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The woman was still shouting after her as she drove away.

Oh Lord! What an embarrassment! The woman tore her cloth and the top underwear! That was a big embarrassment! Nancy had never been so embarrassed before. That woman must be crazy. Really crazy!
She was on the defensive throughout the encounter. She chose to be. For a woman like that, it would be foolish to start an argument or a fight. She actually looked ready for any combat. How aggressive!

But how did the woman trace her to the shopping plaza? How did she come to know about her?

Truly, she was having an affair with Biyi Osho, the city guy with money to throw around. Nancy had been having a sizzling relationship with the man for over six months now, and there had been no problem.
Until now.

She never knew Biyi had an extremely jealous and cantankerous wife. And he never even hinted her.

Ops!

That plump woman was a terrible one. With a woman like that, Nancy reasoned, why would a man not seek desires outside?

Even as she watched Nancy hurriedly drive out of the parking space, Funmi was satisfied with herself. Surely she had given the lady the jolt of her life. It was good for her, Funmi decided. All these ladies that would not leave married men alone deserved whatever ill treatment they received.

Funmi and her personal driver returned to her jeep, parked some few cars away from where Nancy had parked her car.

The Story of King Alade and Idi-Ileke (Modern Version)

In the heart of a thriving West African nation, King Alade ruled with wisdom and strength. He was a charismatic leader, adored by many for his eloquence, his military brilliance, and the wealth he brought to the land. His palace towered above the capital, an opulent estate overlooking the city lights and the river that wound like a silver snake through the hills.

One evening, while walking on the rooftop terrace of his private residence, King Alade gazed down at the luxury apartments below. His eyes caught sight of a woman on her balcony, gracefully rinsing her hair under the soft glow of her terrace lights. She was breathtaking—elegant in a simple robe, her skin glowing like bronze in the moonlight.

Her name was Idi-Ileke, a name that meant “the waist adorned with beads.” She was married to Captain Olamide, a loyal soldier in King Alade’s army, currently deployed on a peacekeeping mission in a volatile region up north.

Intrigued and consumed by desire, Alade sent one of his aides to inquire about her. When he learned she was married, he hesitated—but not for long. That night, under the pretense of an official invitation, he summoned her to the palace. Alone and confused, Idi-Ileke obeyed, unsure whether refusal was even an option.

In the grandeur of the palace, surrounded by marble floors and the scent of imported perfume, she was treated like a queen—for one night. Alade seduced her, crossing a line he knew he should never have touched.

Weeks later, a message arrived at the palace.

“I’m pregnant.”

The words haunted him.

To cover his actions, King Alade devised a plan. He ordered Captain Olamide to return from the frontlines under the guise of a reward for bravery. He hoped Olamide would go home to his wife and the timing would explain the pregnancy. But Olamide, out of loyalty and brotherhood, refused to indulge in comfort while his men remained in danger.

Cornered, King Alade made a dark decision. He sent secret orders to the frontline commander: ensure that Captain Olamide is placed in the most dangerous part of the conflict zone — where survival was least likely.

Not long after, news came. Captain Olamide was dead. A national hero. A state funeral was held.

After a period of mourning, King Alade took Idi-Ileke as his wife.

But the palace walls couldn't keep out guilt, and the kingdom's spiritual adviser — an old, stern man named Prophet Nathaniel — came to confront the king. Through a parable, he opened Alade’s eyes to the depth of his betrayal and abuse of power.

Struck with remorse, Alade fell into a long season of repentance. The child born from that union died shortly after birth, a consequence that tore both him and Idi-Ileke apart with grief.

But their story did not end in ruin. In time, Alade changed. Humbled, he began to rule with a new heart. He and Idi-Ileke later had another son — Solomon, destined to be a man of peace, wisdom, and one of the greatest leaders the land would ever know.

Tunde Adewale had it all—charm, wealth, power, and looks that turned heads whenever he walked into a room. As a senior executive at a thriving tech company in Lagos, he had climbed the corporate ladder quickly. But if you asked people what truly defined him, it was his reputation as a serial womanizer.

He changed women the way some people changed shirts. From interns to managers, no one was off limits. Tunde treated relationships like games—conquests to be made, then discarded. Church? Jesus? Salvation? Those were things he considered outdated and irrelevant, fit only for the poor or the broken. He was too “woke” for that.

But God had other plans.


---

The Cleaner

Every morning, long before the rest of the staff arrived, one person was already hard at work—Mrs. Esther Kadiri. A quiet, middle-aged widow with deep-set eyes and a worn Bible that she never left behind, Esther worked as a cleaner in Tunde’s office building.

She was invisible to most people. They passed her daily without so much as a nod. But not Tunde. Not because he cared—he simply didn’t like the smell of cleaning chemicals lingering in his office when he arrived.

“Madam,” he barked one morning, stepping into his office with sunglasses on and a frown. “Must you always mop the floor this early? You're ruining the whole ambiance.”

Esther smiled gently. “Good morning, sir. Sorry for the inconvenience. I just like to keep your space clean… as unto the Lord.”

Tunde rolled his eyes. “Please spare me the sermon, abeg.”

But something about her response stuck with him: “As unto the Lord.”


---

Unraveling

Days turned into weeks. One of the women Tunde had been seeing—a married woman—showed up at his house in the middle of the night, weeping and cursing. Another posted his pictures online, exposing private conversations. Then a junior colleague, whom he had seduced and dumped, attempted suicide. HR got involved. His reputation, once so untouchable, began to crack.

He started drinking more, sleeping less. His charm became a mask for the growing emptiness inside him. He couldn’t explain it, but he began noticing Mrs. Kadiri more. Her quiet strength. Her peace. Her unshakeable joy, even while cleaning floors.

One day, after staying late to clear his head, Tunde saw her kneeling in the corner of the break room, praying quietly. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but her words pierced his heart.

> “Lord, touch Mr. Tunde. Show him Your love. Break every chain binding him. Let him know that he is more than his past… That he is deeply loved by You.”



Tunde stood frozen. Why would a woman he barely spoke to pray like that… for him?


---

The Confrontation

The next morning, Tunde waited in his office until Esther came in.

“Mrs. Kadiri,” he said, voice low. “Why do you pray for me?”

She smiled and looked at him with a compassion that disarmed him.

“Because I see a man that God loves. A man who’s searching in all the wrong places. You think womanizing makes you a man, but it’s only a mask. You’re trying to fill a hole that only Jesus can fill.”

Her words hit like thunder. For once, Tunde didn’t have a clever comeback.

“I don’t think God can love someone like me,” he finally whispered. “I’ve done too much.”

Esther stepped closer, reached into her cleaning cart, and handed him her Bible.

“Read Luke 15,” she said. “The story of the prodigal son. He thought the same thing—until he came home.”


---

Redemption

Tunde didn’t sleep that night. He read Luke 15 over and over again. The story of the son who wasted everything… who finally returned home, expecting judgment, but found love and restoration. It felt like reading his own story.

The next morning, Tunde found Esther again.

“I want to come home,” he said softly, eyes filled with tears.

Right there in his office, on his expensive Persian rug, Tunde knelt as Esther led him in a simple prayer of repentance and surrender to Jesus Christ.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. But it was real.

From that day forward, Tunde changed. He cut ties with his old lifestyle. He began attending a local church—quietly at first—serving in the background, learning, growing.

People were skeptical. They mocked, whispered, and doubted. But Mrs. Kadiri? She just smiled and kept praying.


---

Epilogue

Years later, Tunde would become a mentor to young men, preaching about purity, identity, and God’s grace. At a youth conference, he once said:

> “I searched for meaning in pleasure, and it left me empty. But Jesus gave me purpose, peace, and a new beginning. All because a woman with a mop and a Bible wasn’t afraid to speak truth.”



And in the front row, Esther Kadiri sat with tears in her eyes, whispering, “Thank You, Jesus.”

"The Cloak of Salvation"

He came like thunder in a thirsty land,
A promise clenched in iron hand.
With robes of hope, he veiled his face—
A messiah sent to cleanse this place.

They sang of order, praised the sword,
And hailed his every solemn word.
He spoke of justice, swift and pure,
Of healing wounds the land endured.

But soon the mask began to slip,
The honeyed tongue turned iron whip.
The voice that vowed to guard the land
Now broke it with a bloodstained hand.

Silenced lips and vanished men,
A prison built of ink and pen.
The people watched with hearts grown cold—
The lion had devoured the fold.

No freedom bloomed beneath his reign,
Just broken backs and mounting pain.
His dreams, once bright, turned dark and vast,
A future buried in the past.

Yet still, some weep—not just for him,
But for the light grown pale and dim.
For every tyrant who deceives,
Is born from what a people believe.

So mourn him not in marble tones,
But in the ruins, dust, and bones.
A caution carved in every scar—
Messiahs are not what they claim they are.

The Parable of Agbeloba the Sower

(A modern retelling set in Alala, Nigeria)

One early morning during planting season, Agbeloba, a seasoned farmer in Alala, prepared his tools and carried a sack of maize seeds across his shoulder. He walked out to his farmland as the sun began to rise over the savannah.

As he scattered the seeds across the soil, some fell by the footpath near the edge of the farm—hard, dry, and trampled daily by villagers and herders. Before the day was over, chickens and wild birds swooped down and picked up the seeds. Nothing grew there.

Some seeds landed on shallow rocky patches, where the soil was thin and cracked from the dry season. They sprouted quickly because the heat made them germinate fast. But the roots couldn’t go deep, and when the sun became fierce by noon, the seedlings withered and died.

Other seeds fell among thorny bushes near the edge of the cassava fields. These seeds also sprouted, but the thorns and weeds choked the young plants. There was no space for them to grow, and they bore no maize.

But some seeds fell on good, rich soil—loamy earth that Agbeloba had tilled well before the rains came. These seeds took root deeply, grew strong, and brought a bountiful harvest. Some plots produced ten bags, some twenty, and some even thirty bags of maize, filling Agbeloba's barn and blessing the village.

Then Agbeloba stood under the mango tree at the edge of the farm and called out to the young farmers nearby:

> “Let anyone who has ears, listen well. Just as these seeds fell in different places, so too does the truth reach different hearts. Some hear it and forget it. Some hear and get excited but give up when challenges come. Others hear, but life’s worries and riches choke their spirit. But blessed are those whose hearts are like good soil—they understand, they grow, and they bear fruit that blesses others.”

'Madam, what is the problem?' The security man looked ruffled as if the scene was abominable.

''It is this useless lady.' The plump woman's reply was swift. 'This ashewo lady.'

The woman tugged at the strap more and succeeded in pulling the left cup off, but Nancy was able to pull the clothing back fast to cover her chest.

'Just look at her! See her useless tits!' The aggressor was gleeful.

'Madam, leave me o. Ah, what kind of nonsense is this?' Nancy wouldn't have anticipated the great embarrassment, even in her dream.

She had heard of things like this before. In Lagos, such an incident was not unheard of. But she couldn't have imagined that she would be at the receiving end.
The few people around did not make any move to broker peace, save for the security guy.

As a matter of fact, the last action was to their delight. They looked on as if they were watching a premiere from Nollywood, Nigeria's version of Hollywood.

'No, you can't do that, madam.' There was concern and urgency in the tone of the security man.

He held the aggressor and tried to restrain her from further attack.

The woman's hold on Nancy slackened. That gave Nancy the leverage. Still on the defensive, she dashed inside the car, slammed the door shut and kicked the engine into life.

She reversed out of the park and gunned it away from the shopping complex. The woman was still shouting after her as she drove away.