This chapter contains psychological tension, coercion, manipulation, and the depiction of human trafficking. Reader discretion is advised.
First Night in Cameroon
The bus had stopped, but it wasn't the one Adesuwa had imagined. No gleaming hotel, no smiling faces. Just a low, narrow street lined with shuttered buildings, their walls cracked and paint peeling. The guards motioned for the girls to disembark.
"Follow orders. Step lightly. Eyes forward," one barked.
The excitement that had thrummed through the group vanished like smoke. Whispers died in their throats. Something heavy settled in Adesuwa's chest. This isn't an internship. This isn't a trip.
They were led into a building barely finished, dust coating every surface, the smell of wet concrete and rust filling the air. Inside, a group of men waited—broad shoulders, cold eyes, and expressions carved from stone.
"This is your home," one said, voice flat. "Learn your place, follow the rules. Obey, or regret it."
Adesuwa's stomach twisted. Her dreams of traveling, learning, growing… everything had been stripped from her before she could even reach Cameroon.
The girls were herded into a large room, windows barred, dim light from a single bulb casting long shadows. Mats lay on the floor—thin, hard, uncomfortable. The air was thick and heavy.
"They'll watch us," whispered Chioma. Her usual bright spark was gone, replaced by tight-lipped tension.
Adesuwa nodded slowly. She remembered Efe's words: Fear might keep you alive. If anything feels wrong… run.
---
The first night passed in silence. The hum of the city outside was distant, almost unreal. The girls huddled together on the mats, some whispering quietly, others staring at the ceiling. Adesuwa traced patterns on her notebook, hidden beneath her shirt, recording every detail—names of guards, routines, shifts, even the time the doors were unlocked.
This was her lifeline. Her map. Her escape plan in embryonic form.
By the second day, training began. It was nothing like what they had been told in brochures. No lace, no bridal tutorials. Instead, strict rules and psychological manipulation. The girls were instructed in ways to appear alluring, to smile, to obey clients without question.
"Smile. Obey. Please. Don't think. Don't cry," a trainer barked.
Adesuwa's heart hammered, but her hands remained steady. She nodded, memorized their tactics, but deep inside, a fire was igniting. I will survive. I will escape. I will tell the world.
---
Meals were rationed. Sleep was monitored. Every step was observed. Phones were gone. Communication with the outside world impossible.
Adesuwa noticed patterns. Shift changes. Which guard dozed, which trainer drank quietly in the corner. Little gaps where doors were unlocked, or windows slightly ajar.
She whispered to Chioma:
"We can't act yet. Watch. Wait. Learn."
Chioma bit her lip. "But… if they catch us?"
"We won't get caught," Adesuwa replied, voice low but fierce. "We survive first. Then we escape. We can't rush."
Chioma nodded, eyes wide but trusting.
---
A week passed. Adesuwa had memorized every routine. She started keeping a secret journal, writing in code: #Lights out, shift 2, door slightly unlocked, window south. Each observation was a brick in her mental map, each note a lifeline.
She also noticed the girls around her—some breaking, some trying to comply, some quietly resisting. She began building alliances, quietly identifying those she could trust. Trust would be key. One misstep, one whisper to the wrong ear, and the consequences would be deadly.
At night, she lay awake, listening to footsteps echoing on concrete, counting shifts, remembering Efe's warning.
Fear keeps you alive. Fear is your ally.
---
Then came the first real test. A trainer ordered the girls into a small room, one by one. They were to perform obedience drills—a humiliating simulation of "client interactions."
Adesuwa stepped in, knees shaking but head high. The trainer circled, scrutinizing. He barked orders. She followed, silent, controlled. Her mind, however, raced—mental notes on every angle, every exit, every security blind spot.
When it was over, Chioma whispered, "You… you survived."
Adesuwa nodded, eyes scanning the room. "Not survived. Observed. Planned."
It was the first time she allowed herself a spark of hope. Hope she could turn into action.
---
Days later, a guard dropped a scrap of paper by her mat while she slept. On it was a message: "We know you watch. We see you note. Stop."
Fear clawed at her chest, but she smiled faintly. They thought they could intimidate her. They underestimated her.
She tucked the note beneath her mattress. Her plan only became clearer. She would survive, she would escape, and she would tell the world the story of what happened here.
---
One night, she whispered to Chioma:
"Tomorrow, we watch the guards. Timing. Route. Everything. I think I found a gap."
Chioma's hands shook, but she nodded. "I trust you."
Adesuwa gripped her notebook beneath her pillow. Every observation, every schedule, every lapse in attention—it all mattered. One small misstep could cost them their lives, but one correct move could be freedom.
The moonlight slanted through the cracked window, casting stripes across the floor. Somewhere beyond the walls, the city slept. Somewhere, beyond fear and control, a plan was forming.
Adesuwa's voice echoed in her mind:
> I will survive. I will escape. I will tell the world our story.
---
She secretly begins her escape plan, observing guards and routines.
A direct threat arrives (note left by guards), showing that they are aware—but it only strengthens