba pressed, concern creeping into her voice.

"Mrs. Omale," Kilahi replied, her eyes widening as she braced for Mrs. Mba's reaction.

"Eweh! Viviana?" Mrs. Mba exclaimed,

"Yes, Ma," Kilahi confirmed, instinctively pressing her hand against her forehead as if to ward off a headache.

Mrs. Mba scoffed, disappointment clear in her voice. "Let me guess, no press coverage? Or is it the venue size or expected attendance that’s causing the issue?"

Kilahi nodded surprised that Mrs Mba's familiarity with Mrs Omale expectations,"It was no press coverage. But... how did you know?" "Is that why you’re feeling down? Na today?" Mrs. Mba asked with a click of her tongue.

Kilahi sighed again, her heart heavy. "I trust that God will intervene. I just feel a bit heartbroken. I already said I’d call Mrs. Aisha," She confessed, her voice cracking slightly as she fought back tears.

"Don't worry. I have someone in mind, but it’s a long shot. I’ll call you with more details soon. You should still reach out to Aisha; it’s wise not to put all your eggs in one basket," Mrs. Mba advised, her tone firm yet encouraging. Kilahi took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions. "I appreciate that, Ma.."

"You're welcome, and good luck," Mrs. Mba said, her voice filled with warmth.

"Thank you Ma." Kilahi answered with a smile then she watched Sefa walk into the room then she sat up. "The bus driver that should convey the student from the school to the venue on Saturday just called me."

"And?"

"He just requested an increase."

"What?"

"How much increase?"

"20,000 increase."

"When I'm not traveling to Abuja."

Sefa laughed, "In his defense." "What are you defending? When did you turn into his lawyer? I don't understand, this man should not even stress me, he's talking 20,000 naira increase, where was he when we made the first agreement. Was his brain on vacation? No! He was there when we made the agreement and he said fine and now he's increasing it. My wedding is next week and I have a lot that I haven't even gotten, does he even know how much I have in my savings account? Now he's talking about 20,000 naira. I don't blame him, honestly I don't, I blame myself, the moment he told me his name was Latiff, I should have just known.."

"The man na Tiff?" Sefa concluded and Kilahi laughed, "No, that he likes money.That was what I was going to say." She replied then she exhaled.

"Well, in his defense, he said since the venue is on Island as he'll be picking people from all over the mainland in his Marco Polo bus that he can't charge that amount and still drop them off at their destination. He said if you're not ready to stick to his term, he can hire a bus for that amount agreed."

"18 seaters? How many schools have gotten the invite? I mean the ones that have showed interest in coming? Are they up to five?"

"More than. You guys offered free buses so, it's a tempting offer for them. Even my alma mater will be coming."

"Can you get the contact list from the campaign manager and put calls across to every secondary school on the list and please find out those that will be coming and possibly the nunber of students that will be coming too so we can plan for  the  pads, pad is not even the problem now. It's funds." She said exhaling loudly.

"This your period is really cramping you."

"You have no idea. There's a lot happening. Can you believe the baker called to cancel on Friday and Saturday? She said she has a wedding event and she'll only be able to work today. God is my strength here cause with all these things, it is well with my soul. I will not be worried, God has got it under control."

Her phone beeped and she saw an alert on her phone from Mrs Mba.  A smile formed on her face.

"What?" Sefa asked and she laughed.

Mrs. Ogunmolu's eyes lit up as she sat in the dinning room listening intently to the conversation at the other end of the phone.  "They have received intel about suspicious activities in that Ayamelum axis that matches the kidnappers' MO," Superintendent Ajayiexplained,  "From the information reaching me here, they are assembling a team to raid the location this morning. If everything goes smoothly, we might rescue some victims, including your daughter, Faith."

Superintendent Ajayi's words were like a balm to her weary soul. Her hands trembled,  her eyes welling up with tears. "Oh, thank God!" She whispered, her voice cracking."What?" Her husband asked and she lifted her fingers while her eyes pleaded his patience.

"We'll do everything possible to ensure the victims' safety," He reassured her. "The team will go in undercover, minimizing the risk of detection."

Mrs. Ogunmolu's brow furrowed with concern. "Are they certain about this? What if it's a false alarm?"

Superintendent Ajayi's tone turned grave. "They can't dismiss it either. I spoke to my friend, and he's convinced this is the breakthrough we've been waiting for. He's kept the mission under wraps, assembling only his most trusted and skilled officers for the raid."

Mrs. Ogunmolu's eyes widened. "That serious?" "Yes, ma'am. His confidence level is unusually high. He believes this location is a kidnapping den, and they're determined to catch the perpetrators off guard."

She exhaled deeply, relief washing over her. "This is wonderful news." "I will keep you updated on the operation's progress."

Brenda stood confidently in front of the gathered female students in the multipurpose hall of Brainiac Academy, her presence commanding attention amidst the soft murmur of excitement. It was day two of the "Pad a Girl Child" initiative, and the atmosphere buzzed with curiosity and anticipation. She scanned the room, taking in the sight of approximately eighty girls seated in neat rows, their faces a mix of eagerness and apprehension. The ushering unit volunteers and a few teachers were strategically positioned around the hall, ensuring that decorum was maintained, but Brenda could sense the energy in the air. It was a blend of youthful enthusiasm and the desire for knowledge.

Clearing her throat, she began, “My name is Brenda Arolowo. Aside from holding various degrees, I am a certified dietitian and nutritionist. Today, we’re diving into a topic that I believe is crucial for every young woman: ‘My Period and My Food.’” She gestured broadly with her hands, emphasizing her words as she continued, "Can you all chorus the topic?"

My period and food!

“Good! What’s the correlation between periods and food? Have you ever noticed how your appetite changes during your menstrual cycle? Some of you may feel ravenous, while others might find it difficult to eat at all. Do I have witnesses?”

As if on cue, several hands shot up across the room, a ripple of acknowledgment spreading among the girls.

“Thank you!” She exclaimed, her smile warm and encouraging. “As we discuss this, let’s remember that there are three types of menstrual cycles: normal, irregular, and abnormal. A well-balanced diet plays a significant role in maintaining menstrual health. As women, it’s essential to know our bodies and what works best for us. What may be beneficial for one person might not have the same effect on another. Hence, there’s a need for self-awareness.”

Brenda moved closer to the edge of the stage, . “Just as you dedicate time to your studies to achieve those A’s, I urge you to invest equally in your health. Imagine if we applied the same diligence to understanding our bodies as we do to our academics. We wouldn’t have so many unhealthy individuals around us.”

She paused, letting her words sink in. “For instance, if you notice your grades slipping, what do you do?”

In unison, the students responded, their voices ringing out:

I’ll try to figure out a way to improve my grades!

I'll work on the grade!

“Exactly!” Brenda replied, her hands raised in a gesture of affirmation. “Just like that, when you notice something off about your body, you should work even harder to address it if it's within your power to. If I realize I’m gaining more weight than I should, I take a step back to evaluate my health. Look at me,” She said, gesturing to her own figure with a playful smile. “I have a tendency to gain weight easily. There was a time in London when I enjoyed being a bit more ‘fleshy,’ but I notice I was getting too relaxed and comfortable with unhealthy lifestyle and I started to gain what I termed, ‘unnecessary weight.’ Simple tasks became challenging, and I had to reassess my health.”

The students listened intently, some nodding in understanding. Brenda’s expressive hands danced through the air, punctuating her points. “While it’s important to love our bodies, we must also take the time to assess them critically. I know individuals who can indulge in sugar during their periods without issue, but for others, that same sugar can lead to severe cramps. It was through studying my own body that I discovered healthier oil options—like avocado oil and olive oil. And as much as I adore Efo-riro,” she added, her voice playful, “The palm oil content does make me apprehensive.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the hall, and Brenda smiled, enjoying the light-hearted moment. “Efo-riro!” The students corrected her.

“That was exactly what I said, Efo-riro!” She shot back in her British accent, her eyes sparkling with humor. The room erupted in laughter again, the sound echoing off the walls.

With a more serious tone, she continued, “Now, let’s talk about the impact of diet on our menstrual health.  A well-balanced diet can help regulate menstrual cycles, alleviate symptoms, and even reduce the risk of menstrual disorders. Avoiding processed foods, sugary drinks, and foods high in saturated and trans fats will help reduce menstrual irregularities and symptoms. High sugar intake is often linked to increased menstrual pain and irregularities. On the other hand, a diet rich in fish, nuts, vegetables, and fruits can significantly alleviate symptoms associated with menstrual disorders. You see, I'm emphasizing the importance of a balanced diet because there's often a noticeable link between eating habits and menstrual health. Specifically, undereating, overeating, and gluttony can have a negative impact on your period. It's essential to be mindful of these habits before they escalate into more significant issues."

Brenda’s hands moved expressively as she spoke, emphasizing the importance of each food group. “Remember, ladies, your health is your wealth. By making informed dietary choices, you can empower yourselves to navigate your menstrual cycles with greater ease and comfort. Thank you.” She concluded and everyone clapped her.

Session 3

Temi stepped forward, a bright smile spreading across her face as she prepared to facilitate the third session of the seminar, greeting the students with enthusiasm.  "Today, we're going to delve into the topic of Menstrual Health Challenges, exploring the root causes and contributing factors. I wish I had access to this information when I was your age, but I'm grateful to be sharing it with you now. This ten-minute discussion may be brief, but it's packed with valuable insights. To start, let's touch on a crucial aspect of menstrual health. Have any of you heard of Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, or PCOS?"

Only two female students tentatively lifted their hands in response.

"Can you explain to me, what you understand by it?" Temi pressed on interested in hearing their opinions.

The first girl laughed, she didn't expect to be asked any question, "I don't know how to explain it." "Abi you just raised your hands because you didn't want to look like you don't know it." Temi teased and everyone laughed. So she faced the other who was already nervous.

The girl removed the chewing gum she was chewing then she answered, "I can't give a biological definition to it but I know it's something that stops people from giving birth at the right time. It's associated with periods and something like that sha." She concluded and a few students chuckled.

Temi smiled, "At least she has a fair idea. Well PCOS is the acronym for Polycystic ovary syndrome." She said looking at the projected images behind her. "PCOS is a very common hormone problem for women and teenagers alike. It's starts from your teenage age, some might just go unnoticed. It sometimes starts during adolescence, but symptoms may fluctuate over time. It can be characterized by irregular or missed periods, which can lead to infertility. One of the symptoms here is irregularities in your periods.  The first speaker already taught you how to count our cycle which is very important to avoid some certain embarrassment but people with PCOS may find it hard to keep up because of the irregularities. For instance, PCOS can make  it hard to predict when your next period will come. Your cycle length might vary significantly from one month to another - 28 days, 25 days, 30 days, or even longer. For example, I have PCOS. I've had it for a long time. It started in my secondary school days, I was gaining weight, I couldn't keep track of my periods even though I had learnt how to count. I didn't think it was anything until my university days when it became clear to me.  There was a time I didn't see my period for three months, I was sexually active so there wasn't any need to suspect pregnancy and when it finally came, it lasted for three weeks non-stop."

" Jesus!" Some students yelled in worry.

"Yes, three solid weeks. I was worried, but I didn't know what was happening." She paused, noticing some students nodding in understanding.

"Then I started to manage it. This is not to scare you, the difference between you and I is that you're receiving this information earlier on. There's a way to better control it. The imbalance of hormones is seen as the major cause of delay in the regular menstrual flow. Other factors like stress, overeating, or lack of physical activity can also cause irregularity in periods. For women with delayed or missed periods, lifestyle could be the cause of it all. Certain lifestyle changes such as diet, exercise, and healthy habits. PCOS is a chronic condition that can have long-term complications if left untreated. Early diagnosis and treatment can improve quality of life and fertility. Thank you. All questions will be answered duely after now."  She concluded and everyone clapped.

"If your hands  are not too busy, let's welcome to the floor, the envoy of this vision, Kilahi Agbo." She announced and Kilahi smiled grabbing the microphone.

Kilahi Agbo stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand, illuminating the auditorium of Brainiac Academy with her bright smile.

"Thank you, Ma. It was a short session, but truly enriching. Who gained new insights?" Kilahi asked.

The students responded enthusiastically, hands raised in unison.

"Fantastic! Remember, questions are key to growth. Write them down, and we'll address them soon. As we know, time's limited, and you all have other school activities to get back to." Kilahi said glancing at a notebook before her.

"I'll ask random questions, and correct answers earn prizes!" Kilahi announced and everyone screamed joyfully.

"Yay!!! Glad to know you guys are excited too. Number one, How many times were we asked to bathe everyday when we're on our period?"

The first question drew similar responses:

Many times!

Twice a day!

"At least twice a day!" Another student screamed.

"Exactly, at least twice a day, which means you can bath multiple times when you're on your period." Kilahi confirmed, beaming. "Can we applaud the young girl as she steps out to get her prize."  She announced.

A young girl proudly received a wrapped gift from Sefa. As the girl returned to her dear, a gentle nudge in her spirit caught her attention to something. She sensed God's prompting on the issue of periods but she didn't feel the program should be made into a religious one.

The school had mixed religion and she won't want to offend anyone.

"Next question: What product is recommended for cleaning genitals during periods?" Kilahi asked and everyone delved into deep thoughts.

A young girl from SS2 rose up, "No one mentioned product, except Warm water without soap, can be seen as one." She replied and Kilahi flashed a proud smile.

"Of course that's the answer. It was a trick question. So why don't we use soap?" She inquired.

"Because the vagina is self-cleansing," The girl answered confidently, earning applause.

Kilahi smiled. "Precisely!  There was a time when I would use soap too. There's a whole lot you get to learn even as a adult. Now, the next question, what direction should you wash your genitals?"

A student lifted her hands, "From ..." She hesitated before answering, "From the back to the front."

Kilahi's face lit up in a smile, "Is that your final answer?" She asked glancing at her book. The student took hints from classmates. "Sorry, from the front to the back."

Kilahi's hands came together in applause.

"Final question: What was our second speaker's name?" Kilahi asked.

"Miss Brenda Awolowo," Another girl replied.

Kilahi smiled warmly. "Close! It's Arolowo, but thanks for paying attention."

As the girl received her prize, Kilahi's expression turned reflective.

"A philosopher once said, 'An unexamined life is not worth living.' Evaluate your life, weigh options, and make informed decisions. Your future is in your hands; shape or mar it. Mistakes are timeless - once made, they can't be undone, even in seconds. But can we avoid them? Yes! How? Be bold enough to say no to premature sexual activity! Be bold to learn! Be the girl you were created to be. Be special, Be intentional, Be fearless, Be authentic. Take control, evaluate your life, and make conscious choices. Always remember that your tomorrow is shaped by today's decisions." As Kilahi concluded, applause filled the room.

A gentle nudge in her spirit returned, stronger this time.

"I shouldn't do this but I feel led to say this," Kilahi began, conviction filling her voice. "I feel strongly in my spirit that there are some of you who feel nonchalant about everything we're doing because you've never experienced periods. The normal age to start menstruating is 11-15, these days. I got mine at the age of 12, I was in JSS2 at the time. You're 15 years old, 16 years, and you haven't seen anything yet, you've gotten insecure, questioning your normalcy. Some of you stopped seeing it after the first time. I use my menstruation as a point of contact for those wishing to be ushered into that aspect of womanhood. By God's power, normalcy resumes in that body; hormones receive life now, in Jesus' name."

Amen!

As she finished speaking, she walked away, making room for the continuity announcer. The announcer began, "At this point...." She paused noticing two students rushing out.

"No loitering, please. Can we coordinate the hall to ensure students are seated on their sit and not loitering?" She demanded then she continued.

A teacher approached Kilahi, whispering, "One of the girls felt a discharge and went to confirm if it was her period."

Kilahi's eyes widened, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh, wow!" She exclaimed,  "For real?" "That was what she said." "Praise God!"

Ayamelum local government, Anambra State.

The police rushed into the old building, the terrible smell hitting them hard. It was like the stench of rotting flesh, infected wounds, and spoiled meat. As they searched room by room, their nostrils burned, and their eyes watered. The air was heavy with the stench of death.

In one room, they found a lifeless body, eyes sunken, and flesh bloated. Nearby, severed limbs and body parts lay scattered, like discarded trash. The gruesome sight made their stomachs churn.

The officers exchanged horrified glances, their faces pale. This was no ordinary crime scene.

In adjacent rooms, they discovered bloody footprints, fingerprint smudges on walls, as if the perpetrators had tried to wipe away evidence, pools of blood, congealed and dark, like oil spills on the floor. Some of the blood were already dry.

The officers held their guns at the ready, prepared for any situation that might arise.

Finally, they burst into the last room, guns drawn. But instead of resistance, they found a total of eleven girls seated on the floor, vacant-eyed, their expressions catatonic-  a few of them has injury on their head. There was no signs of struggle or restraint, just an unsettling stillness.

The officers hesitated, lowering their guns. Something felt off- There  was no captor around, in all the rooms they've broken into, there was none. The captors seemed to have vanished into thin air.

"Clear!" One officer shouted from Officer Okafor's radio, his voice shaking. "There's nothing outside."

The policemen exchanged uneasy glances.

Officer Okafor's voice cracked as he spoke into his radio, "This is Officer Okafor, Unit 12. We have multiple victims, possibly kidnapped, at the abandoned building." He paused, surveying the room.
 
"Girls, approximately 15-25 years old. They're alive, but...look unresponsive. No signs of struggle or restraint. It's like they're in a trance."

He glanced around, ensuring his team was securing the area. "We've also found multiple body parts and a deceased individual. The scene is gruesome. Requesting medical assistance as soon as possible."

Toluwani sat on the swing at the school's playground, her fingers nervously tracing the chains as she gazed into the distance, lost in thought.. Sefa approached, her smile brightening the already cheerful atmosphere.

"There you are!" She exclaimed, her voice light and playful. "I've been looking for you. I was even thinking of giving you a call. What's up?" She tilted her head, observing Toluwani's distant expression. "You look lost."

Toluwani blinked, as if coming back to reality, she offered a faint smile. "Oh. I do?" "Yes," Sefa replied, crossing her arms and leaning against a nearby post,  "A penny for your thoughts?"

Taking a deep breath, Toluwani finally spoke, "I was just thinking of what happened in there. Your Aunty Kilahi just gained more respect from me." She shook her head, her brows furrowing slightly. "How can someone just say something and it'll work that way? Those girls saw their periods! I have never seen anything as crazy as that. My first miracle experience!" "God did it." Sefa answered with a chuckle.

At the mention of 'God', Toluwani's face fell, her shoulders slumping as if a weight had been placed upon them. "Oh," She murmured, her expression shifting to one of deep contemplation. She looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "Do you think... If I ask her to pray for me, do you think God will listen to her and heal me?"

Sefa shrugged, her hands gesturing animatedly as she spoke. "I don't know," she admitted, her brow furrowing in thought. "But one thing I'm sure of is that God can do anything." She leaned forward, her eyes locking onto Toluwani's, trying to convey the sincerity in her words. "I mean, look at what happened today! It’s proof that sometimes, faith is all you need."

Toluwani looked up, her eyes searching Sefa’s face for reassurance. "But what if I’m not good enough? What if my prayers don’t reach Him?" Her voice trembled slightly, and she wrapped her arms around herself, as if seeking comfort from the uncertainty that loomed over her.

Sefa reached out, placing a gentle hand on Toluwani's shoulder. "Hey," She said softly, her expression earnest. "It’s not about being good enough. It's about believing. Aunty Kilahi has faith, and that’s what makes her prayers powerful. You just need to take that first step."

Toluwani nodded slowly, her mind racing with possibilities. "Maybe I should... maybe I will," She said, "Do you think she would really pray for me?" She added,  "Of course!" Sefa replied enthusiastically, her smile returning.

Alonso sat on the edge of the bed in thought. The air was thick with the scent of cigarette smoke while he watched a video of Sefa on a phone. He took a slow drag, feeling the smoke fill his lungs, and then exhaled, watching it dissipate into the air.

On the screen, Sefa spoke with excitement,  "A pack of pads will go a very long way," She urged, her voice imbued with a sense of urgency.  A,s she emphasized her points, her hands made gestures as if trying to grasp the attention of every viewer. "I'll be dropping account details for donations and an address to send the pads. Save a girl child today from using clothes in place of sanitary pads, which are unhygienic."

Alonso's eyes blinked as he recalled the time he had kidnapped her. The memory was a jagged edge in his mind, a reminder of the impunity he once wielded and the guilt that had begun to gnaw at him since her escape. He watched her face, illuminated by the soft glow of the screen, and felt a pang of regret. Worse still, he despised his own weakness for obsessively checking her social media profiles every time he got his hands on an android phone.

"Not all heroes wear capes. Save someone today!" Her smile was radiant, but it felt like a taunt. Alonso exhaled sharply, the cigarette dangling between his fingers, forgotten for the moment.

"Remember," Sefa continued, her tone shifting to one of caution, "It's almost the end of the week. Today is Thursday, so please be careful out there." She leaned closer to the camera, her eyes narrowing as she delivered her warning. "Stay away from any brown sienna that tries to give you a lift. Say no to free lifts from strangers. No free lift is worth your life. "

Alonso's stomach twisted at her words. He has always been that stranger that gives people free lifts without ever taking them to their real destination.

"With this few points of mine, I hope I have been able to convince you of two things, one; you can save lives without superpowers, two, it's better to be safe than sorry." She finished with a bright smile waving her audience goodbye.

He glanced sideways at the woman lying on the bed, unconscious and vulnerable, was a victim of his own making. He glanced at her, her face serene in her slumber, completely unaware of the danger she was in. The phone screen dimmed.

With a heavy sigh, he lifted her fingers to the phone's fingerprint sensor, unlocking her phone once more. Sefa's video replayed, but he barely registered Sefa’s words now. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in a web of guilt and unease. Just then, a familiar knock broke through his thoughts.

"The coast don clear," Olotu announced as he stepped into the room, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air. He glanced at the woman in bed, a smirk forming on his lips. "You really know how to pick 'em, don’t you?"

Alonso shot him a sharp glare, irritation flaring within him. Olotu moved swiftly, his hands gripping the woman with practiced ease, lifting her as if she were weightless. "I'll get her out of here," He whispered.

Alonso nodded. He had played this part before, but it felt different now. The thrill was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable awareness of the consequences of his actions. The guilt he felt over Sefa’s escape had settled into a constant ache, and now, with another girl at his mercy, it was almost unbearable.

As Olotu maneuvered the woman out of the room, Alonso took a final drag of his cigarette, the smoke swirled around him. He stubbed it out in the ashtray.

Kilahi stood in the center of the bustling school courtyard, her laughter mingling with the excited chatter of secondary school  teachers. The sun hung high in the sky and the air was filled with a sense of accomplishment and joy after the seminar, which had inspired many.

As Kilahi posed for pictures, her arms outstretched, enveloping students in warm embraces, Toluwani stood a few paces away, observing the scene unfold. She admired Kilahi's genuine enthusiasm and the way she effortlessly connected with the young people around her. The sight stirred something within her.

After a moment of hesitation, Toluwani took a deep breath and stepped forward, her heart racing slightly. She approached Kilahi, who was now checking her phone, scrolling through the photos taken moments earlier: They weren't too clear because of her bad camera quality.

"Good afternoon, Ma," Toluwani greeted.

Kilahi looked towards her,  "Good afternoon, dear! You're one of the volunteers, right? The one Sefa brought?"

"Yes, Ma. I just want to say weldone and thank you for this opportunity to do something like this," Toluwani replied, her eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and gratitude.

Kilahi gasped lightly, her hands instinctively clasping together in front of her chest. "I should be the one thanking you! Please don’t. You volunteered to help someone you don’t know.  Thank you."

Toluwani nodded, her expression earnest.

"It's for a good cause, and I've got a confession: this is my first time doing something like this." She confessed and Kilahi chuckled softly, nodding her head. "Since we're confessing, this is my first time initiating something like this. God will bless you real good." She raised her hands slightly, as if offering a blessing, but noticed Toluwani’s silence in response.

"I saw what you did to those girls," Toluwani said, her eyes wide with intrigue.

"I didn’t do anything; God did," Kilahi replied firmly.

"Mom, I've been living with sickle cell my whole life. Can you please pray for my healing? I'm begging you, please heal me," Toluwani pleaded, her voice shaking with emotion as she leaned in, her desperation and sincerity evident.

Kilahi frowned slightly, her brow furrowing with concern. "I don’t possess the power to heal. God does."

Toluwani sighed, her shoulders dropping a little in disappointment, "Every sentence you've made since we started talking, not one have you spoken without adding God, God God, to it."

Kilahi shrugged, her hands open in a gesture of honesty. "Because He’s my source."

Toluwani faked a smile, her eyes betraying her frustration. "I just want to be healed. Is that too much to ask for?"

Kilahi paused, her expression softening as she considered the girl before her. "I can pray for you," She offered gently.

"Then pray for me, Ma," Toluwani urged, her voice rising with hope. Kilahi positioned herself, ready to pray, but a sudden thought made her hesitate. She looked deeply into her eyes, searching for understanding. "The question here is, do you believe in this God you want me to pray to?"

"Has Sefa spoken to you about me?" Toluwani asked, her brows knitting together in confusion.

"No," Kilahi replied, shaking her head slowly. "I just felt led to ask you that question. Do you believe in God?"

"But the girls got healed! There was no questioning whether they believed or not. They got healed. Why do I get to be asked a question?" Toluwani's voice rose, her frustration evident as she crossed her arms defensively.

"Do you believe in God?" Kilahi repeated, unwavering.

"No, but I believe whatever you did can work for me too," Toluwani said, her voice tinged with desperation.

Kilahi shook her head slowly, her hands gesturing in a soothing manner. "It doesn’t always work that way. I can pray for you, but what God wants is for you to know Him for yourself. Hebrews 11:6 says, 'Without faith, it is impossible to please God, for whoever comes to Him must believe that He is and that He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him.' What are you coming to Him as? As the girl who saw miracles and just wants a taste of it, or a girl who knows that He is able to do exceeding, abundantly above that miracle she saw?" She asked, squeezing Toluwani's hand gently, her eyes full of compassion.

Toluwani looked down, her heart racing as she processed Kilahi's words. The sounds of laughter and chatter from the schoolyard seemed to fade away, leaving only the weight of the moment between them.

Kilahi continued, her voice softening, "Think of it, dear." She held Toluwani's hand firmly, as if anchoring her in the conversation. "I pray that God heals your heart and all concerning your body, in Jesus' name."

As she finished, Kilahi closed her eyes, her face serene, and Toluwani embraced her.

Mrs Ogunmolu's heart skipped on seeing a call from Superintendent Ajayi. "The girls have been found, eleven of them." They announced and she smiled and sighed in relief, "I'll take the first available flight ticket to Asaba."

"Why Asaba?"

"I already checked all available booking schedule, there's a 3:30 flight available today and I have a family member who stays in Asaba, I can crash there for the night and then go on to see Faith tomorrow."

"I don't think that will be necessary. I can have a picture of the victims sent to me for identification." "Is that legal?"

"I'll be one making demands for it."

Mrs Ogunmolu shrugged, "She might have gone through a lot, she's pregnant too, what if pictures comes in and I don't really recognize her?" "Really? Your own daughter."

"I want to see my daughter personally, why don't you want me to? You don't want me to stress myself right? In case she's not among the girls found."

"That's not..."

"Oh please save it Seun! I know damn right what you doing! My daughter is not dead." "And I'm not saying she is."

"What then are you insinuating?"

"I'm just trying to save you the stress of wasting so much on a flight ticket."

"Faith isn't dead," Mrs. Ogunmolu said firmly.

Superintendent Ajayi agreed, "I know. But we must consider all possibilities. A particular Sienna has been terrorizing town... what are the odds that it's the same people involved in Faith's disappearance and not someone else or another organization?"

Mrs. Ogunmolu's eyes narrowed. "You think it's a coincidence?"

Superintendent Ajayi hesitated. "I'm not dismissing it entirely, but we should explore all angles. Are you prepared for the possibility that it might not be related?" "But what if it is? What if this lead takes us to Faith?" Mrs. Ogunmolu's voice trembled.

Superintendent Ajayi's tone softened. "I understand your hope and I share in  it. But we must remain objective." "If it's someone else or another organization, searching the whole Nigeria would be daunting. With the Sienna lead and location in Anambra, I have hope. I'll take that chance Seun, objectivity is what's keeping me going."

"Will you be taking the journey or should I have the pictures sent. It's been ages you've seen Etim, he's the one handling the situation there. He'll be excited to see you."

Mrs Ogunmolu laughed, "You make it sound like we're single couples waiting to mingle. Seun, I'm happily married." "He's happily married too, exes can meet too." "Have the pictures sent to me then." She answered rolling her eyes,  "Good choice."

Ire leaned against the hospital walls calling Sefa on phone, "Hey  Seffy" "Good afternoon Dr Ire." She answered and he gasped, "I don't understand, where's the formality coming from?" He asked and she chuckled.

"Maybe I'm trying to respect my elders."

"Who is your elder?" He asked and she laughed at how serious he reacted. "How's work?" She inquired, "Work is fine and I'm fine too, thanks for asking. Who asks how is work before how are you?"

"If you had been a second more patient, I would have asked." She answered and they both chuckled. "How's the program going?" He asked,  "Fine. Something happened today, girls who have been having delays in seeing their periods got theirs as Aunty Kilahi prayed for them."

"Wow."

"God's power is like a daily surprise package – every morning, I wake up thinking, 'What's the lesson plan for today, Lord?' And honestly, God the ultimate teacher is always dropping knowledge bombs and leaving me in awe. I am completely marvelled. My daily mantra bah is... 'God, I'm ready for whatever You've got!'. I'll just be like, God, I might not have capacity to withstand the shock but shock me even more and he does" She explained laughing to herself then she sighed.

Ire kept quiet listening attentively as she continued.

"Each day is a new adventure in trusting His infinite wisdom. I'm for the ride, like "You're the Boss, God! Do what only you can do and take the glory." She concluded and he stood still soaking in all she had just said.

He was proud of her and the woman she was becoming. Her maturity with each passing day was becoming more and more attractive.

"Ire" She called pulling him out of his thoughts, "Hm?" "You're not saying anything." "Sorry. Just something you said struck a chord in me." "I'm striking chords, hei God! I'm not even an instrumentalist."

A laughter escaped his mouth then he cleared his throat, "Hearing you talk about your experiences and your spiritual growth is good music to my ears and I pray you grow even more."

Sefa chuckled, "That means a whole lot coming from you." "Me who?" He asked and they both laughed. "How was your today?" She asked and he forced a smile.

"It was fine, it only just took a disappointing turn." He answered with a sigh, "What happened?" She sounded worried, "So Mom received a call this morning giving us hope that Faith would be found today. The police found the kidnappers building."

"They did?"

"Yes."

"Wow, so fast?"

"Apparently. They sent mom the pictures of the eleven girls that were found. Faith isn't there." "Jesus Christ!"

"Yeah..."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"I don't know why. I don't even know what to say. Are they sure those are the only girls? Maybe they took them away."

"I don't know what to think. Really Sefa, I don't know what to think. That was why I called you. I don't even know who to talk to. Mom is disappointed, you're the only person I can think of."

Sefa sighed, "I feel like I'm on a hot seat right now." "Why?" "I feel like I'm supposed to say something and now I'm just empty." She complained then she sighs, "All things works for the good of those who love God and have been called according to his purpose. This scripture just dropped in my mind,"

"Romans 8:28." He said, "Okay. Let's just see it as one of those movies we watch on Netflix and we don't know how the second season is going to look like and the only thing we have are guesses. We can never know more than the director and our God is not an author of confusion, if he has said in his word that he'll shield and surround us with his love and he will give his angel charge over us. Let's believe that he is working behind the scene. The first season might have ended in tragic suspense but let's believe there's a season two that's better, a comic relief is coming and a happy ending. At the end of the day, our testimony is going to be that we overcame by the blood and words we daily confess every day. Am I making sense?"

Ire smiled, "And she said she had nothing to say." "I feel like I just said a whole lot of gibberish." She confessed and he chuckled. "If you're not too busy, do you want to have lunch later on."

There was an hesitation from her, "I don't know. I'll have to tell Mom and I don't want her having the impression that I'm following man again." "It's fine." "Text me the time and place, I could use real food, I've only had small chops ." She answered and he chuckled.

"Your Mom?"

"I'll deal with her."

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows of the school lobby. Colorful posters promoting upcoming events and motivational quotes adorned the walls. Kilahi approached Brenda who was seated pressing her phone. She lifted her head up staring at Kilahi.

Kilahi opened her arms wide and  Brenda rose up embracing her tightly, m. "Thank you so much. You did an amazing job today," Kilahi said, pulling back slightly to look into Brenda's eyes, her expression earnest.

Brenda forced a smile, her lips curving but her eyes betraying a flicker of sadness. "Where were you?" "There and everywhere. I went to change my pad, I didn't want to end up having a situation." "Oh. Honestly, I should start charging you. The way these girls look at me, they'd think you paid a fortune to get a London girl to speak, and yet I’m not even getting a dime. Shi shi"

Kilahi chuckled, her hands gesturing animatedly as she replied, "Oh, but I’m paying you in kind!" "In kind?" Brenda raised an eyebrow, curiosity lighting up her face.

"You know what the Bible says about a good woman," Kilahi teased, her voice playful. "She’s worth more than rubies. My friendship is priceless. My prayers and emotional support have no foreign exchange value."

Brenda laughed, "Wow, you're really using scripture to back up your cheesiness. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Kilahi rolled her eyes dramatically, a playful smirk on her lips. "Hey, I'm just speaking the truth!"

Brenda sighed, her laughter fading as she wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "Madam Pastor Kilahi, I saw your handiwork. God was just there supplying answers while you did the work." She snapped her fingers for emphasis, a gesture that brought a hintof levity back into the conversation. "You go, girl!" She added with a smile, if only for a moment.

Kilahi shook her head, "It's God who did the work. I refuse to let pride take over." She rolled her eyes, but her tone was gentle, filled with sincerity. Brenda sighed and crossed her arms, as she pondered aloud, "A good woman is worth more than rubies, right?" "That's what Proverbs 31:10 says," Kilahi affirmed, crossing her arms as she leaned in closer, concern etched on her face.

Brenda's gaze drifted to the floor, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her top. "I wonder what my worth is. Am I worth even more than a piece of wood? I’m just thinking out loud." She paused, her voice trembling slightly as she wiped away fresh tears that had begun to spill. "Brenda, please don’t do this. We’re still in school." She looked around to make sure no one was there. The secretary was seated in her seat but she wasn't paying attention to them.

Brenda took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, but the memories flooded back. "I remember when Ugo said if I were a product, I’d be shelved forever, and no one would want to buy me. I might even expire." "Brenda," Kilahi interjected softly, her heart aching for her friend. Brenda looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He’s not picking up my calls; he’s not responding to my messages."

"He's upset because of what happened. Just give him some time," Kilahi advised, her tone soothing as she reached out to tuck a loose strand of braid behind Brenda's ear.

She rolled her eyes, frustration and despair mingling in her expression. "I can’t. I can’t go without talking to him. These past two days without him have been unbearable. I thought I was in love with Bada, but it doesn’t even compare to how I feel about Ugo. I feel like I’m about to lose my mind."

Kilahi stepped forward, wrapping her arms around Brenda once more, holding her tightly as her friend’s body shook with quiet sobs.

The fluorescent lights in the police station flickered slightly, casting a glow over the interrogation room where the girls sat. The walls were painted a dull grey, marred by scratch marks and peeling paint, a testament to the countless stories of anguish that had unfolded within these confines. A small metal table separated the officers from the girls, there were two,  Gowon asked the question, while the Officer other held the dictaphone. 

Gowon leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he scribbled notes on a notepad, his pen moving swiftly across the paper. He was an average man with a sturdy build, his uniform  slightly rumpled, suggesting a long day on duty. As he asked the questions, his eyes darted between the girls, searching for signs of truth and signs of total recovery from the charm.

Chioma Johnson, one of the girls, sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her gaze fixed on the floor. Her dark hair framed her face, which was pale and drawn, the remnants of fear still etched in her features. "My name is Chioma Johnson," She said softly.

"Where are you from?" Gowon pressed, his tone firm yet devoid of malice.

"Anambra, Akwa, specifically in Umuike." She replied, her voice gaining strength.

Okafor, a stout man with a commanding presence, stood outside the glass partition, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He watched the scene unfold with growing frustration, his jaw clenched.  He busted in angrily, "Are these questions necessary?" He interjected, his voice rising slightly. "These girls have been shaken enough. Instead of trying to find a way to contact their loved ones, now they have their memories back, you're here asking unnecessary questions."

"These are standard procedures," Gowon replied, his voice steady but lacking empathy.

"Standard procedures, my ass!" Okafor retorted, shaking his head in disbelief, "This is the highest form of wickedness! Why won't people go around to say crazy things about how heartless the Nigerian police can be? We should be working towards getting them back home. Calling their relatives."

"Will you leave me to do my job?" Gowon snapped, his patience wearing thin. He switched to Hausa, his voice sharp, "Why must you always be a pain in the ass?" "Back to sender!" Okafor snapped in Igbo.

At that moment, a superior officer entered the room, his presence commanding immediate attention. "Okafor, out, now!" He barked, his tone brooking no argument. Okafor shot one last incredulous look at Gowon before following his superior out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Gowon turned his focus back to Chioma, his demeanor shifting slightly as he attempted to regain control of the interrogation. "Where were you when you were abducted?" He asked, leaning in closer, his pen poised above the notepad.

Chioma swallowed hard, her voice trembling. "I was at my Uncle's farm in Anaku, that's where I live. I work at the grammar school close to this former AP filling station. I had been asked to fetch cassava one evening and that was how they gathered my cousin and I. I don’t remember anything after that moment."

"When were you abducted?" Gowon continued, his pen scratching against the paper.

"On Monday," She replied, "Please, What’s today?" She asked, "Thursday," Gowon answered, noting the shock that washed over her features.

In the observation room, Okafor continued to watch through the glass, his expression one of deep concern. "These girls deserve rest after all the experiences they've been through," He muttered to himself, shaking his head. "Gowon is just being inconsiderate. What if they’re his sisters? Would he have them questioned after what they've experienced?"

"It's just standard procedure," It's just Standard procedure, SP Etim replied, attempting to placate him, though the words sounded hollow in the charged atmosphere.

Meanwhile, Gowon had moved on to the next girl, his voice steady as he asked, "What's your name?"

"Banke Adeola," She replied, her voice stronger than Chioma's, though the tremor of fear still lingered. "I'm just a Corper serving in Akwa. I only came to meet my friend who is serving in Ayamelum when the car we boarded got stopped by some men."

Gowon leaned forward, his pen, capturing every word. "What happened next?"

"They shot all the men in the car with us," Banke continued, her eyes glazing over as she recalled the horror. "Then they put something on our heads that knocked us unconscious." She shuddered, her hands trembling slightly as she spoke, the memory clearly haunting her. "When are we going home? I'm tired, I just want to go back to Ekiti, I don't even want to serve again."

Gowon nodded, his expression serious as he noted her words. ". We're going to do everything we can to get you home safely."

Salome swiped through Mrs CoKers status. She posted a picture of Ossy.

My first grandson among many. I introduce you to my gist partner everyone. The boy's that slowly melting my heart. I love you Omo Ola. ❤️
You're a child of honor.

Salome scoffed and slides into her dm.

When the real first grandchild comes, I wonder what you'll call him. Let's say Temi gives birth to a boy, won't it be an insult to your the real first grandson?

Teni Coker: I've accepted him as my first grandson. He's Manny's child and before you proceed. I should remind you that I'm not in the mood to exchange words with you and I won't want to ignore you messages either.

Salome scoffed and typed.

Look at my grandchildren, they're both mine. By God's grace when Nancy gives birth too, that child will have my blood in his system.

That reminds me, how's Nancy?

In her husband's house.

If I were you, I'll take proper care of Nancy and get her away from that man before she's being made a punching bag for the rest of her life.

At least I have grandchildren that are truly mine.

Mrs Coker sends in a voicenote:

🎙️Good for you and I'm happy for you and I am happy with the one God has given me, I couldn't have wished for anyone better. Can't you find it in your heart to be happy for anyone? Bitterness is a worst kind of disease, I have been there and I can tell you that for free. It cages you, it traps you, it keep you delusional and it stops you from seeing the truth and the reality of things. Stop being bitter and Ossy is my grandchild whether biology proves it or not.

Salome sends in a long voicenote of her hissing loudly.

A call came in from Nancy  and she answered, "Nance Nance, how far?" Nancy's voice on the other end of the call is shaky and tearful. "Mommy, I can't do it." Salome's expression changes to one of surprise, and she sets the magazine on her lap aside. She leans forward, "What is it, my dear?" She asked. 

"Mommy I can't do it."

"Do what?"

"I can't do this shit again. Can you believe my husband? He wants sex already." "That's his right as a husband." Salome's expression gradually changes to one of dismissal. Her eyebrows shoot up, and her eyes roll heavenward. She lets out a deep sigh, and her hands spread apart in a 'What's the big deal?' gesture.

“Mum, I’ve not even healed emotionally, and he.... he forced me. I feel raped.” Nancy’s voice breaks, and her mother's face contorts with disbelief. She raises her eyebrows and shakes her head, her hand now resting on her hips.

“Can a husband rape his wife?” Her mother retorts, her tone incredulous. “The man took what was rightfully his.” She gestures dismissively with her hand, as if swatting away her daughter's concern

“Mum! I’ve not even healed!” Nancy insists, her voice rising in frustration.

Salome rolls her eyes dramatically. “Did they tear your vagina? Shebi it’s evacuation they did, did they tear your vagina?” She hissed throwing her hands in the air, “These children of nowadays, you make small marriage issue look like a crisis. Gone are those days when a woman will endure everything to keep her marriage. Small sex that your husband just had with you, you’re crying like—”

“It was almost throughout the night!” Nancy interrupts, her voice filled with distress. “He was on something; he didn’t stop, and I didn’t want him to get angry and start beating me. Even till this morning! The only reason why I'm even resting is because he stepped out to meet his friends.  Mummy, I’m tired. Maybe... maybe I should talk to a therapist,I feel like I'm going mad.”

Salome’s eyes widened, and she leans back, crossing a arms over her chest. “Ehn?” She exclaims, her voice rising in disbelief. “So me that you are talking to, I’m a spoon abi? Am i not someone? You want to throw your dirty laundry out in the public. God forbid! So you will now shame me, me that goes around telling people that my children are happy in their homes.” She shakes her head vigorously and hissed again.

“They have a non-disclosure policy,” Nancy explains, trying to reason with her mother.

“Non-disclosure catch fire for there!” Salome yelled, her voice echoing through the room. “Marital problems dey everywhere. Even this so-called therapist giving advice, they go through problems. Give this men time; all this gra-gra way your husband dey do, e go soon taya am.”

“Don’t tell me to give him time!” Nancy snaps back, her voice filled with urgency. “You didn’t experience anything like this! Dad is a soft man; he does everything you ask of him. I don’t want to get pregnant again. I can’t risk losing my pregnancy because of...”

Salome rolls her eyes again, her expression dismissive. “Small marital issue oh. Small wahala.” She waves her hand dismissively, as if brushing off her daughter's feelings.

“Maybe I should talk to Temi. She has been messaging me since she saw me at the hospital; I haven’t answered her messages,” Nancy suggests hesitantly.

“God forbid! You try it, and I’ll disown you!” Salome warned, her eyes narrowing. “Do you think they throw their dirty laundry for people to see? Do you know how many arguments she has had with her husband? Or fights? She come tell you? No! She will just mock you! Marriage is tolerance, endurance, and forgiveness. For better for worse, till death. You both shared the vow; don’t come and be telling me that rubbish. Manage your home; I managed my home, use wisdom to manage yours.”

“See Nancy, you should be happy that he's rushing you. I mean it's been how long he has sex with you because of the miscarriage. Is it not better for him to have sex with you than cheat? Man body no be firewood. Your husband that called me to tell me you’re both going on a trip to Los Angeles, shey?” Her tone shifts to a more cheerful one, and she raises her eyebrows expectantly.

Nancy goes silent, processing her mother’s words.

“Are you not happy?” Salome presses, her hands now resting on her hips, her head tilted slightly to one side.

“I am, but my mind doesn’t need this,” Nancy replies quietly,“What it needs is a vacation and a man that can afford that vacation. Don’t think too much on that one. You guys should do and go so I can have what to post and shame my enemies, whose children have never left the borders of Nigeria. You hear?” Salome says, her voice lightening.

“Yes, Mummy,” Nancy responds, her tone more subdued.

“And remind your husband about that money, you know!” Salome laughed shamelessly. She clasps her hands together, her body leaning back in satisfaction.

“Mummy, have heard. Byebye,” She replied, swiftly ending the call.

As the call disconnects, Salome lets out a deep sigh, her hands dropping to her sides. Looking around the room, she seems to ponder her next move, her face settling into a look of boredom, as if waiting for the next bit of gossip or news to brighten her day.

Ray stood motionless, his heart pounding as he surveyed the surroundings.  He recalled the harrowing journey that had brought him there. He was blindfolded and disoriented when he was brought to work here. They had slipped something into his drink so that he had no idea where they were bringing him to. His thoughts raced with the urgency of his mission. As an undercover agent, he had infiltrated this dangerous lair, driven by zeal to expose the ruthless men who operated within its confines. He longed for the day he would reveal the location of this hellhole, to bring their nefarious activities to light, and to ensure that no one else would suffer as others had.

Yet, the grim reality of his situation weighed heavily on him. How would his team breach the fortifications? The walls and forest were not merely physical barriers; they were fortified by dark incantations and spells that felt almost palpable in the air, a sinister energy that made his skin crawl. He clenched his fists, as he thought of his wife and their six-year-old daughter. He missed their smiles, the way his daughter would giggle whenever she plays 'ready or not' , her laughter ringing like music in his ears. He longed for the playful evenings and family time they once shared.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed in the stillness, snapping him back to the present. One of the guards, Preye, approached, a long gun slung across his chest. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. "Wetin you dey do for here?" He asked, his voice dripping with mockery, the local dialect rolling off his tongue.

Ray forced a nervous laugh, trying to mask his fear while mentally calculating his next move. He had to maintain his cover, to blend in with the very men he sought to bring down, "I just dey reason my girlfriend now. E don tay way I get small joy," He replied, attempting to lighten the mood.

Preye chuckled, "You still dey find joy with all the girls way dey here?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "E be like person way dey surrounded by food but still dey shout say him dey hungry. You dey whine me? You wan knack, you no go hold one girl put for one corner, do am until conji commot for your system, you dey there dey wish rubbish."

Ray shrugged, a playful grin on his face. "I like my girlfriend, I be faithful boyfriend. For my mind, I dey think am but to do the thing. "

Preye leaned in closer, the amusement in his eyes fading slightly. "You think say you go see her everytime?" "Why you talk so?" Ray asked, his heart sinking.

"You know how many years I don dey here? You know the last time way I fuck my wife last? E don reach like two months and the last time, e no even reach ten minutes way them knock for door say time up! Na so life be for this jungle. Many fish dey this island oh." Preye’s whispered.

"Na vegetarian I be," Ray joked, trying to keep the mood light and Preye laughed, "You better change diet cause balance diet no dey here oh. You go chop wetin you see, varieties dey. Even If na small small girls hungry you chop, even if na mature ones, no matter the size, nobody to judge you. Las Las, all die na die for any girl way dey here. Na die dem go die las las, either by knife, cutlass or prick." Preye’s words hung in the air like a dark cloud, and Ray almost cringed in irritation.

"Which time we go collect our phone back?" Ray asked, "You wan call your vegetable girlfriend shey, the one way turn you into vegetarian?" Preye laughed, slapping Ray on the shoulder, the camradery momentarily easing the tension.

"As per say boss no trust anybody, na to wait. Even me sef, e get who I wan follow talk." Preye confessed, his tone dropping to a whisper.

"E just be like say make I just hide, just come small, run one or two with my girl. Come rush back, how you see am?" He asked, his eyes glinting with mischief. Preye couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

"E mean say you get death wish be that. You go die now. Nobody fit commot for this place without clearance. You go just Kpai for ground." Preye’s laughter faded, replaced by a serious tone that sent a shiver down Ray’s spine.

"Person don Kpai before?" Ray asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes now. So, if conji dey hold you, girls plenty oh, just pick one before you go die on top woman way go move on when you die." Preye shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that belied the gravity of his words.

"My woman loyal," Ray replied, defensively.

"Na so! You know wetin she dey do now?" Preye asked, his eyes narrowing with curiosity, a sly grin creeping onto his face.

Ray creased his brow, the thought of his wife’s loyalty clashing with the grim reality of their situation. "But how that babe come take escape now? You think say she find loophole?" He probed, his voice tinged with curiosity.

He has heard the story many times but he hopes to find a loophole in all.

"Hm... If you ask me, na who I go ask? E just be like make you ask how Boss hand take burn on to spiritual knacking things. My guy, the matter just get as e be. If you ask me, either make the girl na all this 'What God cannot do, does not exist people', you know all this strong Christian or na winch she be. If you ask me, I go say na winch. Na from beginning that babe eyes clear. Then offload women and girls put down, charm no work on top her. Her eyes clear like who drink white board. Na winch then catch." Preye’s voice was low, conspiratorial, and Ray felt a chill run down his spine.

"Na wa oh," Ray muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Na why Boss just no settle at all since that girl matter. I sure say na all this suspect suspect thing naim make Boss dey do this diversion thing. You hear say diversion dey go on like this?" Preye continued, his tone shifting to one of seriousness.

"Na so?" Ray asked, trying to keep up with the conversation, his mind racing with the implications.

"Them move some random girls way them catch go different location. Maybe that one go allow them POPo stop to dey chook eyes on top our matter. You get?" Preye explained, his eyes darting around as if he feared being overheard.

Ray nodded, "Sharp! Make sense, I no even know say na today." The weight of the situation pressed down on him. There was no phone to send text messages across to his boss.

Damn!

"Boss no trust anybody again. Wetin be that your name again?" Preye asked, his demeanor shifting back to a more casual tone.

"Ray," he replied, his heart racing as he considered the possibilities.

"This place no be joke. If you wan survive, just dey play along and act smart. Conji worry you, you find girls. Boss no nice oh, if him just venture suspect you, whether you innocent or not, him go just kill you."  Preye warned, his voice dropping to a whisper as he glanced around, ensuring no one was eavesdropping.

Ray swallowed hard.

Gowon approached his Superior, Superintendent of Police (SP) Etim, in his office after the interrogation. There were scattered files and reports that cluttered the mahogany desk. The walls were adorned with framed commendations, and pictures of the current President, Governor and police operations.

After saluting him, Gowon took a seat in the worn leather chair across from Etim, who leaned back, fingers steepled together, a clear sign of his contemplation.

"You and Okafor need to get your act together," He said, his voice firm yet weary. "I'm tired of watching you two bicker like children."

"Understood, Sir," Gowon replied, straightening his posture, sensing the seriousness of the conversation.

Etim let out a heavy sigh, as though recalling something troubling. "That reminds me, we received feedback from the picture we sent to the woman. Her daughter isn't among the girls."

"Really?" Gowon leaned forward, an unruffled look etched across his face.

"Yes. It’s unfortunate, but I fear her daughter might be dead. Perhaps her organs have been harvested, or she’s been used for rituals," Etim assumed, shaking his head slowly, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk.

"What if she’s still alive?" Gowon pressed, a hint of hope in his voice.

Etim scoffed, recognizing the inquisitive tone. "What if there's a chance?" Gowon asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

"That?" Etim echoed, raising an eyebrow, and Gowon shrugged, his hands gesturing slightly as he spoke. "Sir, how do we know we got the right girls?" "You all raided the place, right? You were among the men I sent there. We received intel."

"Who provided this intel? Maybe we need to investigate this so-called informant," Gowon replied, frustration creeping into his voice.

The superior exhaled deeply, his fingers now rubbing his temples. "You sound like Lotanna right now. What’s your agenda? What’s the summary of your findings?"

"I suspect we’ve been misled," Gowon stated, his voice steady, but his eyes darting around the room as if searching for answers- almost as though he wanted to be sure there wasn't any other presence in the room.

"Why do you say that?" Etim leaned in, intrigued yet cautious.

"The MO we received from the report in Lagos and that girl’s video align with what that corper and two of the girls said. She mentioned they placed a stone on their head to make them unconscious. If you closely watch the video that the Sefa girl posted , Sir, you'll have a more mental image. When she was taken to the location, people were not in their right minds. Just like the state we found those girls in."

"I’m not following your logic, Gowon," Etim said, his fingers now drumming on the desk, a sign of his growing impatience.

"According to this Sefa girl, she was taken from Lagos. When she woke up in the truck, she recalled there were other girls in the truck. Probably, those girls were abducted from Lagos. So let’s assume they have various locations they bring girls from—maybe Abuja, Lagos, Delta State, Port Harcourt. We're supposed to have a mixed demographic. What are the odds that we found eleven girls, and eight of them happened to be Igbo? Even the ones that aren't Igbo all resides here in Anambra. Call me crazy, but I think we’ve been played."

SP Etim sighed in thought, "The blood, the building, the body parts," He interjected, his voice rising slightly.

Gowon's shoulders rose in a shrug, his hands splayed in uncertainty. "It's possible this is just a diversion; they might be trying to throw us off their trail." SP Etim's eyes clouded in thought. "If they're creating a diversion, it means we were getting close. And if they knew we were closing in, someone must have leaked information to them." His voice trailed off, his gaze intensifying. "I only briefed the plan with seven of my trusted men – and you're one of them."

"We have a mole in our midst. If you ask me, it’s Okafor." He whispered and Etim rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. "Are you sure you’re not saying this out of personal bias?"

"Geskia, God knows I can’t stand that man and it's not our of tribal bias, i’m not that petty . You're an Annang man and I respect your principles, Lotanna is Igbo and I can give my life any day for him but you see that Okafor, I can't vouch for  him. " Gowon replied, his tone firm.

"How can I be sure you’re not the mole?" Etim challenged, his gaze piercing.

Gowon shrugged, "You have every right to entertain that assumption Sir, but I assure you that I'm not. "  retorted, "What if you’re trying to create a diversion too?"  Etim shot back, frustration evident in his tone.

"Sir, even Lotanna had issues with Okafor. If I was the mole, they would have probably caught Lotanna in that place long ago. I’m convinced the only reason they haven’t caught him playing Ray in that place is because Okafor thinks he’s on an extended leave. Okafor is the obvious suspect. Didn’t you see how he reacted when I was questioning the girls?"

"It appeared he cared about them," Etim countered, his voice steady.

"I suspect it was out of fear! That fool doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself," Gowon retorted, his hands clenching into fists, frustration boiling beneath the surface.

"We found the building," Etim said, his tone shifting slightly, "Let’s have forensics conduct a thorough investigation. They should check how long the blood has been there and analyze the fingerprints we found.  We might not be able to find out whose fingerprint it is but we need to determine if it was staged or if it was a genuine crime scene. A forensic examination will provide clarity." Gowon insisted, his voice rising with urgency.

Etim sighed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "This is too much."  "Getting forensic? That's basic, Or we could bring in the girl who survived, the Sefa. Let’s take her to the scene and see if she can identify it as the place she was taken to."

"Do you have any idea how much a flight costs?" Etim shot back, exasperation evident as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"Road transport is more economical," Gowon replied dismissively.

"So we’ll put the girl through the stress of a long journey just to check the crime scene? Wasn’t she charmed? How will she even remember?" Etim countered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Gowon scoffed, his voice rising in intensity. "Sir, lives are at stake! Lotanna’s life is at risk! We don’t even know what’s happening in that place. How can we be sure he’s alive? I say we bring her here, or we send her pictures of the building and every room. Maybe it will jog her memory from when she was brought in. Sir, you should watch the video again; she was taken to a baby manufacturing room. I didn’t see any room that looked like a place where babies are being born."

"You don't expect kidnappers to have hospitals for people. How did you expect the baby what what room to look like? Like a beautiful nursery ?"

"My point is, there was nothing that gives us a hint that this place used for babies. No baby was found, isn't it strange?"

"Gowon, you're making all these conclusions in one day. Perhaps you should take some time to process this information;"

"Sir!"

"It’s overwhelming for me. Okafor is one of my best, so are you, and so is Lotanna! I might as well assume you're doing this to shift the blame to another innocent man or have the girl who escaped back to Anambra so you can have her silenced so she doesn't spill what she knows."

"What if we send pictures to her Sir like we the woman Whose daughter was kidnapped. Bringing her here isn't the only way to determine."

"Enough!" SP Etim cuts in and Gowon sighed in defeat, " I know there’s a mole, but I believe we’ll uncover the truth in due time. You can take your leave now," Etim said, his voice firm, signaling the end of the discussion.

Gowon saluted and then walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Etim leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his bald head as he contemplated the gravity of the situation. He picked up his phone and dialed a number, his expression serious. "I need some advice on how to handle a delicate situation. There’s a mole in my department, and I’m at a loss on how to identify them," He said, his voice low and tense, the weight of his responsibilities pressing heavily on his shoulders.

As Kilahi settled into the back seat of the Uber, she adjusted a neckscarf, ensuring it sat neatly on her neck.  Her campaign manager,was seated beside her, flipping through notes on his tablet, while the media manager, Chika, was busy scrolling through her phone, looking for updates on social media.

The driver, a middle-aged man with a well-worn cap perched on his head, glanced at them through the rearview mirror. "Should I start the trip?" He asked, a friendly smile breaking across his face.

"Yes." "Music? Any preference?" He asked, "Gospel." Kilahi answered.  He adjusted the Bluetooth, and a popular Afrobeats song filled the car, making the atmosphere lively.

As the campaign manager continued to discuss feedback from the "Pad the Girl" program, Kilahi listened intently, occasionally nodding her head. "We need to focus on the follow-up sessions, Kilahi. Some of the girls were really inspired, but we can't just leave them hanging," She said, tapping her finger on the screen.

"True Yetunde. " She replied, her brow furrowing in concentration. Chika chimed in, "And those ones who testified yesterday about never using a pad, we should showcase their stories on social media. More like a documentary m. People love seeing real-life impacts."

Just then, Kilahi's phone buzzed, interrupting their conversation. She glanced at the screen and smiled. "Hey Godswill," She answered, her voice brightening.

"Mama, I said you should call me G-Will, Gee, G for Godswill," He replied, his tone playful.

"You do know Godswill is your name and you shouldn't be ashamed of it," She teased back, chuckling.

"Yes Mama," He said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.

"Toor, you and this Mama, you can just call me Kilahi," She said, rolling her eyes, "No oh. It's either Pastor or Mama. You said you're not a Pastor, no problem. My Mama you are then! This new life I have, it's like you gave birth to me. I can't think of any other name," He said, laughter echoing through the phone.

Kilahi laughed heartily, "Awn. How are you?" "Fine Ma. I and my guys are still in hiding oh. They're still looking for us. I can't go back; if I go back, my guys and I will serve punishments and, fuck the punishment sef. Who dey? Abeg! My only fear is that I don't want to end up doing what I have dropped. Anyone that wants to try shit with me, I might break the person's head and stab someone's intestines out."

Kilahi's smile faded slightly, but she quickly masked it with a light-hearted tone. "Scripture-speaking, let no corrupt communication proceed out of your mouth, but that which is good to the use of edifying, that it may minister grace unto the hearers. Ephesians 4: 28 or 29."

"Fuck!" Ladi chimed in, laughter spilling over. "I'm sorry, I still said fuck. I'm sorry, Ma."

"You'll get there. What do you want?" Kilahi asked, her tone softening.

"Bible Study time," Ladi replied, sounding almost desperate.

Kilahi chuckled again, "Now is not a good time. I already told you, I'll be chanced Sunday evening and Thursday evening. You can call evangelist Manasseh; that was why I gave him your number."

"That man's preaching is boring; that man preaches boredom instead of kingdom," Ladi said, and she could hear the others laughing from the other end.

"Haba!" She exclaimed, feigning shock.

"I called him and I slept off in between his preaching. The man knows his onions no doubt, but the onions dey make me cry," He concluded, and the laughter erupted again from the background.

"Really? You do realize you're mocking a man of God," She replied, trying to keep a straight face.

"God forgive me, but Mama,  it's the truth. Do you have two minutes?" He asked, his voice suddenly serious.

"What is it?" Kilahi inquired, sensing the shift in his tone.

"When you talked about Paul in the bible, because I really don't have much memory of homs from Sunday that year, I googled him, and you know I've been reading about how he was on his way to Damascus and how God just met him. I realized that after God sent his servant to pray for him, what his name again..."

"Ananias," She supplied, her eyes glinting with interest.

"Gbam! Paul didn't slack; he was eager to know and study, and he did it by being around disciples, people he'll grow with. My blood is hot; I want to love God, I want to be surrounded by people who love God and know the Bible so I can know too. But instead, I'm surrounded by these dumbheads whose knowledge is as good as mine."

Kilahi laughed, "I get your point, but you have to think of your safety too."

"If I die for the gospel, I'll go to heaven straight, shey?" Godswill replied, his voice filled with conviction.

"No one is dying, Godswill, just calm down. I'll keep sending messages to you. I'll do my best to drop reading plans; just that I'm choked," She reassured him then she groaned tiredly.

"Sorry," He said, his tone apologetic.

"It's fine. You're doing well; just keep it up and be safe," Dhe encouraged, her eyes warm with affection.

Ladi's voice chimed in again, "Yes Ma. How's Mercy and my baby?"

"I heard from her yesterday. They're fine," Kilahi replied, her heart swelling with pride for him.

"Good to know. Enjoy the rest of your day," Ladi concluded.

"You too, Godswill," She responded, ending the call with a smile the she placed her phone back in her bag.

5:03 pm

Brenda stood in the slightly lit hallway of Ugo's apartment building, her heart racing as she contemplated the knock on Ugo's door.  Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness.

The door swung open, revealing Ugo, his muscular frame clad in a tight singlet that clung to his skin. He wore a pair of shorts that hung low on his hips, and his expression was a mixture of surprise and irritation. His dark eyes narrowed slightly as he took her in, the surprise quickly giving way to sternness.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, his voice sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. Brenda exhaled deeply, feeling the weight of his gaze on her. She could see the way his jaw clenched.

"I want to see you," She said, her voice trembling just a bit as she fought back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"I thought I made it clear that I didn't," He snapped, crossing his arms over his chest, which only served to emphasize his physique further. Brenda felt a lump form in her throat, but she pushed through.

"It's been two days, Ugo. I miss you," She confessed, her voice cracking slightly. She glanced down at her fingers, her bare ring finger suddenly feeling heavier than it had before. Ugo's gaze followed hers, and she could see the disappointment in his eyes.

"Have you returned the ring?" He asked, the words laced with an edge of accusation. She shut her eyes tightly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

Her face scrunched up in distress. "No," she whispered."No," She whispered. "I want to first of all reach an understanding with Tommy so we can both have a meeting with the family. Basically, everyone is calling to congratulate me, even people I don't know."

Ugo scoffed, shaking his head slightly, his frustration palpable. "It's been two good days, Brenda." "Do you have any idea how it feels? People congratulating you over something you're not happy about."

"Whose fault is it? Mine?"

"Tommy isn't in the country," She pressed, her voice rising slightly in urgency. "He traveled for a business trip to Malaysia yesterday morning. This isn't something I can drop on as a text; we need to see face to face and speak like adults. "

As she spoke, Brenda took a small step closer, her hands fidgeting at her sides. She could feel the tension between them, thick and suffocating, yet she was desperate to bridge the gap. Ugo's expression softened for just a moment, but then he hardened again, as if bracing himself against her vulnerability.

"Brenda," He started, his voice lower now, almost hesitant. "Baby, I'm sorry." "You can’t just expect everything to fall into place because you want it to. You chose him." He ran a hand through his hair, the movement drawing attention to the defined muscles in his arms. Brenda could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his anger and his lingering feelings for her.

"I didn't choose him, Dad did."

"You Dad wasn't the one who accepted to marry him, you did. Your dad wasn't the one who kissed him, you did, your Dad wasn't the one who cheated on me, you did! How can I ever trust you again?"

"I'm sorry."

"Brenda," He stalled, his voice dropping to a softer tone, "I don't want to be part of this circus. I can't do this with you."

Her heart ached at his words, and she took a step forward, her hands outstretched, pleading for him to understand. "Please, Ugo. Just give me a chance, give me time. I don’t want this to end like this.  I need to try. I need to make things right." She searched his eyes for any sign of understanding.

Ugo sighed, running a hand through his hair, the muscles in his arms flexing as he did so. "I don’t know if it’s worth it, Brenda. You’re still with him, and since your father wants him and you're not willing to face him, I don't think I can compete with that especially when you don't consider me an important topic for your father."

"I’m not happy, Ugo!" She interrupted, her voice rising again. "I haven’t been happy for the longest time and then God brought you my way, it wasn't man's orchestration it was God! I'm not giving up on it that way, no!"

"God is not an author of confusion Brenda, since you know its divinely orchestrated, what's stopping you from doing the right thing?"

Brenda shook her head, the tears finally spilling over as she felt the weight of her choices crashing down on her. "Because it’s complicated! I love you but I can’t just walk away without closure. I owe Daddy that much, this is going to break his heart."

He scoffed, "And what about us? What about me?" He asked quietly.

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. The truth was, she didn’t know. Brenda wiped her eyes, trying to regain her composure, but the vulnerability of the moment made it difficult.

Ugo shifted his body, leaning against the doorframe. His posture remained defensive, but his expression had transformed into contemplation. Brenda stepped closer, her heart racing as she reached up to cup his face in her hands. “Ugo, I love you. I really do,” She confessed, "All I’m asking for is a little time. Just a week to figure this out, hopefully before Kilahi’s wedding.”

He frowned, the thought clearly troubling him. “What if your father invites Tommy as your date? How am I supposed to handle that?” His voice trembled with a mix of jealousy and hurt.

She shook her head, trying to quell the storm brewing between them. “Dad won’t even attend Gbadamosi’s wedding. Mom might, but he’s not exactly Daddy’s biggest fan right now. I promise I’ll sort this out when Tommy comes back. Just give me that chance.”

His expression hardened. “But can I trust you again? You’ve lied to me, Brenda. You looked me in the eye and deceived me. I don’t know if I can keep lying to myself.”

Her heart shattered at his words. “Ugo, please. I’m so sorry,” She cried, desperation creeping into her voice. “Let me talk to Tommy. I want to do this right, for everyone involved. I want to be honest with you. No more lies, no more deceit. We can start afresh.”

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world rested upon them. “And what if, after you talk to him, you decide to go back? What if he convinces you to stay? Or what if you’re too afraid to tell your dad the truth?”

The thought sent a jolt of fear through her. “I... I don’t know. I owe it to Dad to—” She started, but he interrupted, his voice rising with frustration. “You owe it to yourself, Brenda! Remember when you told me you were tired of living for everyone else? Maybe I’m starting to understand what you meant. But what about your own happiness? Doesn’t that matter? I’m not just speaking for myself; I’m speaking for you. Unless you’re okay being a pawn in someone else’s game, why not choose what truly makes you happy? You’re a grownass woman—make your own decision!”

With that, he stepped back, creating a painful gap between them.  Ugo turned away, shutting the door with a finality that crashed her heart.

Brenda stood outside, the reality of his rejection crashing down around her. Her body crumpled as she sank to the ground, the tears flowing freely, each sob wracking through her body.

5:10 pm

Aunty Abebi broke three eggs into a bowl, the bright yellow yolks contrasting sharply with the white of the egg whites. She had just finished slicing tomatoes, pepper, and onions, the colorful vegetables on her cutting board. With a satisfied nod, she poured the chopped vegetables into the sizzling frying oil, the sound of the ingredients hitting the hot surface creating a comforting sizzle that filled the kitchen.

As she stirred the mixture, the aroma wafted through the air, but it quickly turned foul as she added the eggs. The moment the eggs hit the pan, an overwhelming stench filled the kitchen, reminiscent of something far less appetizing-  like someone had thrown chicken dung into the sauce. Aunty Abebi's face contorted in disgust, her nose wrinkling as the smell assaulted her senses like a slap.

She stepped back from the stove, her hand covering her nose. She quickly turned off the gas and stumbled out of the kitchen, almost throwing up. She took a few deep breaths, trying to compose herself, before returning to the kitchen.

“Oh my God, what happened to the eggs?” She exclaimed, lifting a broken eggshell to her nose and sniffing it tentatively. The foul smell made her recoil. “There’s no way I’m eating this,” she groaned, her voice laced with frustration. “God, I hate wasting food! I already boiled rice.”

Despite her reservations, she decided to taste the sauce, but the moment the spoon touched her tongue, she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She rushed to the sink, throwing up the little she had eaten. “What the hell?” She muttered, her voice shaky as she turned on the tap, rinsing her mouth out with water. “Am I coming down with something?”

She leaned against the counter, her mind racing. “I don’t even get this way when I have malaria. What can be…” Her thoughts drifted back to the days she spent in Ebonyi with Emmanuel, memories flooding her mind like a tidal wave.

“No way. No way!” Panic surged through her as she rushed to grab her phone from the sitting room. Her fingers trembled as she opened her calendar app, her heart racing as she counted the days. Two weeks late. “That’s not possible,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Unless it’s menopause… it has to be menopause. Yes!”

She quickly typed into her search engine, her brow furrowing in concentration. Symptoms of menopause—she hit enter, her heart pounding in her chest. The screen filled with information, and she scrolled but couldn't find what she was looking for.

“Does menopause cause nausea?” she typed again, her eyes scanning the results.

When she read the answer, a wave of relief washed over her. “Said it! It has to be it,” she affirmed, her voice stronger now, a hint of excitement creeping in.

"It's just Menopause." She blurted then she began to wonder if menopause was something for her to be excited about.

Just then, a knock on the door broke her concentration. “Who could that be?” she wondered, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel before heading to the door. She opened it to find Mrs. Aisha standing there, a bright smile on her face.

“Good evening, Aunty Abebi,” Aisha greeted, her voice warm and cheerful.

"You're glowing," She observed, her eyes scanning Aunty Abebi's face. Aunty Abebi's eyebrows rose in surprise. "I am?" "Yes." Mrs Aisha answered with a nod.

Aunty Abebi smiled, feeling a little self-conscious. "Thanks. To what do I owe this visit?"

Aisha smiled, lifting a customer bag that dangled from her wrist. “I brought your Kilishi,” she announced, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Oh my God!” Aunty Abebi gasped, her excitement palpable as she reached for the bag. She opened the Ziploc bag and inhaled the rich, spicy aroma. “This is delightful!” She exclaimed, cutting off a small piece and popping it into her mouth. “Thank you! I was beginning to wonder what I’d use to eat that rice.”

“What rice?” Aisha asked, her curiosity piqued.

With a sigh, Aunty Abebi leaned against the counter, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Ugh! I decided to cook cause I was so hungry. Do you want egg sauce? I cooked egg sauce that smells like crap. I don’t want to waste it. You know how I hate wasting food. Will you eat?” She asked, her voice tinged with desperation.

Aisha raised an eyebrow, taken aback by her sister's uncharacteristic candor. “Um… Yes,” she replied hesitantly, still processing the sight of Aunty Abebi, who was usually so composed, now speaking so openly and without her usual grace.

Kilahi sat cross-legged on her bed, the playful sleeping gown adorned with teddy bears swaying slightly as she shifted her weight. Her phone buzzed incessantly beside her, she had notifications of friendly reminder of pending messages and preparations she had to make, swarming her phone.

School Admin Martha: In order to curb disappointment. I'll have our school bus drop the students off. We're not asking for much, just money for the fueling which should be around the range of 10,000 Ma.

Mama Cele: How arrangement for wedding? The bus way I hear say you dey hire, e no go reach us to come Lagos. I just say make I tell you. We plenty way wan for show for your wedding. You no go see me oh! I no get transport like this.

Susan: Good job! You're doing well.

Mercy: Is the ankara material still available? I have about three people in the department that wants it.

ASO EBI group: 26 messages

015 Philosophy Sage: 176 messages.

The  glow of the screen illuminated her face, revealing the furrowed brow and tired eyes of a woman overwhelmed. She groaned she didn't even know where to start from. "I seriously need to hire a PA specifically to answer messages. " "Hire me now, I'll start with a hundred." Sewuese answered , she was lounged on the edge of the bed, dressed in a light blue singlet and shorts. Shehad an air of playful mischief about her, a contrast to Kilahi's evident fatigue.

"Hundred naira? Deal!"

Sewuese batted her eyes are her and Kilahi busted into a sharp laughter, "It's not only hundred naira, it's hundred kobo. I'm talking the whole 100 k." She clarified and Kilahi cackled, "My salary is not up to that sef. Aunty calm down, I haven't blown yet " She joked and they both laughed.

"A PA that's ready to work for shikini money until my next level. I'm too drained to start responding to messages." She complained, the weight of the world resting on her shoulders, Sewuese chuckled, her laughter light,. "You know," She teased, her fingers twirling a strand of hair, "If it's from Pastor G, I'm sure you'll answer with speed." She shot Kilahi a knowing look, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Kilahi rolled her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching into a reluctant smile. "Well... You're not wrong. I haven't called him since I did in the morning. I want him back, I miss him."

"Calm down! You're still going to have him to yourself; it's just a matter of days before the D-do day." Sewuese winked, her playful demeanor infectious.

Kilahi grabbed a nearby pillow and tossed it at Sewuese, who dodged with a laugh. "You're not serious! Why does it have to be D-do day." "Cause it's a Day to do the doos, your first kiss, your first intimate touch, your first foreplay, your first attempt at love making."

"Sewuese, you need Jesus!" Kilahi exclaimed, her voice laced with mock indignation, "Well you need a sweet and full massage and good good loving. All this package is just waiting for you next week. Which are you subscribing for, flexi, jolli, maxi."

Just then, a video call interrupted their banter, and Kilahi's face lit up when she saw the caller ID. "Let me guess, Pastor G?" Sewuese asked, but she shook her head.

"Garba?" Sewuese asked, rolling her eyes.

Kilahi answered the call, and the sight of a topless Garba made her gasp. "Can you please wear something?" She requested, her voice a mix of surprise and disapproval. Garba chuckled, his confidence radiating through the screen. "Good evening to you too," he replied, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Uncle, what's good about the evening? Put on something before the evening can be good," She insisted, crossing her arms over her eyes  as if to shield herself from the sight then she dropped it.

"Why are you so particular about my body?" He asked, tilting his head in confusion.

"Because I don't like seeing men naked," She replied, her tone firm yet playful.

"Does it affect you in any way?" He countered, raising an eyebrow.

Kilahi glanced at Sewuese, who was silently observing their exchange, a mischievous grin on her face. "See!" Sewuese mouthed silently, and Kilahi rolled her eyes in response.

"I'm just not comfortable," Kilahi admitted, her voice softening.

"I don't blame you if it makes you anxious. I mean, if I were you, I'd be anxious about this hotness," Garba teased, and Kilahi couldn't help but laugh.

"Really?" She said, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Admit it, I'm a very attractive man," He pressed, leaning closer to the camera.

"Oh my God, what's there to admit?" She replied, feigning indifference.

"Trust me, you won't fall in love with me if you do, or will you?" He laughed nervously, and Kilahi's heart skipped a beat at the implications of his words.

"I can't fall in love twice, can I?" She shot back, her voice a mix of defiance and vulnerability.

"You tell me," He replied, and just then, Sewuese cleared her throat, breaking the moment.

"She can't fall in love twice because she's already in love with Pastor Gbadamosi, her handsome and attractive fiancé!" She yelled, rushing to Kilahi's screen with a triumphant grin.

Garba paused, processing Sewuese's interruption, and then burst into laughter. "That must be your sister," He said, clearly amused.

Sewuese leaned closer to the screen, her finger raised in mock defense. "You're right."
" You're pretty." "Thank you but I'm already taken," She said, a playful glint in her eye.

"But I'm sure you'll be too blind to notice since you're flirting with a woman who is engaged," Sewuese added, her tone was like a siren warning him.

"Jesus Christ, Sewuese!" Kilahi snapped, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She turned back to Garba, who was still chuckling at the unexpected turn of events. "Sorry about that ," She said, her voice softening. "I didn’t mean for her to interrupt like that."

Garba smiled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "No worries. It’s all in good fun. But seriously, I was enjoying our chat."

Kilahi felt a flutter in her stomach at his words. "I appreciate that. I just... I'm sorry." "Bad time? I guess I’ll call back," He sounded disappointed.

"Wait, you don’t have to go!" Kilahi quickly interjected, her heart sinking at the thought of letting him go after Sewuese's remark.  "Aunty let him go! Let him go!" She sang the tone of Frozen's 'Let it go'.

"Sewuese!" Kilahi snapped then she glanced at Garba on her phone screen, "I’m sorry for the interruption."

"It’s fine. Good night," He replied, the smile fading from his face as he ended the video call. Kilahi felt a wave of frustration wash over her, and she turned to Sewuese, who was now smirking triumphantly.

"Sewuese, you’re unbelievable," Kilahi said, her voice a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

"And you’re welcome too," Sewuese shot back, crossing her arms with a playful pout.

"I wasn’t thanking you," Kilahi retorted, her eyes narrowing.

Sewuese scoffed, "Well, I think you should. That guy was flirting with you."

"Was it necessary to act that way? That was completely uncalled for! How could you just interrupt my call and speak that way to a man that hasn't wronged you? Geskia What you did was unfair," Kilahi snapped, her frustration bubbling over.

"Unfair? Look at me trying to do something good for you. Since you don’t know how to get him off your back, I thought I’d help," Sewuese began, but Kilahi cut her off.

"Toor, who asked for your help in the first place?" She shot back, rolling her eyes as she felt the tension in the room rise.

"You know what?" Kilahi continued, her voice steadying as she took a deep breath. "Let’s just drop this matter. What’s done is done."

"No we're not. Oh wow, so you’re angry that I told him off," Sewuese replied, her tone incredulous.

"This isn’t even about that; you’re not realizing how rude you were. We were having a conversation," Kilahi insisted, her voice rising slightly.

"About falling in love with him? That wasn’t a conversation; he was flirting and messing with your emotions. You couldn’t even talk," Sewuese countered, her arms now akimbo.

"I could have handled it properly, not in a barbaric way," Kilahi shot back, her frustration evident.

Sewuese scoffed, "So I’ve turned into a barbarian, right?" "I didn’t say that," Kilahi replied, exasperated.

"Is it my ears that are working anti-clockwise now?" Sewuese said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Maybe your ears are definitely working anti-clockwise because I clearly didn’t call you a barbarian; I said barbaric, clear difference. You're acting Nigerian doesn't exactly mean you're in Nigeria, you can be in the UK and act Nigerian. " Kilahi clarified, her patience wearing thin.

Sewuese rolled her eyes dramatically. "Let me carry me my barbaric self out of this room. You won’t want to sleep with a barbarian, right?" She quipped, her tone lightening slightly.

"You need to check your priorities because I don’t understand what has gotten into you," Kilahi replied, her voice softer now.

"That should be my line because I clearly don’t see why a woman who’s engaged to be married next week will be engaging in that conversation with a single guy if not that you’re enjoying it too," Sewuese shot back, her eyes narrowing.

Kilahi scoffed, "Sewuese, take that back." "Deny it now. I dare you to deny that you don’t like Garba or that you’re not in any way attracted to him as he is to you," Sewuese pressed, her tone challenging.

"Sewuese, just get out of this room before I lose it," Kilahi warned, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt.

"Now that I’m talking to you, you don’t want to hear until things get out of hand, right?" Sewuese replied, her tone defiant.

"Oh great, like you’re an expert at listening to advice yourself," Kilahi shot back, her frustration boiling over.

"At least I listen," Sewuese retorted, her arms crossed defiantly.

"If you were such an expert, maybe you could have heard all the while I warned you about Jamal, but no!" Kilahi exclaimed, her voice rising again.

Sewuese scoffed and hissed, clearly annoyed. "Fine, I’m out of here," she said, slamming the door behind her.

Kilahi groaned in frustration, her heart heavy as she tightened her fists. Tears trickled down her cheeks, and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her. She hadn't been in this kind of quarrel with Sewuese before, and the weight of their argument pressed down on her.

Looking up, she clasped her hands together, her voice barely above a whisper. "Lord, I'm sorry. I should have just kept quiet." She paused, reflecting on the heated exchange. "Fine, I know Garba said some really naughty stuff, but..." She took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts.

"There were a lot of ways Sewuese could have answered him. Even Garba felt uncomfortable," She continued, her voice trembling slightly as she exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit.

"I don't even know what to do anymore. I love Gbadamosi, obviously. I don't like Garba; God, you know that if there's anyone I want to spend the rest of my life with, it's Garbamos.. Gbadamosi. Sorry, it's the G," She said, brushing her weave back with a shaky hand, her heart racing as she thought of her fiancé.

"Everything is just messing with my head. Lord, are these suspicions true? Is Garba someone I should be worried about? Speak to me, Lord. Please." She closed her eyes, hoping for clarity amidst the chaos of her emotions.

Sewuese stormed into the room,, her eyes scanning the space before landing on Kilahi, who was still in her. "This barbarian does not owe you any explanation," She declared angrily, "But I forgot the bedsheets." She added approaching the wardrobe.

Kilahi crossed her arms tightly, a frown etched on her face. "Sewuese, I’m really sorry," She said, her voice softer than before, a hint of vulnerability breaking through her frustration.

Sewuese raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eye. "Oh? Are you apologizing to a barbarian now?"

Kilahi rolled her eyes, exasperated. "No, I’m apologizing to a barber. Who else is in this room?" She threw her hands up dramatically, trying to lighten the mood despite the tension hanging in the air.

Sewuese leaned against the wardrobe, a mock-serious expression on her face. "So you’re admitting you called me a barbarian, then?"

Kilahi chuckled despite herself, shaking her head. "Fine, you win. But whatever helps you sleep at night, right? Just forgive me already." She answered rolling her eyes.

With a sigh, Sewuese sat down beside her, the bed creaking under their weight. "Kilahi," She called out and Kilahi cuts in, "Sewuese, I get your point but you were really harsh with him. I’m just saying, and you’re not even acknowledging it. That's what I find annoying. It's like walking up to a mad man and then you say, 'Hey, you're mad', it's the reality of the situation no doubt but was it necessary to state the obvious no! You could have walked past that mad person without making that comment."

Sewuese exhaled, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "I get it.  I’m sorry too, but I was just looking out for you. You know that right?" Her gaze softened, but her tone remained firm. "All I want is the best for you. I don’t want that guy messing things up."

Kilahi’s brow furrowed, confusion flashing across her face. "Messing up what?"

Sewuese leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a  whisper. "Do you like him?"

Kilahi’s eyes widened in shock, and she snapped, "What? No way! Garba is just a friend!" She shook her head vehemently, her hands gesturing as if to physically push the idea away.

Sewuese tilted her head, studying her cousin with a knowing look. "Don’t answer so quickly. Take a moment to really think about it. I hate being the preacher but remember when Peter was asked, ‘Do you love me more than these?’ He rushed to answer without reflection. That’s what you’re doing now."

Kilahi sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, her mind drifting back to the story Sewuese had mentioned.  She recalled how Peter had answered Jesus without fully considering the weight of his words, the implications of what it meant to love and follow someone so completely.

In that instant, Kilahi felt a pang of recognition. Just like Peter, she had rushed to dismiss the idea of her feelings for Garba, afraid to confront the truth that lay beneath her defenses. The thought of admitting her feelings felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath her feet. She had reacted out of fear, pushing away the notion of anything deeper than friendship.

But as she reflected on Sewuese’s words, she realized that avoiding the truth wouldn’t protect her. If anything, it could plunge her into a situation-ship.

Kilahi turned to Sewuese, who was watching her with an encouraging smile, as if sensing the internal struggle brewing within her. “You know, I never really thought about it that way,” She admitted, she  felt her cheeks heat up, and she shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Sewuese’s piercing gaze. "I’m in love with Gbadamosi," She finally confessed.

"I know that cause I feel the conviction deep in my spirit. Gbadamosi makes me complete, he completes me and there's just something about his presence that makes me feel in the right place."

"And Garba?" Sewuese asked curiously, "How do you feel around him?" She asked and Kilahi shrugged then she gave it a thought. "Garba is.... Garba is fun to be around."

"How do you feel about him as person?"

"A crab, you know how hard the back of a crab is but you take that out and you realize how soft and sweet the flesh inside is but even the back is edible. Inspite of his hard self, I just feel there's a good person in there. The whole package is fun in a way but I see him as a friend."

"I honestly think you like Garba too. You’re my sister, and I can see the way your eyes light up when you talk about him."

Kilahi crossed her arms defensively, her fingers tapping nervously against her skin. "It’s just that our conversations are always interesting. That’s all it is," She insisted, her tone a mix of defiance and uncertainty.

Sewuese shook her head gently, her expression turning serious. "I’m not denying that. But let’s be real: you need to sort out your feelings before they spiral out of control." She reached out, placing a comforting hand on Kilahi’s shoulder, her touch grounding amidst the emotional rollercoaster.

Kilahi sighed, the weight of her words settling in. "I know, I know," She murmured, her eyes drifting to the floor.

Sewuese nodded, her voice softening. "Just promise me you’ll think it through, okay? I want you to be happy, but I also want you to be cautious."

"Okay, I promise," She replied, her voice steadying, "If it makes you happy, you can call Garba and I'll apologize for a barbarian." "Gosh! Will you ever let go of that?" "I'm your barbaric chief bridesmaid."  Sewuese laughed lightly and Kilahi embraced her then she busted into tears.

"My wedding is in 9 days."

"Awn." Sewuese clicked her tongue then she patted Kilahi on the back. "Don't worry, we'll work through this together."

What do you guys think of this chapter ?

Where do you guys think Kilahi likes Garba? What's your opinion on this?

How many of us suffered heartbreak in Ugo's scene? I did! 💔

Aunty Abebi is suffering from Menopause. 😂🤣

Not Ire low key catching feelings, abi is it rhema? 🤣

One word for Salome guys? This was one scene that annoyed me even while I was typing it. To think some people are this opportunistic, lacking all form of empathy. It's well.

For those of you who love waiting till the end before voting.

Please vote! ⭐

Thank you. ❤️