Aunty Jane owned a very large hair salon, from which she contributed greatly to the family's expenses. Her husband, Uncle Joe, was a university lecturer and was often at home. In fact, he was the one working on my admission through his connections.
Whenever I finished the domestic chores, I would spend time at Aunty Jane's salon. Being a quick learner, I soon picked up the skill of plaiting hair. Within a short time, I became good enough to assist her, and because many people patronized her salon, she made a lot of money daily.
One fateful day, Aunty Jane asked me to go home ahead of her and prepare lunch before her husband and children returned. I rushed home and did exactly as she instructed. I finished early and decided to tidy up the house. While sweeping Aunty Jane's bedroom, I heard approaching footsteps.
I turned, only to see Uncle Joe walking in. I assumed he was done with lectures for the day. I greeted him politely and asked if I should set the table for his lunch, but he shook his head. As I made to leave, he called me back and asked me to dress his bed properly. Innocently, I began tucking in the duvet when, all of a sudden, I felt two strong hands clutching my waist from behind.
I froze in shock. Turning quickly, I saw Uncle Joe smiling sheepishly. He told me not to panic and asked me to relax. Then he ordered me to lie on his matrimonial bed and undress. My heart pounded in fear as I bluntly refused, reminding him that he was not only a married man but also my uncle, with a daughter about my age. He ignored my pleas.
Growing impatient, he slapped me hard across the face and shoved me roughly onto the bed. I struggled desperately, but his grip was firm. He tore my dress and forced himself on me. That was how my very own uncle stole my innocence.
Afterwards, he threw a drug card at me and ordered me to take the pills twice daily, saying they would prevent pregnancy. I lay there in tears, unable to listen to his instructions. When I refused to answer, he grabbed me by the throat and threatened that if I ever told anyone what had happened, my admission into the university would no longer be secured, and my dream of becoming a lawyer would be destroyed.
Broken and terrified, I took the drug card, hurried to my room, and wept bitterly into my pillow until sleep finally overtook me.
By the time I woke up, Ruth and Danny—my cousins—were back from school. I quickly freshened up and joined them for a meal. Ruth, ever lively and cheerful, kept me company. She was in her final year of secondary school and was the head girl. That evening, after dinner, she and I chatted for a long time. I told her stories about rural life, while she spoke about her dreams of becoming a medical doctor. She was full of hope and determination, though I silently knew my own dreams were slipping further away.
The following morning, I woke up as early as 5 a.m. to complete my domestic chores. After taking the medication Uncle Joe had forced on me, I went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Aunty Jane had pasted a food timetable on the kitchen wall, and she expected me to follow it strictly. Later that day, I developed a slight headache, and Ruth, noticing my discomfort, kindly offered me a pain reliever. What she didn't know was that I had already taken the drugs given to me by her father.
Towards evening, Aunty Jane returned from the salon, and together with Ruth, I helped her prepare dinner. After the meal, Ruth studied for her forthcoming WAEC and NECO exams, while I assisted her where I could.
A few days later, Aunty Jane handed me money to buy foodstuffs from the city market. Since I had never been there before, she gave me careful directions and stressed the importance of returning on time. After everyone left the house that morning—Uncle Joe to work, Aunty Jane to her salon, and the children to school—I stayed back for a while, watching Nollywood movies on my phone. Soon, I showered, dressed up, and set out for the market.
I decided not to take a tricycle but to walk instead, hoping to save some money. At the market, I roamed from stall to stall, haggling over prices as my mother had taught me. By the time I finished, I realized it was late. To make matters worse, I misplaced the paper on which I had scribbled Aunty Jane's home address.
Confused and frustrated, I tried asking for directions, but no one seemed to know where Aunty Jane and Uncle Joe lived. Panic set in as I checked my wristwatch—it was already past 5:30 p.m., and I was completely lost.
As I wandered helplessly along the roadside, a car pulled up beside me. A young man in his mid-twenties stepped out and asked, "Hi pretty, where are you headed?"
Embarrassed and unsure, I stammered, "I… I think I've missed my way. I'm trying to see if I can get home before it gets dark."
He studied me carefully and asked if I could describe where I stayed. Desperate, I explained that I lived with my aunt and uncle, though I could not recall the exact address. To my surprise, the young man said he knew Uncle Joe—he had been his lecturer back in the university.
Relieved, I agreed to follow him. He offered to drop me off, saying he was a close friend of Uncle Joe's. On the way, he did most of the talking, though I was too nervous to listen. He told me his name was Frank, and that he lived in Surulere but had come to Ikeja to visit his parents.
When we arrived at the neighborhood, I thanked him sincerely and got down from the car. He smiled and asked for my number.
"I can't," I replied softly. "We just met."
"Alright then, here," he said, handing me a complimentary card. "That's my number. You can call me anytime. I'll be expecting your call."
I took the card and murmured, "Thank you."
"No problem. Take care," he said before getting back into his car and speeding off.
As I watched the car disappear, I slipped the card into my pocket. My mind drifted, but I quickly came back to reality as I stepped into my uncle's house.
The moment I entered, I was met with stern faces. My aunt and uncle demanded to know why I had returned so late. I tried explaining that I had missed my way in the market, but Uncle Joe dismissed my words. With a mocking tone, he accused me of going to meet a boyfriend and deliberately coming home late.
My heart raced as I denied the accusation, but nothing I said could convince him. Aunty Jane, though less harsh, warned me to be more careful. I felt humiliated, angry, and helpless.
That was how I met Frank—and how suspicion was planted in my uncle's mind.