STORY TIME “NA GBOLA DEY HELP MY LIFE “ PART 7 Around 8pm, we were in the sitting room. I was still wearing the short red gown Blessing picked for me, eyelashes scratching my eyelids, nails too long for comfort. My body don tire but my brain no wan calm down. Then her phone rang. She smiled immediately she saw the caller and picked up quick. “Hello zaddy, are you there now?” I paused and turned to look at her. Zaddy? I repeated the word in my mind. Wait first — what is zaddy? Is it like daddy? Or sugar daddy? Or boyfriend? Abi na her uncle? Before I could ask, she hung up and stood sharply. “Stand up, babe. Pick your bag. We dey go now.” “Go where?” I asked. She looked at me and smiled. “Don’t worry. You go enjoy am.” I stood up slowly, heart beating small. The gown cling to my body like wet cloth. I fixed my wig, adjusted my bra, and followed her downstairs. When we reached the gate, a fine black car — looked like those ones on wedding posters — was parked just outside. Headlights on. Clean body. Shining like wetin dem brush with toothpaste. Inside the car, two men sat at the front. The one on the driver’s side smiled wide the moment he saw Blessing and came out to open the door. They hugged like lovers, then k!zed lightly — not forehead o, mouth-to-mouth. My eyes widened. “This is Derin, my girl from Ibadan,” Blessing said. The other man — older, with small grey in his beard and golden wristwatch — looked at me, smiled, and took my hand gently, then k!zed the back. I froze. The hand k!z no sweet me o. It felt awkward, like something I watched in film. My palm felt strange afterward. I rubbed it on my bag. As we drove off, I kept wondering: Who are these men to Blessing? Where are they taking us? Is this part of the job she talked about? Nobody explained. Just music, small laughs, and city lights rushing past the windows. We got to one fine joint, crowded and loud but expensive-looking. Lights everywhere. People laughing. Waiters carrying trays like airline hostesses. We sat down outside, under one umbrella stand with soft light above. The two men ordered barbecue chicken, grilled fish, suya, shawarma, and different drinks I didn’t know their names. When the barbecue came, I took one bite and nearly moaned. “Jesu!” I whispered. “This thing sweet like sin.” I was still lick!ng my fingers when Blessing pushed a glass of red drink towards me. “No, I no dey drink ak0h0l,” I said quickly. “Just taste small,” she smiled. “Na mild wine. E go relax your body.” After small talk, I took a sip. First thing I noticed was the bitter taste, then something like heat moved down my throat. I frowned. “Wetin be this again?” “You go like am soon,” she laughed. I didn’t. But I drank two more sips because I didn’t want to look like mumu. All the while, I no talk too much. I just dey observe — the men, the place, how Blessing dey laugh too freely with her own man. I felt out of place. Like I came to a party I wasn't invited to. After a while, they asked for takeaway food, packed some shawarma, and cleared the bill with POS. No questions, no complaints. Money seemed to flow like river. They drove us to one mansion in a quiet area — big black gate, long fence, flowers by the walkway, shining tiled floor, wide windows, and chandelier inside that looked like a castle light. We entered. The living room was big — soft sofa, glass table, clean rug, TV the size of a blackboard. Smell of air freshener and something expensive filled the air. Blessing’s “zaddy” whispered something to her, and they both laughed and stood up. She winked at me before following him into one room. I was now alone with the other man. I felt shy, my hands suddenly cold. He came closer. Sat near me. Smiled. “You’re very beautiful, Derin,” he said. “Your eyes… they’re something else.” I smiled nervously and said thank you. He continued, “Where have you been hiding?” I looked down at my feet. “Ibadan.” He laughed. “You belong in Lagos. Lagos boys will worship you.” He moved closer. “Can I k!z you?” My eyes shot up. “No sir.” He reached out slowly and tried to touch my chest. I jumped up. “Please stop,” I said. My voice was shaking. He stood too, now looking at me like hungry lion. I backed away, praying silently: God, please let Blessing come out now now. Then I heard something. From the room Blessing entered, faint at first… then clearer: Moaning. I froze. At first, I thought maybe they were watching movie. But then I heard Blessing’s voice — soft, breathy, high-pitched. I wanted to believe it wasn’t what I thought, but as the sound rose and fell, I knew they were having s3x My body felt hot. My head blank. This girl that hugged me in church before leaving Ibadan, now she's in one man’s room, doing this. And here I was, with the second man, trying to defend my body like market price. I pinched myself. Maybe na dream. It wasn’t. I thought again: Are these men married? Where are their wives? Kids? Then the man in front of me reached for my arm again. I snatched it back and ran to the door. I didn’t care if it was rude. I stood near the door like someone waiting for fire escape. Just then, Blessing came out. Her hair was scattered, her face red. She was sweating, with her makeup almost wiped off. She acted like nothing happened. Behind her, the man came out wearing only boxers. My eyes nearly left my head. I was sure. They did it. And she didn’t even look sorry. “Babe,” she said calmly. “Go carry your bag. Time to go.” I didn’t ask any questions. My heart was already beating like generator. The same car dropped us off, just like it picked us. But I wasn’t smiling this time. It was 11pm. I’ve never been out this late before. On the ride back, I didn’t say one word. Not because I had nothing to say — but because I had too many questions I didn’t know how to ask. Is this the job? Is this what she meant by upgrade? Is this what it means to “belong” in Lagos? When we got home, I entered the bathroom immediately. Scrubbed my body like say I touch sin. Changed into my nightwear and laid on the bed. Blessing tried to gist small but I just nodded, pretending to be tired. Truth is, I couldn't sleep. I faced the wall and closed my eyes — not to rest, but to hide the tears that wanted to fall. And in my heart, I prayed silently: “God, if this is not the job she promised, please show me the real one. I no fit do this kind life.” To be continued… Written by QueenAmalove’s Own ✍️ 1st August, 2025

FIVE LEADERSHIP PRINCIPLES TO LEARN FROM AN EAGLE.... 1. Eagles fly Alone and at High Altitudes. They don't fly with sparrows, ravens, and other small birds. MEANING; Stay away from narrow-minded people, those that bring you down. Eagle flies with Eagles. Keep good company. 2. Eagles have an Accurate Vision. They have the ability to focus on something as far as 5km away. No matter the obstacles, the eagle will not move his focus from the prey until he grabs it. MEANING; Have a vision and remain focused no matter what the obstacles and you will succeed. 3. Eagles do not Eat Dead things. They Feed only on Fresh Prey. MEANING; Do not rely on your past success, keep looking for new frontiers to conquer. Leave your past where it belongs, in the past. 4. Eagles Love the Storm. When clouds gather, the eagle gets excited, the eagle uses the storms wind to lift itself higher. Once it finds the wind of the storm, the eagle uses the raging storm to lift itself above the clouds. This gives the eagle an opportunity to glide and rest its wings. In the meantime, all the other birds hide in the branches and leaves of the tree. MEANING; Face your challenges head on knowing that these will make you emerge stronger and better than you were. We can use the storms of life to rise to greater heights. Achievers are not afraid to rise to greater heights. Achievers are not afraid of challenges, rather they relish them and use them profitably. 5. Eagles Prepare for Training; They remove the feathers and soft grass in the nest so that the young ones get uncomfortable in preparation for flying and eventually flies/ when it becomes unbearable to stay in the nest./ MEANING; Leave your Comfort Zone, there is No Growth there.

A LOVE THAT CAN NOT BE SEPARATED In the quiet heart of a Benue village, where red earth meets green fields, Ene and Oguche stood wrapped in each other’s arms beneath the shade of an old iroko tree. They wore matching A’nger cloth — vibrant red and black stripes whispering stories of their people’s heritage. The villagers said no two hearts had ever beat more perfectly in sync. Ene was tall and light-skinned, her hair styled in the elegant Ngozi braids that crowned her gentle smile. Oguche was tall and dark, his dreadlocks falling around a face that lit up with a warm, unshakable joy whenever he looked at her. His muscular arms held her close, shielding her from a world that insisted they could not be together. Because Ene’s parents had other plans. Her father, a proud farmer, dreamed of a wealthy suitor who could expand their land. Her mother spoke of men from town with cars and cash, men who would lift Ene into a life of comfort. But Ene knew that wealth without love was emptiness. She wanted only Oguche, whose kindness filled her days with laughter and hope. Whispers of disapproval rose from the elders, and rumors spread through the village. Yet each evening, Ene and Oguche would meet at the iroko tree, their love blooming brighter than the setting sun. They spoke of a future where their children would dance in the fields, wearing the same red and black A’nger that bound their hearts. No threats nor scorn could pry them apart. The bond they shared was stronger than poverty, deeper than tradition. When Ene’s father tried to forbid her from seeing Oguche, she stood firm: “Father, you taught me to be brave. Now I will be brave for love.” To be continue in our next episode