She felt weak and sick. Her stomach burned, and her body felt strange. She was sweating heavily. Her skin became even more inflamed. Her neighbors rushed her to the hospital. The doctors examined her, then their faces turned serious. “She has an infection,” one of them said. “A very advanced one. She has lived with it for too long.
We can give her medication, but she will have to live with this body odor.” Amiwa’s heart sank. “I should have listened. I should have stopped,” she thought. But it was too late. Back at home, Amiwa sat on her bed. A bed that smelled bad. She touched her skin.
The smell was still there, very strong, unbearable. But the doctors had said that she was no longer sick, only marked for life. She took her phone and stared at it for a long time. Then, with a trembling hand, she dialed her mother’s number. One ring, two rings. “Hello?” answered her mother’s tired but gentle voice. Amiwa could not speak.
Her lips moved, but no words came out. “Amiwa, is that you?” Tears ran down her cheeks. She pressed the phone against her chest, crying softly. “Mom,” she finally whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.” “My daughter, are you okay? Where are you?” “I want to come home,” she said between sobs.
“Please, I need you. I can’t do this alone anymore,” cried Amiwa. Her mother was already crying on the other side of the line. “Send me your address. We are coming to get you.” Amiwa sent the address, then collapsed onto the bed, crying until she fell asleep. Hours later, someone knocked at the door. She opened it slowly, and they were there.
Her mother raised a hand to her mouth in shock. Her father stood frozen. “Amiwa,” her mother said softly, stepping forward. “My baby.” Amiwa was unrecognizable: thin, pale, with patches on her skin and tired eyes. The smell hit them as soon as they entered, but they said nothing. Her father swallowed hard, then whispered, “What happened to you, Amiwa?” She collapsed into her mother’s arms, crying like a child.
“I ruined everything, Mom. I thought I was doing the right thing. I wanted to make you proud. I wanted to become rich. I didn’t know it would end like this.” Her mother held her tightly, tears running down her cheeks. “Shhh. It’s over. You are alive, that’s all that matters.” Her father looked away, trying to hold back his own tears.
“You should have talked to us, Amiwa. No matter what it was, we would never have abandoned you.” They all sat together on the small bed. The father looked around the room. It was silent, sad. “We’re taking you home,” he said softly. “I’m tired,” Amiwa whispered. “I just want peace.” “You will have it,” her mother replied.
“We’re going to help you heal.” Amiwa nodded, wiping her face. For the first time in a long while, she felt safe. The next morning, she packed her bag. The money the chief had given her was still there, carefully stored in her bag. But it felt heavy now.
Not only because of its weight, but because of the shame. Her parents asked no questions. They only wanted to bring her home safe and sound. They took the first bus back to the poor neighborhood. On the way, Amiwa looked out the window. People laughed, sold things, lived normal lives.
She remained silent, holding her bag tightly against her. In the neighborhood, neighbors gathered when they arrived. “Ah, it’s Amiwa, she has changed.” “She came back.” Her mother quickly took her inside. “Don’t pay attention to them,” she said softly. “Let them talk.” Amiwa lay down on her old bed.
Everything had stayed exactly as she had left it: the faded curtains, the worn mattress, the small clock on the wall. But she was no longer the same girl. Later in the week, she gave some of the money to her parents. “Take it,” she said. “Repair the house, start a small business.”
Her father looked at her in surprise. “Are you sure?” “I’m sure, Dad.” They used some of it to repair the leaking roof, repaint the house, and open a small shop for Amiwa’s mother. One evening, alone in her room, Amiwa closed her eyes. “What will happen to me now with this smell stuck to my skin?” she thought.
Her parents said nothing to her, but whenever someone came very close to her, they immediately noticed the smell. Meanwhile, on a big road in the city, people shouted, “Look, look at him!” A man was running, his clothes dirty, his hair messy, talking to himself. “I am rich. I am powerful. Chief O…”
Olabiri had lost his mind. He shouted, his eyes wide open, looking completely mad. The people around him looked at him with pity. “Look at him, the great man, he has lost everything.” The great chief had become a madman in the street. Meanwhile, Amiwa was in her room when her phone rang. It was Ina, the young woman who had called to warn her about Chief Ola.
At first, Amiwa had not believed her. “Ami, you must tell the whole world the truth,” Ina said in a weak voice. “What truth?” Amiwa asked. “He used me. He used other girls too. He is a wicked man,” Ina said. Amiwa’s heart sped up. “What do you mean? I am sick, Amiwa. Very sick. He did this to me.
Promise me. Tell the truth.” “I promise, Ina,” said Amiwa, deeply moved. The call ended. A deep silence settled. Amiwa held her phone tightly against herself. She had to do something. She wanted to call Ina back, but her hands were trembling. What if something terrible had happened to her? What if what happened to Ina also happened to her? Someone answered, but it was not Ina’s voice.
“Who is this?” asked Amiwa. “I’m Ina’s sister,” said a tearful voice. “Ina is gone.” Amiwa felt her heart collapse. “Gone? What do you mean?” “She just died. She was too sick.” The phone nearly slipped from her hands. Ina was dead. Chief Ola had destroyed her life. With tears in her eyes, Amiwa knew what she had to do.
She took her phone, opened the camera, and pressed record. “Hello everyone, my name is Amiwa. I have something to say.” She breathed softly. “This is about Chief Olabiri. Many of you know him as a rich, generous man, a man who helps young girls.”
