EPISODE 5

I stood there, ringing the bell and even banging on the gate, but no one came out. My frustration was rising when a woman from the next compound walked toward me. She looked disturbed by my persistence.

“Please madam, are you waiting for someone?” she asked curiously.

“Yes, I am here to see Johnson, the owner of this house,” I replied with confidence.

“The owner?” she repeated, frowning slightly.

“Yes, the man who lives here,” I clarified, trying to sound sure of myself.

The woman chuckled in disbelief and shook her head. “My dear, this is a guest house. No one lives here. People only rent it for a night or two, sometimes longer, or they use it for shooting movies. Those who lodge here for weeks do so because they don’t have permanent homes around.”

I froze. Her words stung like a knife. “Do you mean the owner of this house doesn’t live here at all?” I asked again, almost begging for her to take back what she said.

“You heard me right,” she confirmed. “The real owner is abroad. He has an agent who manages this place and rents it out.”

My world shook beneath me. My lips trembled as I muttered, “Wow, I was played.”

The woman thought I was talking to her. “Did you say something?” she asked.

“No,” I answered quickly, trying to hide the storm in my heart. I walked away slowly, my steps heavy and my zeal drained.

So Johnson had been deceiving me all this while? Pretending to take me to his house, when in truth it was just a guest house he had rented?

At that moment, everything began to make sense. He was too good to be true in the beginning, and I should have seen the signs. I thought taking me to his house was a way to prove his sincerity, but now I realized he only hired that place to keep up an illusion.

I still tried to console myself. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t lying to hurt me. Maybe he was only ashamed of his real home. After all, he once told me his actual house was undergoing some finishing touches. Perhaps he feared I would look down on him if I saw where he truly lived.

But the truth was, I loved him. I loved him deeply enough that even if he lived in the smallest, dirtiest place, I would still have been proud to be with him. Johnson was already part of my life. My son Duru adored him, and they bonded so naturally it almost felt like they were father and son. Many times, I dreamt of the day Duru would stop calling him “Uncle Johnson” and start calling him “Dad.” In my heart, I had painted pictures of our future together—me, Johnson, Duru, and perhaps a little sister or brother for my boy.

But now doubts crept in like shadows. Why had he lied to me? What exactly was he hiding? Could it be that he wasn’t who he claimed to be? Was it possible he was just a driver or a worker living under another man’s roof?

Questions kept piling in my mind, and I knew I wouldn’t find peace until I uncovered the truth. Yet, I couldn’t confide in my best friend Beatrice. I didn’t want her to see me as foolish or incapable of choosing the right man. So I decided to handle this matter on my own.

I came up with a plan. The only way to know Johnson’s real home was to follow him. But following a man required money, and as a woman struggling with debts, I couldn’t afford to waste money investigating someone who might already be a liar.

So I did what I thought was best—I collected the money from him.

One evening, I called Johnson and complained that I needed some money to settle old debts. I pretended as though I didn’t want to trouble him, but the person I owed was pressuring me badly. I told him I would pay him back eventually.

“How much are we talking about?” he asked with concern.

I mentioned an amount larger than what I truly needed, making sure it would cover both my debts and my secret mission. He didn’t argue much. A few days later, he came by and gave me the money.

That very day, I put my plan into action. I told him I needed to buy something from a nearby market and asked him to drop me where commercial bike riders were parked. He agreed.

When his car stopped by the roadside, I got down, waved him goodbye, and pretended to head toward the shops. He drove off as usual, thinking nothing of it.

Immediately, I hurried to one of the commercial bike riders I trusted, a man who often carried me around. I handed him some of the money Johnson had given me.

“Please,” I said in a low, urgent tone, “do you see that car that just dropped me? I need you to follow it discreetly. Just find out where the man lives and come back to tell me. Don’t let him suspect you’re trailing him. If you succeed, I’ll reward you even more.”

The bike rider’s eyes widened. The money I had given him was already more than he would make in half a day. He grinned and nodded eagerly.

“Don’t worry madam, I sabi do am,” he assured me in his local accent.

Before he zoomed off, I reminded him, “When you’re done, return to my shop. You know it, right?”

“Of course! You be my customer na,” he replied confidently.

With that, he started his motorcycle and quickly followed Johnson’s car.

I stood by the roadside, my heart racing, my palms sweaty. Every second felt like an hour. Would I finally uncover the truth? Would I learn who Johnson truly was—or was I about to open a door to a reality I wasn’t ready to face?

One thing was certain: I had crossed a line. There was no going back.

To Be Continued…