“No… No... I need more time, we can’t close yet,” Jaja whispered to herself, repeatedly tapping her feet and glancing at the huge clock that hung right above the podium.

It was 6:30 pm and the Women in Christ fellowship was about to end; Leader Nkechi had stood up to say the closing prayer and Jaja’s heart began pounding immensely on the realization that—this was it. No one was going to save those girls if she didn’t stall; she interrupted, screaming “I have a testimony!”

She had been planning this for over a week. For it to be executed perfectly, she had to remain in that hall till it was exactly 7:00 pm; this was when Timi was supposed to send video evidence of the young girl being abused in their school toilet and when Reverend Simon and the police were supposed to get there.

Jaja was ten years old the first time she felt Mrs. Nkechi Dim’s hand crawl up her thighs while she slept. She had jerked up screaming and Mrs. Nkechi squeezed her mouth shut, threatening to beat her, send her back to the village, and shut down the shop she had set up for Jaja’s mother.

Her mother sent her to Lagos to live with Mrs. Nkechi Dim—An old friend, a well-respected church fellowship Leader, and a teacher in the Church’s secondary school; it would be ineffable and absurd for her to do anything wrong. For this, and the fact that the joy she heard in her mother’s voice every time she called was undeniable, she never spoke up. Today, six years later, she was going to do something. Not just for her, but for every poor girl Mrs. Nkechi had ever touched in that school; this was the day to make her pay.