₦airaland Forum

*Jesus, My Refuge*

In the midst of life's storms, I have found solace in the person of Jesus Christ. He is my refuge, my shelter from the tempests that rage around me. When the world seems uncertain and fearful, I turn to Him, and in His presence, I find peace.

The Bible reminds us that Jesus is our rock, our salvation, and our strong tower (Psalm 61:3). In His arms, I find comfort and security. When the weight of my worries and fears becomes overwhelming, I remember that He bore the weight of my sins on the cross. His sacrifice reminds me of the depth of His love for me.

In Jesus, I find refuge from the guilt and shame that can haunt me. His forgiveness is complete, and His mercy is new every morning (Lamentations 3:23). When I stumble and fall, He lifts me up, reminding me that I am not defined by my mistakes but by His grace.

Moreover, Jesus is my refuge in times of uncertainty and doubt. When the path ahead seems unclear, and I am unsure of what the future holds, I trust in His sovereignty and goodness. He is the Good Shepherd who guides me through the darkest valleys (Psalm 23:4).

In a world filled with challenges and uncertainties, Jesus stands as a constant source of hope and strength. He is my refuge, and in Him, I find the courage to face each day with faith and confidence. His presence in my life transforms my fears into faith, my doubts into trust, and my worries into peace.

Ultimately, Jesus is not just a refuge; He is a relationship. Through Him, I experience the love of God, which casts out fear (1 John 4:18). In His refuge, I am not alone; I am loved, I am valued, and I am cherished.

As I navigate the complexities of life, I am grateful for the refuge I find in Jesus. He is my rock, my salvation, and my strong tower. In His presence, I am home, and in His love, I am free.

BLESSED ASSURANCE

1. Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!
Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!
Heir of salvation, purchase of God,
Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood.

CHORUS:
This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Saviour all the day long;
This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Saviour all the day long.

2. Perfect submission, perfect delight,
Visions of rapture now burst on my sight,
Angels descending, bring from above;
Echoes of mercy, whispers of love.

3. Perfect submission, all is at rest,
I in my Saviour am happy and blessed,
Watching and waiting, looking above,
Filled with His goodness, lost in His love.

Nice one.

I had seen many ladies in sports and yoga wears before, but this one struck me as captivating. I nodded as if in approval.

"A good morning exercise is good for the body," I said.

"Sure," she replied and pedalled the bike.

She had purposely brought me there to see what she was doing. Okay. Now, I could see the outline of her boobs, which were neither big nor small but were firm - probably, courtesy of the firm, sports bra.

I could see the tummy with slight signs of fat at the waist line. I could also see the smooth, robust thighs that tappered down to the legs. I had variously seen things like these before. I had seen ladies in skimpy wears at close range.

I had seen ladies' nudity and looked on as if it meant nothing. Why was I captivated by this? She increased the speed and suddenly let out a moan. She She removed her legs from the pedals and put them on the floor.

Then, she held the left leg.

"Oh gosh!"

I was on my feet and I was with her.

"Did you hurt yourself?" I asked in concern.

"Yep."

I held the leg and looked as if trying to determine which part.

"The muscle of the leg."

My hands quickly went to that part and I rubbed it. The way I did, it would soothe her if it was a muscle pull.

"Let me get down from the bike," she said.

"Okay."

She put her left arm round my neck while I used my right hand to support her by holding her waist. Gently, she dismounted the bike.

She pointed at the mat. I supported her to it and she lay down and turned on her belly.

“Is there any ointment I can use?"

She shook her head. I started rubbing and massaging the leg.

Whether it was real or fake, I was glad to do this. She closed her eyes.

After some minutes, I asked her if she felt better.

"Yes", she replied. "I feel better. Thanks a lot."

I stopped the massaging.

"You can do the same to the second leg."

I nodded and started working on the second leg. I felt this was all contrived, but there was no problem. I was enjoying this as much as she.

The act of rubbing and massaging the leg made her bum to jiggle when I did it fast. I was delighted to watch that. You are a bad boy, I told myself.

After several minutes, she opened her eyes.

"You've really done well, Seyi. Thank you."

I smiled at her. "It's a pleasure, Madam Fransisca. You're welcome."

She seemed quite surprised I addressed her that way. She turned to sit on the mat.

"Are you okay, now?" I asked as I stood up.

She lifted her two hands for me to lift her up. I did and we stood close. I was much taller. I moved back to sit where I had sat before. She walked with a slight limp to one of the wardrobes.

Laji was the first and only son of Leke LaVos, the business mogul from Nigeria. His siblings were Helen and Damilola LaVos.

At thirty-two, he had no plans about marrying and settling down. Some months back when his mother called him from Nigeria, she had asked him how far were his plans about having a better half. Laji had laughed it off as if it was the funniest question on earth.

He had come to the States since he was nineteen. That meant he had spent about thirteen years there. Over those years, he had acquired a Masters degree in Biotic Engineering from the State university. He worked for a computer firm and was quite doing well.

L.A was a young man of the world. He was a sociable man that loved clubbing and engaging in many social activities. He had many friends and followers on the social media. This early evening, the only reason why he was still at home was because Monica, his Latino girlfriend had called that she was on her way to his flat.

The door bell rang. Swiftly, Laji moved to it. Monica, the black-haired lady he was expecting was at the door.

'Hello, sweetheart.' There was complete delight in him to see her.

'Hello, honey.' She seemed very delighted too to be there.

They kissed passionately like lovers who had not seen each other for a long time.

'I'm so tired.' She yawned to show that she meant what she said.

'Don't worry. I'll help you.'

With that, he lifted her and took her straight to the bedroom.

'We didn't finish yesterday's game.' There was a lustful grin on his face as he flopped her on the bed.

'I know. Why the hurry? I'm gonna be here all night long.'

'The earlier the game starts the better.' The lustful grin was still on his face.

Before she could reply, his cell phone rang. It was a distant call from Nigeria.

Sename felt pain in the pelvic area of her body by the time Nonso was through with her. She was not a virgin, but she never found sexual intercourse anything pleasant. She found this particular one painful. It was the way he had handled her.

He was so forceful and so fierce, as if his life depended on it. She felt used and bruised. She wondered if he could really say he was delighted after the whole thing. Sename shook her head. She never understood men and their craving for sex. She had never really enjoyed engaging in the act and she wondered why some men acted as if it was indispensable and as if without it, they would die.

She went to the bathroom to clean herself up. There was a little bleeding coming from her private part. The man was not gentle at all, to say the least. He had handled her like a man with craze for sex.

She did what she could do to clean the mess up and returned to her work. Her mind was in a frenzy. She knew madam must never hear what she and oga just did. She had only spent two weeks in the house and this had happened.

So, oga had been nursing those lustful thoughts since she started working there! Men, she thought in disgusts. Why were they never satisfied with what they had? Madam, although no longer a young woman and was on the fat side, was still attractive.

Why couldn't oga be content with that? She knew the man was much older than her own father back in Togo. Why would a man like that stoop so low as to sleep with a house girl?

Maybe it was because you were still young, she told herself. Maybe as you grew older, you would understand things better. Then, her mind went to the promises oga made. Did he really mean those things, or was he just saying them just to have his way?

Sename wondered on the prospects of what she would do if the man should fulfill the promises he had made. She smiled to herself. That would mean she would be saying bye bye to poverty. But all these would be if he kept to his words.

A truth that hadn’t yet revealed itself.
And a woman who had just opened a door.
The only question was—what waited on the other side?


“I’ll be in touch,” she said.

And as I stepped out into the cool Lagos night, I knew without a doubt—this wasn’t just a party.

It was the beginning of something.

And whatever it was… I wasn’t ready for it.


---


A week had passed since the birthday dinner, yet the evening lingered in my mind like perfume on skin—faint but unforgettable. Princess Betty’s gaze, her words, that last pause before she said goodbye—it all haunted the quiet moments between deadlines and editorial meetings.

It was Friday morning when the message came.

A text.

Princess Betty:
Hello, Femi. I’m hosting a retreat for selected personnel tomorrow. Thrills Guest House, Lekki. 10 a.m. sharp. Would love for you to be there. Don’t mention this to anyone.
—B



No explanation. No RSVP request. Just an address, a time, and that signature closeness she had mastered—equal parts command and seduction.

I stared at the message for a long time.

Was this another story? A lead? Or was I already inside the story, unknowingly playing a role?

Still, I replied simply:

I’ll be there.


---

Saturday – Suite 202

Thrills Guest House, Lekki.

Tucked behind flowering bougainvillea and tall, whispering palms, the guest house didn’t shout luxury—it murmured it, discreetly. The kind of place you never noticed until you were told to. A place for people with secrets, and the resources to keep them.

The valet took my car without saying a word. Not even a look. He moved with the practiced indifference of someone used to politicians and CEOs pretending they weren’t afraid.

Inside, the lobby gleamed with marble floors and hushed air-conditioning. The front desk manager greeted me with a nod that felt rehearsed.

“Suite 202,” he said, sliding a key card across the desk. “Top of the stairs. She’s waiting.”

She?

No sign-in sheet. No questions. Just those words—She’s waiting—spoken like a secret passed under the table.

I climbed the stairs slowly. My nerves weren’t loud, not yet. But they were stirring, like something waking in the dark.

I’d expected a conference room, maybe a breakfast buffet with name tags and filtered coffee. A gathering of staffers, NGO reps, maybe a panel on sustainable policy or press ethics.

But this?

This was something else.

I reached Suite 202 and knocked once.

The door opened almost immediately.

She was in a serious quandary but her mind urged her to play along. The hammer finally fell on him when he was rusticated from the university.

It was a bitter aftermath of a bloody clash some belligerent factions of the group had been causing. The school had been forced to close down and after some inquiry had been made into the cause of the hullabaloo, the authority had taken some drastic steps.

Biyi and some crazy hard-nuts had been thrown out of the university system. Some of them had made threats of vengeance and reprisals, but they had to go. Biyi had dismissed the whole episode as farcical, while Julie was terribly let down. Nothing to worry about, he had told her.

Despite all his assurances, she remained perturbed. What would he do? Would he start his university education all over again, or what?

Worse still, he didn’t seem to be perturbed. Unknown to her, he had been making a grand plan about travelling abroad. He had made connections and had decided to execute his plans.

Therefore, when he told her of his imminent departure from Nigeria to South Africa, she had expressed surprise. He would go to S.A, he had said and would settle there.

Then, after some time, he would send for her, or come and ‘pick’ her. Julie had been amazed. She wanted to know if he was making a kind of joke or whatever, but he had said he was dead serious.

He went on to swear that his love for her would remain as fresh as the lily of the valley forever. Julie felt like laughing. He had sworn more. He would love her forever, he asserted. He would travel but would definitely come or send for her. She nodded as if she understood and believe him perfectly.

Tears were in her eyes when she saw him go. She had seen him off at the Murtala Muhammed International airport, Ikeja, and was so sorry about his exit, in addition to the feeling of helplessness. She wasn’t really consoled with his promises. Hadn’t some men made such promises before without fulfilling them?

Her fears were confirmed when she only heard from him twice. The first was when he had landed in Jo’burg and the second was some months later when he called to tell her that he was combining schooling with some jobs. He never disclosed the nature of job he was involved in. Since then, there had been no further communication. Until now.

She had tried as much as she could to hear or read from him, but it appeared the communication chain had been broken. As for the social media, he was elusive. That was six years ago.

She had waited, still believing that he hadn’t forgotten her; that in a matter of time, he would contact her again or perhaps make a sudden return. Two years after being in the limbo, she was beginning to believe in the futility of his words. He had failed her terribly, she realized.

Then, she had met Femi at a friend’s party. He was the charming, young lawyer who diffused magnificent aura. He wasn’t slow in showing serious interest in her, and she wasn’t lethargic in embracing his gesture. Hadn’t she played the fool for over two years, waiting for a fugitive lover? Must she continue to hope against hope?

Femi had been given the chance of proving his passionate mettle. He succeeded, without doubts, and she was swept off her feet. Now, Biyi had made a sudden and dramatic return and wanted to see her.

Not ready to follow the requirements of Option means:


Be ready to lose the present 10% stake


Hand over the Lexus car given to you.


Resign as GM of the business by the end of this month, December.


Make your choice.


I read and reread the message. Had it come to this? Had it got to a point where Ms. Morgan


would be threatening me?


Option A was fantastic and desirable. The requirements were all well with me, but there was serious issue with number 4. I knew by that, Ms. Morgan meant I should be ready to play to her sexual whims. That, I was not ready to do.


I called her number. It rang on and on, without her picking it. This was serious. Did she really mean everything she had written?


In the afternoon, I called her number again several times but she would not pick the call. I sat down to think over the options. Why not forget about these your so-called principles and go fo the first option? My mind said. Many guys would go for it. You'll be eating your cake and at the same time having it.


Besides, I didn't need to rush at marriage again, with any woman. I didn't need any child again beside the two I had from Busola. Why should I not relax and get the best from Ms. Modupe Morgan?


But another inner voice said I should not try it. Resign your appointment and leave the rest to the Lord, the gentle voice said.


I decided to take option b. The following morning, I rose to write my letter of resignation. I first drove to the Opebi store where I had my office to tie up loose ends and write handover notes, before I drove to Ms. Morgan's Ilupeju residence to hand over the documents and the Lexus car to her.


It was amazing how things had changed so fast in the last twenty-four hours. Maria welcome me to the house.


"Where is madam?" I asked.


"She's upstairs, but she said she doesn't want to be disturbed. Will you wait for her in the sitting-room until she comes down?"


I shook my head. "There will be no need for that. Just give her these." I handed the documents and the car keys to her. "That's the key to the Lexus car. Bye."


Maria didn't know that would be the last time she would be seeing me in that house, for a long time.

She waved back at me.

PASS ME NOT, O GENTLE SAVIOUR

1. Pass me not, O gentle Saviour,
Hear my humble cry;
While on others Thou art calling,
Do not pass me by.

CHORUS:
Saviour, Saviour,
Hear my humble cry;
While on others Thou art calling,
Do not pass me by.

2. Let me, at Thy throne of mercy
Find a sweet relief;
Kneeling there in deep contrition,
Help my unbelief.

3. Trusting only in Thy merit
Would I seek Thy face
Heal my wounded, broken spirit,
Save me by Thy grace.

4. Thou, the spring of all my comfort,
More than life to me.
Whom have I on earth beside Thee?
Whom in heav'n but Thee?

TAKE MY LIFE, AND LET IT BE

1. Take my life, and let it be
Consecrated, Lord to Thee;
Take my moments and my days,
Let them flow in endless praise,
Let them flow in endless praise.

2. Take my hands, and let them move
At the impulse of Thy love;
Take my feet, and let them be
Swift and beautiful for Thee,
Swift and beautiful for Thee.

3. Take my voice and let me sing
Always, only, for my King;
Take my lips and let them be
Filled with messages from Thee,
Filled with messages from Thee.

4. Take my silver and my gold;
Not a mite would I withhold;
Take my intellect, and use
Every power as Thou shalt choose,
Every power as Thou shalt choose.

5. Take my will and make it Thine,
It shall be no longer mine:
Take my heart, it is Thine own;
It shall be Thy royal throne,
It shall be Thy royal throne.

6. Take my love, my Lord, I pour
At Thy feet its treasure store;
Take myself, and I will be
Ever, only, all for Thee,
Ever, only, all for Thee.

Is it not better that Obi and Adeyanju settle this out of court?

PRAISE MY SOUL THE KING OF HEAVEN
1 Praise, my soul, the King of heaven;
to his feet your tribute bring.
Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven,
evermore his praises sing.
Alleluia, alleluia!
Praise the everlasting King!

2 Praise him for his grace and favor
to his people in distress.
Praise him, still the same as ever,
slow to chide, and swift to bless.
Alleluia, alleluia!
Glorious in his faithfulness!

3 Fatherlike he tends and spares us;
well our feeble frame he knows.
In his hand he gently bears us,
rescues us from all our foes.
Alleluia, alleluia!
Widely yet his mercy flows!

Ms. Kay was waiting.

I had promised her.

What was I going to do now? Walk back to her room and say, “Sorry, the bra vanished into thin air?”

The very thought made my stomach turn. I had never been more confused, more utterly lost, than I was in that moment. My thoughts scrambled for a rational explanation, some anchor to hold on to.

And then a memory surfaced—dim, but gaining clarity.

Wait... Damilola.

My breath caught.

I had given Damilola a spare key to my room weeks ago. It wasn’t a big deal at the time. We were close. I trusted her. She stayed over sometimes. And I had told her that if she ever came around and I wasn’t there, she could let herself in. Simple. Casual. Convenient.

But now...

Did she come around earlier? While I was at the main building talking to Madam Landlady?

My eyes widened. That would explain it.

Had she seen the bra? Had she taken it? Maybe she thought it was hers? Or worse—maybe she saw it and got the wrong idea. A man's room. A mysterious bra. A missing girlfriend. The story practically wrote itself.

My mind raced with a hundred possible scenarios, each more chaotic than the last. I reached for my phone with trembling hands and checked for missed calls or messages.

Nothing from Damilola.

But if she had taken it, I needed to confirm it—fast. Because right now, Ms. Kay was sitting across the hall, waiting for me to return with an item I no longer had. And every second that passed made the hole I was in feel deeper.

I sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen like it held answers. What now? I asked myself.

What was supposed to be the end of a tense chapter had now twisted into something more confusing, more urgent.

The bra was gone.
Damilola had a key.
Ms. Kay was waiting.

And I had a sinking feeling this was just the beginning.


---



I stared at the empty white polythene bag lying uselessly on my bed like a shed snake skin and felt my heart beat louder than the ticking wall clock. My mind was spinning. I had promised Ms. Kay I would return in just a few minutes with the missing bra—her missing bra, the one she had just reluctantly agreed might be hers after an exhausting conversation. I had felt so sure, so confident, so relieved.

Now? I was staring at nothing. The bra had vanished. Completely.

There was only one person who might’ve had access to the room.

Damilola.

I picked up my phone with shaky fingers and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. My thumb hovered over her name in my call log. She hadn’t answered when I called earlier, around noon. I wasn’t sure what that meant—was she ignoring me, busy, or just not in the mood to talk? I didn’t know. But now, I had no choice.

I pressed call and held the phone tightly to my ear, praying silently. The line started ringing. Once... twice... three times.

“Oh, Damilola, pick your call... pick your call,” I muttered like a chant. Each ring only increased my anxiety. My room suddenly felt hotter. My shirt clung to my back with nervous sweat.

Still ringing. No answer.

I let out a heavy breath and quickly redialed. The phone rang again.

This time, I went a step further.

“Oh everlasting Father,” I muttered aloud, “make Damilola to pick this call. Please, Lord, just let her pick.”

And just like that, a click.

She answered.

“Goodness!” I breathed. “Damilola! Hello!”

Her voice came through, dry and unimpressed. “Yes? What is it?”

I didn’t waste time. “Were you in my house not too long ago?”

A brief pause.

“What are you saying? Of course I was there in the morning,” she replied flatly.

“No, no, I know about that,” I said quickly, already grimacing. “I mean after that. Did you come back to the house when I wasn’t there? Maybe when I went to the main building? Did you... did you take the bra?”

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. Then her voice came back, sharp and loud.

“Bra?!” she shouted. “What nonsense! What nonsense bra are you talking about?!”

Interesting.

Zizi was the fat and lively housemaid.
'Come in.'

The latter gently opened the door and stepped inside.

Zizi grinned at her. 'Sorry to disturb you, but that your friend, sister Abi is around to see you.'

'Where's she right now?'

'She's in the sitting room downstairs, ma'am.'

'Please tell her to come up.'

Abi was Helen's good friend. They were the same age, but Abi had successfully settled down. About four months ago, Abi was joined in wedlock in a very lavish ceremony. Helen had been her best lady and had promised that her own wedding would be grander than Abi's own.

Abi knocked at the door and without waiting for an answer came in.

'I should have been here since yesterday.' There was apology over Abi's face. 'I'm sorry I couldn't make it. I'm so sorry to hear the news. What did you say happen to him?'

Helen told her.

Abi shook her head in sympathy. 'My condolence. Please, take heart.'

'Thank you.'

She sat next to her friend on the bed and sighed. 'I've been thinking about the incident since yesterday. Helen, don't you think this thing is not ordinary?'

Helen appeared to think over it. 'I don't understand what you mean.'

Abi moved closer to her friend.

'Listen carefully. This is your second fiancé to die within a period of two years. If I could recollect, you would've done your wedding before mine. Your first fiancé fell ill and died before the engagement could come up. Now, this has happened again. Don't you think something is wrong somewhere?'

Helen had a far-away look. 'So, what d'you think is wrong?'

'I think it has to do with something spiritual. This kind of thing doesn't happen ordinarily. There's something mysterious about the whole thing.'

Helen appeared thoughtful. 'What can I do now?'

Abi's voice dropped to the level of a whisper. 'There's a baba I know. He is very powerful. Once you agree and I take you there, the mystery will be unraveled.'

Helen looked defiant. 'But, I don't believe in such things. I've never gone to such people before.'

'O.k. I didn't know you prefer that this mysterious occurrence should continue. No problem. Have your way as you wish.'

Helen could sense the impending indifference. 'No, Abi, don't talk like that. I know you're trying to help. But this thing you're suggesting sounds ...it sounds strange and... and...'

'Strange or not strange, this man I'm talking about will unravel the whole thing.'

Helen was in thoughts for some moments again. 'Alright.' She shrugged. 'Let me think over it. In a few days’ time, I'll let you know my decision.'

"I'll suggest that you act fast. The longer you delay, the more the problem deals with you. Remember that delay is dangerous.'

Helen nodded. 'I agree that indeed delay is dangerous. Thank you, my friend for the timely advice.'

Laji flipped from one channel to another. He loved music and entertainment and would spend hours watching one station or the other. It was a summer afternoon, his best weather since he came to live in the U.S.

His flat in Indianapolis was a moderate but cozy one. Laji, alias L.A, liked it like that. Laji was the first and only son of Leke LaVos, the business mogul from Nigeria. His siblings were Helen and Damilola LaVos.

PASS ME NOT O GENTLE SAVIOUR

1 Pass me not, O gentle Savior,
Hear my humble cry,
While on others Thou art calling,
Do not pass me by.

Refrain:
Savior, Savior,
Hear my humble cry;
While on others Thou art calling,
Do not pass me by.

2 Let me at a throne of mercy
Find a sweet relief;
Kneeling there in deep contrition,
Help my unbelief.

3 Trusting only in Thy merit,
Would I seek Thy face;
Heal my wounded, broken spirit,
Save me by Thy grace.

4 Thou the Spring of all my comfort,
More than life to me,
Whom have I on earth beside Thee?
Whom in heav'n but Thee?

MY HOPE IS BUILT ON NOTHING LESS

1. My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus' blood and righteousness;
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus name.

CHORUS:
On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand;
All other ground is sinking sand,
All other ground is sinking sand.

2. When darkness seems to veil His face,
I rest on His unchanging grace;
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

3. His oath, His covenant, and blood,
Support me in the whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay.

4. When He shall come with trumpet sound,
Oh, may I then in Him be found;
Dressed in His righteousness alone,
Faultless to stand before the throne.

'TIS SO SWEET TO TRUST IN JESUS

1. 'Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to take Him at His Word;
Just to rest upon His promise;
Just to know, "Thus saith the Lord."

CHORUS:
Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him!
How I've proved Him o'er and o'er!
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!
O for grace to trust Him more!

2. O how sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just to trust His cleansing blood;
Just in simple faith to plunge me
'Neath the healing cleansing flood!

3. Yes, 'tis sweet to trust in Jesus,
Just from sin and self to cease;
Just from Jesus simply taking
Life and rest, and joy and peace.

4. I'm so glad I learn'd to trust Thee,
Precious Jesus, Saviour, Friend,
And I know that Thou art with me,
Wilt be with me to the end.

*The Benefits of Not Drinking Alcohol*

Choosing not to drink alcohol can have a significant impact on one's life, from improving physical health to enhancing mental well-being. Some benefits include:

- *Better Physical Health*: Not drinking alcohol can reduce the risk of liver disease, heart disease, and certain types of cancer. It can also improve sleep quality, boost energy levels, and support a healthy weight.
- *Improved Mental Health*: Abstaining from alcohol can help reduce symptoms of anxiety and depression, promote a sense of calm and clarity, and improve overall mental well-being.
- *Increased Productivity*: Without the hangovers and crashes that can come with drinking, individuals may find they have more energy and focus to pursue their goals and interests.
- *Financial Savings*: Not spending money on alcohol can lead to significant savings over time, which can be used for other purposes, such as paying off debt, traveling, or investing in personal development.
- *Better Relationships*: Not drinking can help individuals build stronger, more meaningful relationships with others, free from the potential negative effects of alcohol on relationships.
- *Improved Self-Esteem*: Choosing not to drink can give individuals a sense of pride and self-control, which can translate to other areas of life.

These benefits can vary from person to person, but overall, not drinking alcohol can lead to a healthier, happier, and more fulfilling life.

Being secret lovers required a kind of discipline neither of us had ever practiced before. It wasn’t just about hiding kisses or avoiding long stares — it was about mastering silence, learning when to act like strangers, and when to be everything but.

In public — around the house, during meals, family errands, or casual Sunday gatherings — we were casual acquaintances. Friendly, distant, proper. We never lingered too long in conversation, never sat too close. If anyone watched, they’d see nothing suspicious. But behind that careful performance, every glance held meaning, and every passing touch was a quiet flame.

We developed our own silent language. A look across the compound that meant "Meet me later." A faint smile that said "I miss you." The deliberate brushing of fingers as we passed each other in narrow passageways. Tiny things. Things only we noticed.

In the evenings, when the house grew quiet, Fiyin would sometimes slip into the boys’ quarters after everyone had turned in. The air between us would change the moment the door closed behind her. She’d sit beside me, sometimes without words, and lean into my arms like she’d been holding her breath all day.

“This is the only part of the day that feels like mine,” she said one night, curled up against me.

I kissed the top of her head. “Mine too.”

We didn’t always kiss. Some nights, we just lay on the bed talking in whispers, fingers intertwined. Other times, we’d listen to music through one earbud each, or she’d scroll through my old articles and tease me about my serious journalist voice.

We carved out intimacy in quiet ways. Secret ways. A relationship that lived in the spaces between other people’s expectations.

But none of it was easy.

There were moments that left our pulses racing and our nerves frayed. Close calls that felt like the universe testing how much we were willing to risk for stolen time together.

One afternoon, her sister knocked — sudden, sharp — while Fiyin was still inside my room.

We weren’t doing anything dangerous. Not technically. Just lying on the floor listening to music, limbs tangled, fingers occasionally finding each other in the spaces between songs. Her head was on my shoulder, mine tipped lazily toward hers. We’d been laughing — the kind of laughter that bubbles up from the gut and feels like freedom. But even that was too much. Too close. Too telling.

The knock sent lightning through my spine. I bolted upright.

Fiyin’s eyes met mine — wide, alert. No panic, but close. There was that quick flash, that electric flicker between survival instinct and desire, the split-second where two people silently agree to move or freeze. We both knew what this looked like. What it could look like.

Without thinking, I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the tiny bathroom tucked into the far corner of my room — barely more than a narrow rectangle of old tiles and faint mildew. It didn’t fit one person comfortably, let alone two. But we squeezed in, breathless and pressed so close our shadows blurred together on the door.

I twisted the lock with trembling fingers, the sound of the latch falling into place much too loud.

“Stay quiet. Please,” I whispered, the words skating out on a breath I barely had.

"The supper will soon be ready. Won't you wait to take it?" she quickly said.

I shook my head. "I won't eat anything again today. I'm belleful as it is."

She stood up. "Give me a minute."

She left me for about five minutes. She returned with a polythene bag and handed it to me.

"There's little something for you there."

"Oh, you shouldn't have bothered. Thank you a lot. Good night, ma'am."

"Good night, Seyi."

I left the, feeling glad that I visited. On getting home, I checked the package Big Aunty had given me. In the big nylon bag were two smaller ones.

When I opened the first I saw pieces of fried chicken. In the second one were fried plaintain chips. I put a call through to thank Big Aunty.

The following, day, Monday, things went smooth in the official. On Wednesday afternoon, Big Aunty called and asked if I could come to her residence at the close of work.

"No problem, madam," I replied.

I got to her residence around six p.m.

"Hope your work is not stressful," she said like a person that really cared.

I smiled. "No, madam. I enjoyed the work. Thanks for your concern."

"Follow me. I want to show you something."

I followed through a passage to a room that she unlocked and opened. It was more of a store room.

There were bales of big sacks. She opened one of them and started bringing out clothes. There were shirts, t-shirts, trousers, jeans, boxers and so on - all looking new.

"I want you to pick as many as are your size," she said.

“That's very generous of you, madam," I said. I checked the sizes and the size tags to see which ones were my size. I had to go through many of them and it took time.

At the end, I took five shirts, three t-shirts, two boxers and three jeans trousers.

'Is that all?" she asked. "Are you sure your size is not among the rest?"

“These are okay for now," I answered modestly.

She asked Kubrat to get me a large shopping bag to put them.

"That's why I asked you to come," she said.

I thanked her profusely for her magnanimity and left. On my way home, I kept thinking of her. Why was she so generous to me? What was the intent of this? Did she have the mindset of sugar mummy?

Did she not state clearly at the begining that the relationship would be platonic? You were the one having wild fantasies, another part of my mind declared.

As if she could discern my mind, I got a Whatsapp message soon as I got home that read: Whatever I give to you is based on the dictates of my conscience. I will always maintain my dignity, morals and values.

I had to read the message almost three times. I replied that I really appreciated her and prayed God would pay her back. The rest of the week went smoothly.

On Saturday morning, I asked if I could come to her place.

"You don't need to ask Seyi. You can always come around to this place," she replied.

I wore a t-shirt, jeans trousers and sneakers. With my Versace perfum, I knew I looked and smelled good.

I got to her residence about ten in the morning. Kubrat ushered me into the sitting-room. She went to inform the madam that I was around.

A minute later, Kubrat came with the message that madam said I should come. I followed Kubrat to Big Aunty's bed-room.

It was a large room with king-size bedroom, two-seater leather chair, array of wardrobes, a large dressing table, a giant mirror and a flat screen television.

At the extreme right of the room was a sporting stationary bike with a sport mat spread on the floor not far from the bike.

She was on top of the bike and she paused as soon as I entered the large room.

"Good morning, Big Aunty," I greeted.

"Good morning, Seyi. You can sit on the seat."

Kubrat retreated from the bed-room, closing the door gently behind her. The rhythm of my heart beat changed as I stared at Big Aunty.

What a body to look at. How was she able to do it? According to her, she had not engaged in any intimate relationship with a man since she lost her husband about two years ago.

How was she able to keep ravenous men off from having this bewitching body? She must be a super woman. She must be super resolute. There must be something very special about her.

She was wearing a sky blue active sports bra, a navy blue tight shorts that started just below her navel and moved down to the middle of her thighs, and a pair of black canvass wears that covered her feet.

I had seen many ladies in sports and yoga wears before, but this one struck me as captivating. I nodded as if in approval.

PRAISE TO THE LORD, THE ALMIGHTY, THE KING OF CREATION

1. Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation;
O my soul, praise Him, for He is thy health and salvation;
Join the great throng,
Psaltery, organ, and song,
Sounding in glad adoration.

2. Praise to the Lord, over all things he gloriously reigneth:
Borne as on eagle-wings, safely his saints he sustaineth.
Hast thou not seen,
How all thou needest hath been,
Granted in what he ordaineth?

3. Praise to the Lord, who doth prosper thy way and defend thee;
Surely his goodness and mercy shall ever attend thee;
Ponder anew,
What the Almighty can do,
Who with his love doth befriend thee.

4. Praise to the Lord! O let all that is in me adore Him!
All that hath breath join with Abraham's seed to adore Him!
Let the Amen
Sum all our praises again,
Now as we worship before Him.