₦airaland Forum

That Tuesday morning, my pocket felt light, my heart heavy. Thieves had broken into my apartment, stolen my gadgets. So I found myself at the central police station, a place I normally avoid like a bad dream. The air there is always thick with trouble. I was only here to make a police report as required.

I was waiting my turn, frustrated, when I saw her. A woman, they call her Madam Gold. And the name fit. She was draped in expensive lace, real gold jewelry shining at her wrists and neck. She looked out of place, like a diamond in a gutter.

At first, I thought she was lost. She was walking slowly past the cell bars, peeking in, her face arranged in a mask of confusion. She kind of looked back and caught me watching her, and her act became even more dramatic.

"Officer!" she called out, her voice sweet like spoiled honey. "Where is he naw! Me I don't understand o?"

She moved from one dark cell to the next, until she stopped. She pointed a long, manicured finger through the bars.

"Ah! ! Officer come o" she gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "What is a small girl like this doing in this terrible place? Officer, how much is her bail? I must get her out of here!"

I was impressed. What a kind woman, I thought. A real Good Samaritan in this den of suffering. She paid the money without hesitation. When the cell door clanged open, a girl—couldn't be more than eighteen—shuffled out. She looked drained, her eyes hollow. Magdalene.

Madam Gold pulled her into a tight, false embrace. "My daughter, don't cry. Aunty has rescued you. Everything is fine now."

But everything was not fine. I saw the look that passed between Madam Gold and the Investigating Police Officer. It wasn't gratitude. It was a silent understanding, a transaction completed. My skin prickled. A wise man once said, "The lizard that jumped from the high iroko tree to the ground said he would praise himself if no one else did." Madam Gold was praising herself too much.

My curiosity got the better of me. I sidled up to a weary-looking constable.

"That woman has a good heart," I said, testing the waters.

The constable gave a short, bitter laugh. "Good heart? My friend, the fly that has no one to advise it follows the corpse into the grave. That one is Madam Gold. She is a regular customer here."

I didn't understand. "Customer?"

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Her business is girls. She comes here to shop for fresh ones. She bails them out, yes. But then she takes them to her brothel in the ashawo quarters. The girl must work to pay off the bail money. And the interest? Hah! It is a debt that never finishes."

The truth hit me like a physical blow. Her whole performance—the searching, the fake surprise—was just a show. She wasn't saving Magdalene; she was recruiting her. She was like the hunter who uses a sweet whistle to call the bird before he shoots it.

I looked at Magdalene, clinging to Madam Gold's arm like she was a lifeline. She didn't know she was just changing prisons. She didn't realize that he who is being carried does not realize how far the town is. Her journey into hell was just beginning, and she thought she was going to paradise.

Madam Gold even bought her slippers and a jacket to cover up and they drove off.

I left the station without even reporting my robbery. What was the loss of some gadgets compared to the loss of a soul? I walked away, the image of Magdalene's grateful, broken face burned into my mind. The real thieves weren't the ones who broke into my room. They were the ones in expensive clothes, operating in broad daylight, with the police holding the door open for them.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Her business is girls. She comes here to shop for fresh ones. She bails them out, yes. But then she takes them to her brothel in the ashawo quarters. The girl must work to pay off the bail money. And the interest? Hah! It is a debt that never finishes."[s][/s] Trash as usual.
Are you saying people recruits girls straight from police satation

The world is dark. On many occasions, I witnessed terrible things at police stations.

Redoil:
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Her business is girls. She comes here to shop for fresh ones. She bails them out, yes. But then she takes them to her brothel in the ashawo quarters. The girl must work to pay off the bail money. And the interest? Hah! It is a debt that never finishes."[s][/s] Trash as usual.
Are you saying people recruits girls straight from police satation

They have followed me to this topic again. Can a fool be wise God abeg

immortalcrown:
The world is dark. On many occasions, I witnessed terrible things at police stations.

Mind sharing?

Op, life is Mistry and terrible.

The more you look, the less you see.

This sounded like a Nollywood Script. I would take it with a pinch of salt.

Just like that, cause all the girls no get family, bollywood story telling

Saturnalia:
This sounded like a Nollywood Script. I would take it with a pinch of salt.

I stopped reading after the first few lines. Writing on a forum should sound real, and people should be able to relate with it. If I want to read a fictional novel, I know where to go.

What a cooked-up story! If they pick you up now for fabricating a false story about the Nigerian Police, people will term it police brutality, not knowing it was self-inflicted. After this, go and sin no more.

Willy2025:
What a cooked-up story! If they pick you up now for fabricating a false story about the Nigerian Police, people will term it police brutality, not knowing it was self-inflicted. After this, go and sin no more.

Which ward are you?