OZOEMENA 1

OZOEMENA 1

Yetty and I formed a friendship that felt like a miracle, one that grew stronger because of our parents’ closeness. Our mothers were both teachers at the community school, while her dad was a bus driver and my father a policeman. The connection started with our mothers, and from then on, we bonded effortlessly. I often stayed over at her house, and she did the same at mine.

People often mistook us for sisters, sometimes even twins, despite our slight differences in height and skin tone. Yetty was taller and light-skinned, while I was petite and dark-skinned. The first time I saw her, I was captivated by her beauty, wishing my skin could be like hers and her big, round eyes could be mine. It was on New Year’s Day when our mothers introduced us. They told us we were like sisters and should act as one, especially since we would soon be close neighbors.

Yetty wasn’t very welcoming at first, but I was thrilled and couldn’t wait for all the adventures I imagined we’d have. After the introduction, we went our separate ways, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her and the friendship we were about to share. Being only children, I thought we would fill the gaps in each other’s lives.

When her family moved into the flat directly opposite ours, it was my mum who told her mother about the vacancy. We helped them arrange their things and settle in. While we were organizing, Yetty acted as if she didn’t want our help. Her mom often had to caution her, reminding her that I was her sister and we needed to get to know each other. After cleaning, my mum brought out the red oil rice she had prepared, and we all sat down to eat while Yetty’s dad went to the other apartment to bring more of their belongings.

Over time, we grew very close. We went to school and church together and were seen at almost every event side by side. We shared our belongings and spent nearly every moment together until it was time to retire to bed.

Our relationship blossomed, but there were things Yetty did that I didn’t like but often ignored. For instance, whenever we went out or attended events and I received gifts while she didn’t, the journey back home was always tense. She would either walk far ahead of me or remain silent until I gave her my gifts to make her happy.

Despite her flaws, I couldn’t imagine life without her. She was the only friend-sibling I had. Yetty was someone I could trust to be there when I needed her, even if her behavior sometimes frustrated me. Being only children, living in the same compound, and attending the same community school and church brought us even closer together.

OZOEMENA 2

Yetty and I were inseparable. We attended functions together, wore matching clothes, and alternated sleeping at each other’s houses. Sharing household chores made our workload easier.

Our daily routine consisted of school, church, and home. Our parents were proud of us, and we worked hard to maintain their trust. However, we didn’t always agree. We’d settle our differences or seek our mother’s intervention when necessary.

One lingering issue was Yetty’s accusation that I was interested in the drummer boy from our church. Despite her denials, I knew she liked him. Whenever she saw him talking to another girl, she’d become agitated and pick fights with me over trivial things.

I reassured her that I wasn’t interested in the drummer boy, but she wouldn’t listen. The tension between us grew thicker, like a fog that refused to lift.

One day, after rehearsal, the drummer boy chased after us, shouting my name. We turned, and I was shocked to see him running toward us. Yetty showed no emotion, while I looked at her confused.

When the boy approached, he apologized for shouting and asked for my number, claiming he wanted to talk as friends. I hesitated, unsure of what to do. Yetty intervened, calling out my number. He thanked her, shook her hand, and ran back.

The walk home was silent. As soon as Yetty reached her gate, she walked in without our usual goodbyes. I called out, but she ignored me. I went home, feeling uneasy and wondering what had just happened.

Later that evening, I received an SMS from an unknown number: “Hope you got home safely, reply when you can.” I responded, and we exchanged messages until I slept.

The next day, Yetty visited, and we chatted about random things. But the tension between us was still palpable. Suddenly, she grabbed my phone and ran to her house, locking the door behind her.

I banged on the door, demanding my phone back, but she refused. I tried calling her mom, but no one responded. I was left standing there, feeling frustrated and confused.

As I walked back home, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with Yetty. Why was she acting so strangely? And what did she plan to do with my phone?

OZOEMENA 3

She walked up to me, her eyes red from crying. “Why did you snatch my phone?” I asked her as she approached where I was sitting in front of our apartment.

“You said you didn’t like him, you lied,” she retorted.

“Lie about what? I don’t like him, and there’s nothing going on between us,” I replied, trying to clear my name.

“It’s a lie, you liar! I saw your SMS and all the goodnight talks,” Yetty said, her voice shaking.

“Yetty, you’re being annoying now. It was an harmless message, and I wanted to know why he asked for my number. That’s why I engaged him. I never wanted to give him my number, but you gave it to him,” I said, feeling annoyed.

“I gave it to him because I knew you liked him and wanted him to have your number. I knew you were shy,” Yetty said, her voice rising.

The argument continued back and forth until my mom intervened.

“What’s going on here?” she asked with a stern voice.

“Oyenka has a boyfriend,” Yetty lied.

My mom’s expression changed to shock. “What?” she asked, rushing towards me.

I was too stunned to talk, shaking my head in denial as tears streamed down my face.

“Is she saying the truth?” my mom asked, looking at me.

I continued shaking my head, trying to convey that I wasn’t lying, but Yetty was.

My mom took the phone from Yetty and went inside. I ignored Yetty’s calls and went inside, feeling hurt and betrayed.

Later that day, after our evening devotion, my parents expressed their disappointment in me.

“We got you that phone because we believed and trusted you. We thought you wouldn’t get carried away, but we were wrong. You’re exchanging chats with a guy,” my dad said, his voice filled with disappointment.

I tried explaining, but no one gave me a chance.

“If you weren’t dating him, why were you exchanging messages late at night, and he complimented your gown?” my mom shouted.

I stayed mute, accepting my fate as tears flowed down my face.

My parents took away my phone, and I decided to distance myself from Yetty. However, she kept apologizing and trying to make amends.

I gave her monosyllabic responses, making it clear she wasn’t welcome. Yet, she persisted, intensifying her efforts to reconcile.

I tried avoiding her, but she’d show up at my house, forcing herself into my room. When I avoided going to her house, she’d come to mine.

Her presence irritated me, but I realized she wouldn’t let me be. So, I let her have her way, keeping my distance emotionally.

One day, at church, Yetty approached me. “Oyenka, you didn’t come to my house for us to go to church together like we used to.”

“I was busy and running late for service,” I replied, walking away.

Yetty followed me. “Oyenka, wait! Why are you avoiding me? I was trying to look out for you. Remember, we said we wouldn’t have boyfriends?”

I felt a pang of guilt, but her accusations about me dating the drummer boy made me angry. As I tried to leave, the drummer boy passed by, greeted us, and held my hand.

“Are you okay? You haven’t been responding to my messages,” he asked.

Yetty’s face turned pale, her eyes fixed on me.

I responded, “Please stop calling me, Yetty is already calling you my boyfriend.”

He smiled and said, “it is not a bad thing? I like that.”

It was unbelievable. Yetty left the two of us standing there.

“Please, I beg you in the name of God, do not say that again,” I said, feeling desperate. “My friend likes you, but we are not allowed to have boyfriends now. Please leave me alone.”

He held me and asked, “She likes me, how come?”

” I do not like her, and I am joking to you,” he continued.

I thanked him and rushed off.

As I walked away, I could feel his eyes on me. I quickened my pace, anxious to get away from the awkward situation.

Then, I saw Yetty standing with our parents. Their faces looked concerned, and I could tell something was wrong.

“Oyenka, come here,” my mom called out, her voice stern.

I walked towards them, feeling a sense of dread. What had Yetty told them?

OZOEMENA 4

As we entered the parlor, my father spoke up immediately, his voice laced with disappointment.

“After everything we discussed, you still continued talking to that boy and allowed him to express his love for you in church. Don’t you fear God?”

“Daddy, it’s not—” I tried to explain, but my mother cut me off.

“Shut up! Shut up!” she snapped, punctuating her words with a sharp slap. “Your father is speaking, and you’re being defensive? Where did you get this attitude from?”

They didn’t give me a chance to speak, so I fell silent, my heart pounding with frustration. I found solace in the distance Yetty had begun keeping from me. We didn’t exchange pleasantries, and I was content with that. But our mother noticed and soon intervened.

Without waiting to hear our sides of the story, she declared, “I don’t want to hear anything. You two should settle and go back to the way things used to be.”

Reluctantly, we resumed talking, though the past tension lingered. Yetty never acknowledged her wrongdoing, nor did she see any fault in her actions. Still, I chose to move forward, and before long, we became close again.

I kept my distance from the drummer boy, sensing Yetty’s attempts to draw closer to him. But he never paid her any attention, nor did he approach me again.

After college, as we prepared for the future, different suitors came into our lives. Most of Yetty’s admirers were well-to-do, while mine seemed below average. She kept rejecting men, often showing interest in those who pursued me.

I even introduced some of my suitors to her, hoping one might catch her interest. But it never worked out. “Maybe marriage isn’t for me,” she mused one day when I asked about the last guy I’d introduced her to.

I, on the other hand, loved David—a young, respected church brother adored by many. He was my first real crush. I would arrive early for weekly services, just to catch a glimpse of him. Always impeccably dressed in his fitted shirts and plain trousers, he exuded a quiet confidence.

As I grew closer to David, Yetty became uneasy around us. At first, I thought nothing of it, assuming she was just looking out for me. But soon, she began trying to impress him with her knowledge of the Lord, engaging him in long conversations. A pang of jealousy stirred within me, but I pushed it aside, dismissing it as paranoia.

One evening, while decorating the church for Christmas, Yetty brought up a guy from my university who had once shown interest in me. In front of David, she casually labeled him as my boyfriend. I was too stunned to speak.

Before I could respond, David chuckled. “Wedding bells will ring soon,” he teased.

Yetty beamed. “Yeahhh!”

Their exchange felt like a dagger to my chest. Unable to hide my discomfort, I stood up and left.

After that night, David started keeping his distance. I never found out what Yetty told him after I walked away, but soon, she confided in me that they were getting closer. I wished her well and sincerely prayed for their happiness, even though it hurt. I often cried in secret, especially when she spoke about him or when I saw them together.

Whenever I asked about their relationship, Yetty would brush it off. “He’s been busy,” she’d say dismissively.

Then, one Sunday, our pastor announced Brother David’s engagement—to a sister from another parish. My heart clenched, but a small part of me felt relieved.

With a teasing smirk, I turned to Yetty. “Are you sure you won’t change your character or stop looking at their pockets?”

She shot me a sharp look. “What do you mean by that?”

I laughed. “I’m just joking.” I reached out to hug her, but she remained stiff.

A few days later, as we walked home from church, a car pulled up beside us. A man rolled down the window, asking for directions to a popular market. When my instructions didn’t seem to register, he begged me to ride with him, offering payment.

I declined, but Yetty pinched my arm. “Just go. It’s not a big deal.”

Reluctantly, I agreed. Yetty quickly slid into the front seat while I sat in the back. She peppered the man with questions, and when he directed some toward me, she eagerly answered on my behalf.

When we arrived at the market, the man offered us money. I had already stepped out, but Yetty collected the cash, beaming as she exchanged numbers with him. When she joined me, she handed me a portion of the money and said excitedly, “He took my number! I think he likes me.”

After that encounter, Yetty became distant. Though I had other friends from university and work, she had always been my closest confidante. But now, she rarely responded to my messages or returned my calls.

Then, a month later, she sent me a text with a phone number attached: “Jude wants to talk to you.”

I frowned at the message, confused. When I tried to ask her about it, she didn’t respond.

Eventually, I called Jude and introduced myself. He got straight to the point. “I’ve been trying to reach you. I actually wanted to get to know you, but Yetty was adamant. In the end, I had to buy your number from her.”

Stunned, I remained silent for a moment before forcing out a response. “Oh… I see.”

I didn’t confront Yetty about what Jude had told me. Instead, I tucked the knowledge away, a bitter confirmation of what I had long suspected.

Yetty had never truly been looking out for me—she had been looking out for herself.

OZOEMENA 5

I declined his advances, but he never stopped asking me out and showing that he was here to stay. Jude kept trying to make me see reasons why we should give us a try and not let the attitude of a friend spoil a beautiful thing.

After months of back and forth, I decided to have a word with Yetty to understand why she had been avoiding me. But she never gave me the chance. She wouldn’t pick up my calls or respond to my messages. On the rare occasions she did, she would claim to be busy and promise to call back, which never happened. Eventually, I decided to let it be and give Jude a chance.

Jude and I became close, and after six months, he proposed. I accepted and immediately called Yetty to share the news. She simply said, “OK.”

I was taken aback. “Why just ‘OK’?” I asked.

“What do you want me to say?” she replied.

I tried asking if I had offended her or if something was bothering her. She insisted that nothing was wrong and that we were fine. When I told her I would love for her to be my maid of honor, she rejected the offer instantly.

“I won’t be available,” she responded immediately.

“You didn’t even think about it. We don’t even have a date yet,” I said, feeling disappointed.

“With the way Jude is moving, I am certain the wedding will be soon, and I know I won’t be free around that time,” she said.

I let it go, and after an awkward goodbye, I ended the call.

Three months later, Jude and I got married, and I moved to his city. I was sad to leave Yetty behind but also felt relieved. Her silent treatment and nonchalance had been hurtful.

Whenever I complained about Yetty’s behavior, Jude defended her, making me feel guilty for wanting to cut her off. So, I kept updating her about my new life in the city. Slowly, our bond seemed to be rekindling. When Jude had to travel for business, I invited Yetty over. She sounded happy and promised to visit.

When she arrived, I ensured she felt at home, cooking whatever she wanted. She constantly talked about how wealthy Jude was and how lonely she felt. Jude would call occasionally to check in on us, which made Yetty bring him up in conversations even more.

One afternoon, as we chatted on the balcony, she sighed and spoke about her loneliness. Jokingly, I said, “You’re too picky, that’s why. You’re a beautiful girl; you won’t be lonely if you stop being so selective. Just relax and let someone love you.”

She sighed deeply and replied, “Now that you’re married, you think everyone else is being too selective? If not for me, would you have married him? Anyway, it’s not just about getting married; it’s about having children.”

I was taken aback and quickly apologized, assuring her that I didn’t mean to offend her. She stayed a few more days before leaving.

After she left, I tried calling her to confirm she had arrived home safely, but her number wasn’t going through. I kept trying all day, but there was no response. Late that night, her mother called me.

“Hello, Oyen. How are you?” she asked hesitantly, her voice laced with worry.

“I’m fine, Mummy, and you?” I responded, surprised to receive her call at that hour.

“Yetty said she would be coming home today, but I haven’t seen or heard from her. Is she still with you?”

“No, Mummy. I’ve been trying to reach her too, but her line isn’t connecting,” I said, feeling a wave of panic. I reassured her mother, telling her to try and get some rest and that we would hear from Yetty by morning.

I couldn’t sleep that night. My mind played out all sorts of terrifying scenarios. Jude tried to calm me down, but I kept waking up at intervals to try her number again.

The next morning, I called Yetty’s number, but it was still unreachable. Her mother had the same news. We contacted everyone we knew who was close to her, but nobody had heard from her. After 24 hours, I decided to go to the police, and her parents did the same in our community.

I spent money on the case, but no tangible information was forthcoming. Feeling guilty and heartbroken, I traveled to stay with her parents during the difficult time. I wanted them to know I was just as devastated. Her parents were inconsolable. It was a dark period for everyone.

After two days, I had to return home but promised to keep checking in, which I did. On the third day, Yetty’s mother called me.

“Oyen, Yetty has returned home!” she cried joyfully.

My heart leaped. “Thank you, Jesus!” I shouted, dancing in excitement over the phone. “Can I speak to her?”

“She’s not looking well. She needs rest. Later, she will be fine.”

I waited for a call from Yetty, but it never came. After 24 hours, I called her myself. The moment she picked up, I screamed, “Thank you, Jesus!”

She explained that she had been kidnapped and taken to a thick forest, where she awaited her fate. She had no idea why, but after some time, the leader of the group ordered her release, saying her spirit was too strong.

Chills ran down my spine as she described her ordeal. We thanked God over the phone, and I promised to visit her soon. She sounded appreciative, and I let her rest.