By Oghenerukevwe Divine Ogede
The wellbeing of a tree determines the wellbeing of the bird that dwells in it. Citizens of developed nations—like America, China, Japan, and other Asian countries—enjoy a buoyant economy. They are blessed with visionary leaders and effective management systems that steer their nations toward progress. But this is far from the reality in my country; here, life is a brutal contest, a ceaseless struggle for survival. It was this crushing burden that drove me to the University of Warizo to study economics, hoping that one day I could meaningfully contribute to national development. Yet, despite this burning ambition, I often turned a deaf ear to my father’s persistent morning prayer: “Lord, lead us not into temptation. ”It wasn’t until after the harrowing experiences I endured that I began to understand. His words, once dismissed as mere ritual, suddenly became profound; his prayers, strangely, therapeutic.
It all began like a sudden rainstorm, right after my youth service. Looking back now, I feel as though my heart was split in two, my emotions rising and falling, twisting and turning like leaves caught in a violent wind. I often revisit those memories now, in my late forties, through tears, but I take solace in the thought that my generation will learn from them. It all started after my mother’s funeral. She had died from years of hard labor on the farm, her body worn out after giving birth to only two children—a boy and a girl. My brother, the eldest, had left to stay with my mother’s cousin in Lagos after his graduation. I, on the other hand, was left to face the silence and weight of grief. Among those who came to console me was Karina, my childhood friend. She was three years older than me and had always seemed ahead, even back in our Basic school days. I was in Primary 3A when she was already in 4B. Karina stayed by my side while I was almost drowning in tears.
“I decided to stick around until the rites are over,” she said softly, “so we can talk about things that will make your life hitch-free. You’ll live like the city babes.” She spoke with a warmth that pierced through my grief, her smile beaming like sunlight through storm clouds. I managed to smile back, though my mind lingered on her words—live like the city babes. What did she mean? The phrase left a strange mix of curiosity and unease fluttering in my stomach. I found myself studying her—her charm, her silence, her smile—as if I were a biologist examining a rare and delicate species.Karina was indeed rare, plump, fair-skinned, and effortlessly graceful. Some ladies are born beautiful; some, as they say, are carefully crafted. Karina belonged to the latter, beauty too deliberate to be mere accident. Yet, I reminded myself, when we judge solely by outward appearance, we often fail to see the gates that guard the heart.I initially believed Karina embodied the milk of human kindness, despite her enigmatic presence, yet I was oblivious to the fact that she was a deadly reptile poised to strike. “That would be wonderful if you could truly secure a job for me somewhere…” I murmured naively.
Karina leaned in, her tone both encouraging and insistent. “Sitting idle in one place won’t let you fully appreciate the dance of the masquerade, my sister. You have a noble dream, but you cannot remain here if you wish to see it realized. Your unborn generations will judge you harshly if your dreams are recounted to them unfulfilled. It was a dear friend who helped me reach my current standing.” Intrigued, I interjected eagerly, “If I may ask, where are you now? Forgive my curiosity.” She smiled mysteriously. “A place far from home. When one’s birthplace fails to provide what one needs, what choice remains but to seek greener pastures elsewhere? Listen, when you amass wealth, people will have no option but to associate with you. Then you can contest—and even win—any government position. ‘Siddon look’ is a dog’s name, my sister. Don’t just sit and watch. Where there’s a will, there’s a way—and where there’s money, the path becomes clear. You need funds to shatter the rocks blocking your path.”“Wow,” I replied, “the first time I saw you, I counted you among the fortunate ones—your hairstyle, attire, and flawless skin painted a picture of those who partake in the national cake at Aso Rock.” She laughed, flattered, and paraded with pride, igniting my yearning for a lavish life.
“You’re not far from the truth,” she admitted. “When this country cannot sustain its citizens, we scatter abroad like sheep without a shepherd. Nigerians are dispersed worldwide due to poor governance, insecurity, and unemployment. Some even prefer burial abroad, hoping their spirits reincarnate there, while others dream of spending their lives overseas. What a disgrace!” “Damn!” I shuddered, the thought sparking a tumult across my face. “I had to fend for myself.” Karina reassured me, “That shouldn’t diminish your self-worth. Not everyone grasps this simple truth, and you’re fortunate to have someone like me. Your beauty lies in the aura of your name—it will put food on your table. What many girls pay for, I offer you freely. Don’t let your mother’s death hinder your dreams; I’m here to fill that void. Don’t be deceived—the government won’t solve this nation’s problems overnight, if ever.
I laugh when I see young people exhausting themselves on fleeting, unconsolidated government projects. Those funds should bolster our industries, supporting citizens across all social strata. Must only the educated contribute to a nation’s well-being? Look at society today—the uneducated are its pillars; without them, this country would have crumbled long ago. Where I live, leaders ensure citizens’ care with good roads, markets, social amenities, power, infrastructure, quality education, excellent medical care, and security, allowing Italians to thrive in their homeland. We suffer amidst abundance. What a shame!” Her entreaty was brilliantly persuasive. In its wake, I found myself despising myself, the government, and even the very soil that nurtured my upbringing. I became spellbound, my judgment clouded by her charm, her words capturing my soul. I yearned to hear more. “I’ve heard rumors that the country is a haven for prostitutes, and that girls go there to sleep with animals for money. Is it true?” I ventured hesitantly.
She laughed softly before responding, “Ignorance plagues so many of us back home, especially those who haven’t traveled. I’ve heard those tales repeatedly. Prostitution isn’t the only lucrative venture, nor is it the sole reason people go. Our journey seeks greener pastures, nothing more. There are respectable jobs there that you’ll enjoy. ”I see,” I nodded in agreement, though my mind grasped at nothing concrete. I deeply cherished her affection and concern for me as she departed our home that evening. I promised a response after consulting my father, though I was adrift in a state of flux, already envisioning myself in Italy as an escape from the anxieties of my immediate world. This obsession grew, driving me to consider how I might broach the matter with my father without wounding him. He had often said I filled the void left by my mother’s death in his life. But would he permit me to leave with my friend? Me, the apple of his eye? Would he listen when I spoke? Could there be light at the end of this tunnel? These questions stormed through my mind. Karina had indeed led me onto a tightrope, I reflected.
My father, in his late fifties, had grown so emaciated that the stress of work, excessive drinking, and years of poor meals had revealed every angle of his lanky frame. Since my mother’s death, he had taken to alcohol with a small circle of friends, as though drowning his pain in bottles could soothe the gaping wound her absence had left behind. I often prayed for his retirement from the civil service, hoping it would free him from those toxic friendships and grant him a chance to regain his strength, both in body and spirit. That evening, I found him lying frail and fragile in his bedroom, like a withering flower barely clinging to life under the weight of darkness. The power supply in Warizo was as unreliable as the country’s promises—perpetually epileptic. No business could thrive without heavy investment in diesel and fuel. Even families like ours were forced to generate their own power through noisy, choking generators that left the air heavy with fumes. As I stood by his doorway, my mind wandered to the business I had lost while trying to find my footing in the harsh world. The bitter memories of that failure burned like fire in my chest. I thought of how I would approach Father—how I would convince him to let me try another path, somewhere far away, somewhere I could find the milk and honey I longed for, not just for myself but for our family’s survival.
I planned to remind him of his investment in that doomed business, choked to death by the suffocating grip of the nation’s failing economy. I would tell him that staying here meant watching my dreams die a slow, silent death. I needed to leave this country—for my sake, for his, for the shadow of our future that still clung to hope. I had rehearsed my words a thousand times when, just as I was about to retreat to my room, the sharp wail of the doorbell shattered my thoughts. The bell rang again—persistent, insistent. Startled, I rushed to the door. As I opened it, my breath caught in my throat. Jeff. There he stood at the threshold, his tall frame blocking the dim moonlight. Jeff—my fiancé. Or rather, the man who used to be my fiancé. We had parted ways three months ago. Jeff was a liar. A cheat. A man whose promises were like smoke—visible for a moment, then gone with the wind. I had caught him several times with other girls, but he always denied everything, twisting lies into fragile excuses. My final straw came when I returned from my Youth Service and caught him red-handed—with a close friend of mine, no less. He couldn’t argue. He couldn’t even look me in the eye. That day, I walked out of the relationship without looking back. Or so I thought. “Please, take a seat,” I offered, my tone neutral. “Uh-oh, my morning star has lost weight,” Jeff said as he stepped closer, perhaps aiming for a hug. But I instinctively stepped back, waving the idea away.
We stood a short distance apart, his eyes locked on mine with that familiar I’m-sorry look. But I wasn’t budging this time. I had made up my mind—nothing and no one would stand in the way of my journey to greener pastures. “I am here to fatten you up,” he added, smiling faintly. I leaned back into the seat behind me, deliberately ignoring the open arms he held out, as though expecting me to collapse into them for comfort. Little did he know, I had long learned to console myself. Undeterred, he moved quickly and took the seat beside me. “I’m sorry about your mother’s death. I was in Ghana all this while. Someone told me when I returned yesterday. How have you been—generally?” “You can see I’m fine,” I replied, my voice laced with subtle bitterness. “You left all this while. “He ignored my remark and let his gaze wander around the room, perhaps buying time to soften the atmosphere. “Your father… how is he?” “Fine. He’s sleeping inside,” I answered curtly. His voice dropped to a whisper, and he flashed that soft, boyish smile that had once disarmed me so easily.
Something about that smile still carried a strange pull, a magnetic aura I wasn’t ready to admit aloud. A thousand and one questions jolted inside my mind—questions I wasn’t sure I wanted answers to. “I am sorry for what happened the other day,” he began, leaning closer. “I am a changed person now. I still love you, Danica. I want to take you to meet my parents… so we can tie the nuptial knot.” “Phew!” I scoffed, looking away. “I don’t like your extravagant lifestyle. It creates in me a fear of the unknown. I need a God-fearing man—someone who will make life peaceful for me and my children.” My eyes drifted away from his, out through the window, where anger and confusion clouded my thoughts. Jeff inched closer, his voice soft yet firm. “I’m a prodigal son asking for mercy,” he said. “I know I’ve wronged you in so many ways, but I’ve realized my mistakes. I’ve learned that a man who cannot submit to God—and to one woman—will soon dig his own grave. Infidelity kills love.
The beauty and peace of sticking to one woman cannot be overemphasized. This will not be friendship again, Danica. It will be marriage. Please. “His tone was almost convincing—almost. I had no desire to clutter my mind once more with Jeff’s memories and honeyed words. He was undeniably skilled at sweeping women off their feet with his eloquence, only to leave them with regret after exploiting their trust. “I know you,” I said, my tone firm. “You’re a master at hunting with your tongue, especially when stalking your prey. I’ve realized that whatever clay I’m made of, you’re crafted from the same. Those days of sweet-talking me to your tune are over. I have too much weighing on me now—I need to sleep. Please leave.” My words carried a whimsical edge, masking my resolve. “Wait,” he pleaded. “Give me a second chance. Forget my past and all I’ve done; let’s start afresh.” His apology fell on deaf ears, for I had vowed never again to surrender my love to him.
Yet, I masked my determination with a smile as I escorted him to the road. He bid me a lackadaisical farewell, climbing into a taxi homeward. Jeff was both chivalrous and a Casanova, a figure I needed to purge from my mind like refuse from a lavatory. That night marked our last encounter. Despite his emotional display, I could no longer entrust him with my future. I took pride in my newfound ability to shape my own destiny, and the prospect of traveling infused me with hope. I drifted to sleep, my thoughts tangled with my rejection of Jeff’s proposal, the pervasive hopelessness gripping my country, my father’s frail health, the lingering pain of my mother’s death, and the fresh promise I saw in Karina. The following day, Karina arrived at our home accompanied by two other girls. She introduced one as Faith from Benin and the other as Mercy from Bayelsa State. “I’m Danica,” I interjected, as Karina turned to present me to them.“ Wow! Trust me, that’s a beautiful name. What does it mean?” Faith asked, her curiosity piqued. “Morning Star,” I replied, a wide grin spreading across my face. The girls appeared to be around twenty-five, a detail I gleaned during our introductions. We were age mates, brought together by an unexpected twist of fate. “Have you spoken to your father about it?” Karina inquired.
“We’ll discuss it later,” I answered evasively. “Very well,” she said. “We’re heading straight to see my pastor, who will pray to commend our journey to God. In truth, I never undertake anything without my pastor’s guidance. ”Sure thing, Big Mama!” Faith interjected optimistically, her voice carrying an almost childlike excitement. The pastor suddenly broke into tongues, his voice reverberating through the room as we sat in silence. “She is God’s own chosen—yes, that one, that very charming one… Danica,” he declared, pointing directly at me. While the others smiled in agreement, I sat frozen, aghast at his words. Hearing my name was the last thing I expected. We had never met, yet he called me out as though he had known me all my life. Before I could recover from my shock, he spoke again, his tone shifting like the wind. “I can see wealth hovering around your head. Don’t let anyone stop you from the journey ahead. Obey your madam, and see if the light will not shine on your ways perpetually. “His words, strange yet commanding, sent waves of anxiety through me. Before I could fully process them, he beckoned me into his inner chamber, saying he needed to perform a cleansing.
What happened next shook me to the core. The pastor’s eyes burned with an intensity I couldn’t understand. His breathing grew heavy, his voice low and unholy as he muttered, “This will be the first cleansing. You… you are more charming than the rest of your friends. I really… love you. ”Before I could react, he stripped off his cassock, revealing his gaunt, trembling frame. Then, like a predator pouncing, he forced himself on me. I lay there, numb, my body rigid, my mind screaming, yet no sound escaped my lips. I felt broken—an unwilling vessel in the hands of a man who claimed to speak for God. When it was over, he shaved my pubic hair with a small, rusty blade and burned it to ash alongside cowries and a piece of red cloth. His eyes gleamed with eerie satisfaction as he handed me the ashes. “Put this in your cream when you get home,” he instructed coldly. “Rub it on your body as you prepare for the journey. Do it exactly as I’ve said. “I did not rebel. I obeyed him like a woman under a spell—like an obedient housewife who had lost her will to resist. We all had different experiences with him, though none of us spoke of it. Pastor Sam warned us sternly: “Do not reveal what has happened here to one another, or death will visit you. “And so, before we left, not a single word was exchanged about our cleansing—but I could see in their eyes that Faith and Mercy, like me, carried their own silent horrors.************************************************************************I was drowning in a sea of depression throughout our journey to Lagos. I had left home without telling a soul—not even my father or any close relation. No one suspected I was leaving for good because I disguised myself in casual clothing, blending into the ordinary. But beneath the plainness of my attire, I wore hope like a priceless jewel—its glow reassuring me that once I left their sight, my dreams would never fade. Karina led us to a modest hotel, where we stayed as night began to fall. “I have spent on you girls,” Karina suddenly declared, her voice sharp with authority. “You have to work hard to pay me back when you get there…”Her words struck me like a thunderbolt. A payback? I froze. It was the most shocking revelation of my life—delivered at the point of no return. But I didn’t dwell on it for long. Perhaps I was too determined to succeed, too consumed by my vision of a better life to let anything shake me. Besides, Karina had never mentioned any debt before; she had painted her offer as an act of friendship, of help—and that had been my motivation. Maybe, I reassured myself, she was referring to the other girls and not me. Our journey began in the late hours of the night, slipping into the embrace of the Atlantic Ocean. I was told it was safer and easier to travel across the sea under the cover of a fair, quiet night.
The air was heavy with the salt of the ocean, a thick fog veiling the horizon. The night seemed alive—different sea creatures echoed their calls, whispers of the deep surrounding us. A cool breeze caressed the Mediterranean like the touch of a gentle but unknown hand. Then, a sudden cry split the night. “Help! Please, someone help! “I gasped in fear and turned sharply. “Mercy has been vomiting—she almost passed out! Where have you been?” Faith’s voice trembled as she called out to me, her breath ragged and panicked. I hurried to them, my heart thundering. Mercy was wrapped in a chair like a wilted flower. Her mouth wobbled uncontrollably, like a child on the edge of convulsion. Karina sat beside her, shockingly unfazed, sipping from a bottle of wine as if nothing was amiss. “I’m afraid, Faith,” I whispered, my voice shaking as we stepped back to give Mercy some air. “What if she dies? What will she tell her Maker? ”Faith’s eyes darted toward me, fear swimming in their depths, but neither of us could answer the question. “What else? Won’t life go on? Forget it, my friend—Madam will toss her into the sea; she’s done it to many before. Haven’t you heard of those who traveled and vanished without a trace? Countless parents believe their children are somewhere out there, unaware they perished long ago in the Atlantic Ocean or the desert.
I fear nothing, my sister. I’ve done it all—committed multiple abortions, even served time for theft. I’m a graduate, though many assume I’m illiterate. I earned a degree in Agricultural Science from the University of Calabar, yet I turned to prostitution to survive. The government has failed us miserably, cloaking its neglect in the guise of help—building schools yet offering no jobs after graduation. This has ignited a cascade of vices plaguing society today, which the government is powerless to curb. They’ve impoverished the people, leaving them to limp across the country like wounded birds. A bird perching on a rope can’t expect peace, and if a man’s legs don’t trouble him, his wrapper will,” Faith declared passionately. Her tale served as a stark awakening, revealing the dire predicament I faced. I fell into a stunned silence, my mind reeling from the confrontation. By the mercy of God, we reached the region of Lombardy in Italy.
My joy was beyond measure as I glimpsed the hope I had clung to. I recalled the Promised Land God granted the Israelites and the trials they endured before claiming it—those who faltered were the faithless, unable to envision their triumph. Mercy, alas, succumbed to a whirlwind that ravaged the Atlantic Ocean. She, along with her hopes and dreams, was entombed in the sea’s depths. Mercy was a gem—a charming princess, tall and slender, with romantic eyes and an alluring mole near her nostril, a sight no man could resist. By then, even if I wished to turn back, it was far too late; we were at the mercy of the high seas and relentless winds. Though sympathy stirred for the deceased, I steeled myself to endure. My misty eyes shimmered with hope and the promise of a brighter future in Italy. Like the Israelites, we stepped into our own Promised Land, flowing with milk and honey. Faith and I lodged with three other girls in a cramped house resembling a bedsit in Milan, the vibrant capital of Lombardy. Milan, a global nexus of fashion, art, culture, and finance, boasts an array of high-end shops and restaurants. Yet, my first shock in this dazzling city struck hard. Upon waking, I found Faith and the girls I had shared the night with vanished without a trace.
I rose and shuffled to the kitchen, seeking warm water, only to be met with the rancid stench of long-abandoned food plates festering in the sink. As I neared, flies—large as birds—buzzed away for safety through the window. My heart sank further when I discovered pans harboring Codeine, Marijuana, and other illicit drugs. Moving to the bathroom to relieve myself, I caught sight of a black nylon bag discreetly tucked behind the door in the wall mirror—it concealed a gun. A scream escaped me. Karina rushed in, alarmed by my distress, but when she glimpsed the source of my outburst, she shoved me aside. “Your peers are out there working to improve their lives, while you’re here wandering and prying into matters that don’t concern you,” she bellowed. “My dear, you’d better start thinking about repaying my money, or else…” My heart plummeted at her threat. I had naively believed she came to fulfill her promise of securing me a job, but I was gravely mistaken. As she turned to leave, I called out to her. “Wait! I don’t understand. That wasn’t our agreement. What kind of situation is this? You promised me a job, didn’t you? Do you take me for a child?” I confronted her sharply, my voice laced with anger and irritation. “Correction,” she snapped back. “I am Madam here, not Karina. Have I made myself clear? Karina is my Nigerian name; Madam is what I’m known as now.
Follow suit and address me as Madam, like the others.” “Karina—!” I gasped, my shock rendering me speechless beyond reason. Regaining my composure, I confronted her. “Come now, are you implying you won’t find a job for me?” I have no intention of seeking a job for you,” she retorted. “You must start somewhere, and something better will follow. You can’t just sit idle here. Besides, monthly wages won’t earn you enough to repay me. You’ll join your peers if you wish to stay. I pay this house’s rent annually, and I won’t hesitate to evict you on my next visit…” Her threat lingered as she stormed out. I flung myself onto the bed, tears streaming down my face. The screech of tires and a loud bang interrupted my thoughts as I struggled to process her words. Peering out the window, I saw Faith and the other girls stepping out of a Peugeot 508, waving goodbye to the driver before entering with gleeful strides. Their attire screamed of a harlot’s trade.
The reek of cigarettes and alcohol soon permeated the house. “What’s up, babes? When will you join us?” Maureen asked, her tone casual yet probing. “She’ll dance to the tune soon enough—her bag hasn’t been tossed out yet,” Titi chimed in. “Have you forgotten what Madam did to me when I first arrived? I slept outside for three days before I submitted to the rules of this game. My dear, it takes two to tangle, and here we’re each other’s keepers,” she added, smacking her lips. The others nodded in agreement. “Do you have a cigarette left in your purse?” Titi asked Faith, her voice breaking with a violent cough. Faith produced one and handed it over. After bathing, I ventured out in search of work. The job I secured, however, couldn’t generate the funds needed to repay Karina. Three months later, on a fateful evening, I returned home to find my luggage abandoned outside. All attempts to contact Karina proved futile. With no one in Milan to support me, I wept bitterly, left to face my fate alone. My mind, laden with songs and tears, soared on a nostalgic breeze from Milan back to Warizo.
The die was cast; there was no use crying over spilled milk, I reflected. I returned to Faith and the other girls, enduring their taunts. I stumbled into the fray, earning a substantial sum on my first venture. With that, I repaid Karina, freeing myself from her grip. Yet, Faith and the others grew envious of my success. My fame in Italy soared, rivaling that of Helen of Troy. On February 14, I teetered on the edge of death. Pedicoup, one of my lovers, urged me to engage in sexual intercourse with him and his two dogs, emphasizing their special significance to him. He revealed that each Valentine’s Day, the dogs joined in the revelry with any woman he bedded. Initially, I resisted vehemently, but his offer of $20,000 swept me away, and I cast caution aside. “ That was merely the tip of the iceberg…” Pedicoup murmured in my ear. After he had his fill, he handed me over to the dogs, and my memory fades from that point onward. I was later told I descended into madness. Yet, Titi and Maureen rescued me as I wandered the streets of Milan unclothed. With the meager savings I had amassed, they flew me back to Nigeria. I cursed Karina bitterly for the torment and suffering I endured, lamenting the day I followed her to Italy. Tears flowed as I recalled Jeff and my father, the latter claimed by death’s cold grasp due to my abrupt disappearance. The gentle hands of the healer, tending to my affliction, and my brother, who had been nurturing me at the spiritual healer’s home, offered me solace.
Background of the author
The author Oghenerukevwe Divine Ogede, lectures in Western Delta University, Oghara Delta State. He is a member of Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA) Delta State Chapter. Many of his works have been published works. Among them – a short story: “A Drop of Mercy“, Nesting On The Rocks: An Anthology Volume 1, New Series published in 2023 by the Association of Nigerian Authors(ANA) Plateau State chapter, Rough Hands of Fate by Boox and Bransador,2025. His novels are: Unwanted Shadow by Boox and Bransador Limited (2021); Festering Wounds by Kraft (2022); Orgy In the Garden by Boox and Bransador (2024). His poems are: “Too Many Radios Are On” (2024) and “Deltans Cried For Joy” (2011).
Phone number: 08062551183, Whats app number: 09153565375 Email address: ogededivine88@yahoo.com, Gmail: divineruky53@gmail.com