“Who is coming, Titi”, Morenike asked, voice shaking.

I had heard about young girls and women being abducted along lonely paths in broad daylight, but not today, not in the market.

People ran in different directions, and in the commotion, I lost sight of Morenike. A big blow landed on my back, causing my whole body to collapse into the dusty ground.

“Moreeeee. Morenikeeeee,” I shouted, unease washing over me, tears forming in my eyes. I couldn’t tell what caused it- my sprained ankle or the fact that I may never see Morenike again.

With every effort I made to stand, I fell back down with twice the flair.

“Titiiiii. Titi please help me. Don’t allow them to take me away. Please help me.” a familiar voice screamed.

Today, when I needed my strong bones that had helped me run and score goals during inter-house sports in secondary school, they failed me.

“Morenikeeeeeee”, I screamed with all the strength I had left in me. The tears came down pouring as the armed man carried her into the black van. 

The sudden, loud notification tone from my phone  yanked me back to the present. “This is not a day to remember sad things, Titi.” I said out loud, picking up my blue pen from the brown journal I had bought at the supermarket close to my flat. I had been through a lot in the past 31 years of my life and my therapist had recommended journaling. I hadn’t gotten a hang of it but I was willing to try.

I was on the 17th page now, scribbling away about how I felt. I wrote about how bad my urine smelt (it bothered me a lot but drinking water was a chore), Morenike’s abduction, and feeling bad for never returning to Aunty Remi’s house. How would I have faced her? What would I have said?

My phone beeped again. I had almost forgotten I had someone coming over.

“I’m outside. Buzz me in”, read the text.

I went over to the buzzer by the door and pressed it twice. I adjusted my little fro in the mirror, brought out more cleavage from the tight tank top I was wearing, and applied more lipgloss. My therapist had warned me about hooking up but honestly, that was what had kept me sane, even more than our weekly sessions. I met up with my “special friend” twice a week and he helped me get my head clear in time for my therapist session. 

We hadn’t met up in three weeks and that was because he had been on a business trip. Now that was a lie but I let it slide. He had other women. He had his wife. I was lucky to even fit into his busy schedule, so I tried not to complain too much.

Knock. Knock.

I opened the door as my eyes rested on the tall muscular figure in front of me. He had gotten a haircut and he looked sumptuous. I was ready to eat.

“Oh hello, Uncle Segun.” I teased.

“It’s Segun now. Uncles don’t make you feel the way I make you feel.” He replied.