Placeholder ImageEne,

I can see you sitting in that corner, your head tucked between your knees and your slim arms wrapped around you. You’re wishing you can disappear and no one would notice. You’re thinking of how to escape from this dark place.

You’re thinking of the last time you slit your wrists but that yeye nurse had to stanch the bleeding and keep you away from sharp objects. That was what your uncle had told her to do.

Tell your story, Ene. I think Yaya will be interested….



You already know my name. I’m 20 years old and I haven’t been outside of my house in five years. Or rather, the house that my uncle now owns. I have a very comfortable padded cell that is supposed to be a room of luxury. But when you’re living in a house that whatever goes on in it cannot be heard or seen because the walls are soundproof, and your uncle gets to do whatever he wants without being sanctioned, it becomes a cell. A jail without escape…

I know what you’re thinking. How did all this happen?


I have heard and seen strange things in this life since I am a reporter who investigates until he finds the truth. But nothing has prepared me for a truth of this magnitude. Are people really this desperate and evil? Even towards their own family members?

I know I am meant to be objective, fair and accurate. But this, this makes the blood in me boil cold. No wonder she…


Let me go back a few years in time. Before I was born.

My father was someone who loved business, hard work and family. He made his money in construction, real estate, home appliances and products. He gradually expanded until he had quite a massive empire with locations in 32 countries. My father was quite an entrepreneur. He and his older brother, my uncle Desmond, had been orphaned when they were teenagers along with Aunty Stella, who had been 8 years old at the time. Their father’s relatives had refused to take them in. The landlord had sent them out of the rented flat their parents had been paying for after my grandparents died. Uncle Desmond and my father had to get a way to feed themselves and my aunt. It was a terrible time for them.

One of my father’s relatives eventually decided to take in Aunt Stella who was the youngest and the most in need of care. It was a relief to my father and his brother. It meant less time to worry and more time to make money since they couldn’t go back to school.

They struggled, scrounged, sweated until they made money. Enough for my father to start a business while my uncle spent his, readily, on women, booze and drugs. My mother used to say Uncle Desmond believed in living for the moment and never planning for the future.

Well, she was wrong. I wish she could see how wrong she really was.

Uncle Desmond did plan, not just the way she expected.


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