It was a beautiful Sunday morning; I had just returned from the office after a long night’s work.
Suddenly, I heard repeated knocks on my door.

The initial feeling was not to answer since I was not expecting anybody to visit me at that particular time; more so, my family members had gone to church. But the insistence and curiosity made me.

“Who is that? I asked.

“It is me,” the person at the other end answered.

Instantly, I knew the August visitor.

My mind raced; why would this man be visiting us at this time of the week? I knew the last time we met, my husband and I did all we needed to do, and there was no reason for him to visit us.

As I moved towards the door, many things were going on in my mind. I became agitated and jittery. I couldn’t figure out why I was feeling that way.

Some metres from the door, the knob of the door moved; the person at the other end was trying to force open the door.
It was then that I realised that I was naked. I ran back to the bedroom and covered myself with my wrapper.

“Open the door now, open it! Don’t you want me to enter?” the man at the other end said.

I really can’t remember how long it took me, but what I can remember is that I opened the key and my August visitor entered my sitting room.

“Good morning, Landlord,” I said smartingly.

Rather than answer me, the man just kept mute and transfixed. He started mumbling, with his gaze on my chest.
Suddenly, I realised that I was wearing a transparent wrapper, with my two breasts showing.

“Sorry, madam. I saw your husband drive out, and I decided to check on you,” the landlord said.

I knew he was lying. He kept looking at my breasts. I was confused, thinking of what to do; I was torn between running back to the bed room and dress properly, or tell him to get out. I couldn’t gather my thoughts.

I knew I had to make a decision fast because the man would not take his face off my breasts.
Suddenly, I turned towards my bedroom.

“Are you going to walk out on me?” he said with a tone of disdain.

I was enraged and turned back, faced him, but instead of talking, I lost my voice.

He moved towards me. I tried to keep my distance. Yet he kept coming towards me, ogling.

Sweat was coming out of his bald head; he started secreting a type of scent that I can’t really describe.

The last time I perceived that kind of scent was in my university days when we went for a party outside the campus. It was a day I hate to remember.

Suddenly, there was a flashback. The thought of what happened to me in the past made me summon enough courage to try to run back to the room.

As I made for the room, he pulled my wrapper from behind; I tried to hold it, for a reason I still find very difficult to remember; it fell.

*To be continued.

‘I refused the pastor’s advances — then my life became a nightmare’ (3) (more…)

Several months after leaving the church, Esther was arrested following allegations that she had participated in financial misconduct involving church funds.

She insists the accusations were fabricated.

“I knew immediately where it was coming from,” she said quietly.

Despite maintaining her innocence, she was detained and eventually remanded in prison pending investigations.

The transition from respected church worker to inmate was devastating.

“The first night was the hardest night of my life,” she recalled.

“I sat on the cold floor and cried. I kept asking God what I had done wrong.”

Nothing, however, prepared her for the harsh realities behind prison walls.

The overcrowded cell was filled far beyond its capacity. Dozens of women competed for limited sleeping space. Some slept on mats while others slept directly on the bare floor.

The air was thick and suffocating.

“You could smell sweat, sickness and despair,” Esther recalled.

Food was scarce and often inadequate. Illness spread easily. Every day was a struggle.

“There were women who had not seen their families in years. Some had babies with them. Others had simply given up on life.”

At first, Esther kept to herself.

She spent hours crying and praying.

But prison has a way of forcing strangers together.

Soon she began listening to the stories of fellow inmates—stories of betrayal, poverty, abuse and shattered dreams.

“I realised everybody was carrying a wound,” she said.

Yet prison was also dangerous.

Esther said tensions among inmates often erupted into violence.

“You learned quickly who to avoid. A careless word could start a fight.”

One evening, she found herself at the centre of a terrifying incident she believes was meant to silence her permanently.

By then, she had begun openly protesting her innocence and seeking legal assistance. According to her, some inmates started warning her to be careful.

“They told me some people didn’t want me talking.”

At first, she dismissed the warnings.

Then came the attack.

It happened shortly after lights-out.

“I was asleep when I felt hands grabbing me,” she recalled.

Before she could react, a group of inmates allegedly descended on her.

One held her down while another attempted to wrap a piece of cloth tightly around her neck.

“I thought I was going to die,” she said, her voice trembling.

“I couldn’t breathe. Everything became blurry.”

The commotion attracted the attention of other inmates who began shouting for help.

Prison officials rushed to the scene, forcing the attackers to flee.

Esther was left bruised and struggling to breathe.

For several days she received treatment for injuries sustained during the assault.

“I honestly believed that was the end,” she said.

The incident left her traumatised.

For weeks she slept with one eye open, terrified that another attack could come at any moment.

“There is a fear that enters your soul when you know someone wants you dead.”

The experience pushed her to the brink.

At one point, she contemplated ending her own life.

“I was exhausted. I had lost my reputation, my freedom and almost my family. I didn’t see any hope.”

What stopped her, she says, was the thought of her children.

“I kept seeing their faces.”

Slowly, she rebuilt her resolve.

She organised prayer meetings among inmates. She taught some women how to read and write. She became a source of encouragement for others.

Ironically, it was behind bars that her faith became stronger.

“We prayed together. We cried together. We survived together.”

Months turned into years.

Then came a dramatic twist.

A violent disturbance broke out within the prison, triggering panic across several sections of the facility.

Alarms blared.

Doors were damaged.

Inmates ran in different directions as officers struggled to restore order.

“There was confusion everywhere,” Esther recalled.

“People were screaming. Nobody knew what was happening.”

*To be continued.