In 2012, I made the most reckless decision of my young, innocent, God-fearing life. I agreed to sleep in a lady’s house. Yes, me. A whole Ghetto President.

For months, she had been begging, persuading, and emotionally blackmailing me like a Nollywood villain. “Why don’t you ever sleep at my place? Don’t you love me? Don’t you trust me?” Blah blah blah. You know women with emotions, once they start, even CNN can’t interrupt them.

I kept dodging like a politician trying to avoid accountability. She would sleep at my place, no problem. But me? Entering her house? That was like volunteering for a horror movie audition.

Why? Because I knew the story of one poor guy who went to sleep in a lady’s house and never woke up. Her ex, who was still technically the landlord since he paid the rent showed up and beat the new boyfriend like a rented drum. The man died. Finished. Game over.

So when this hanty kept pressing me, I said, “God, if I perish, I perish.” I recited every Biblical verse I knew, Psalms, Proverbs, even the ones I normally skip. I was ready to fight demons, ex-boyfriends, and rent collectors.

Finally, I agreed. But let me tell you, I did not remove my clothes. No sir. I slept fully dressed like a soldier on standby. Boots, jeans, belt, everything intact. Because if the ex came storming in, I wasn’t about to run naked into the street shouting “Jesus is Lord.”

Now, sleep was impossible. My body was lying down, but my spirit was 80% awake, scanning the environment like a CCTV camera. Every creak of the door sounded like Judgment Day.

Then it happened. In my half-sleep, I felt huge hands on my neck. My ancestors screamed, “This is it!
The ex has arrived!” I jumped up like a man escaping hellfire.

But guess what? It was her arm. She was cuddling me. CUDDLING. Do you know the trauma of mistaking affection for assassination?

She jumped up too, panicking, asking what happened. I told her it was just a dream. But inside, I was thinking: “Madam, your love nearly sent me to the mortuary.”

I did not sleep again till morning. I prayed, packed myself, and went straight to my house.

To this day, I salute those brave men who sleep comfortably in a lady’s house. You, people, are heroes. Me? Never again.