Chapter 1: The Case That Stole Our Sleep

There’s a case I’ll never forget—the kind that steals your sleep and leaves you doubting your own people.

Even now, when I think back, my chest still feels tight, as if the harm was done not just to the girl, but to all of us who had to witness how our own village failed her. Sometimes, you see things that make you wonder if we’re still our brother’s keeper, or if we’ve just left that for storybooks.

The incident happened in a remote, poor village.

That village was the kind of place where mud houses lined untarred roads, and you could trek from one end to the other before the sun climbed too high. Everybody knew everybody’s wahala, but poverty made people mind their own more than you’d expect. In the afternoon, the air smelled of frying akara and goat droppings, and flies danced everywhere. Even the palm wine tapper would shake his head and say, “E no easy for this life.”

It was during the long holiday. A 12-year-old girl, one of those children left behind by parents hustling in the city, gave birth alone at home and died from obstructed labour and too much bleeding.

That long holiday was always hard on left-behind children—no school, few adults around. Her name would become a warning for other small girls, but none of us knew how deep the pain ran. Neighbours would later mutter, “Na so city people dey forget their children here.”

Afterwards, the local health centre that received her quickly reported the matter—because, no matter who the father was, the thing don pass ordinary matter—na police case be this.

For this country, such things can’t hide under the mat. The nurses were afraid o—afraid that if they kept quiet, the wahala go reach them too. The chief nurse even prayed aloud as she signed the report, clutching her small Bible with trembling hands.

But as we dug deeper, the truth we uncovered was more shocking than anything we imagined.

Honestly, as a police officer, I had seen all sorts of things. But this case? It was as if every layer we peeled back brought out a fresh wound, as if evil just build house for our backyard.