Undercover

It was a heavily rainy day, and I had just gotten back from my travels. I was completely exhausted from the endless switching of danfo buses. At one point, crammed tightly in the back row, I repeated this desperate prayer to God:

"God, please bless me with a good car."

It had been such a stressful journey. The bus drivers, fueled by pure greed to make extra gains, squeezed us into the seats like bags of rice. To top it all off, I was blessed with two seat partners who must have been working manually for days without a shower; the smell of their armpits was far more effective than a can of bug spray. I could practically see the flies rejecting our vehicle as we drove past; they were looking at me through the window with tiny eyes that spelt,

"Oh poor soul, surely thou art lost."

It was an absolute miracle that I survived by holding my breath and actively shielding my nose until I finally dropped at the last bus stop the vehicle could take me. I alighted and dragged my heavy bunch of luggage and gifts—courtesy of my silly cousin Tunde—down from the boot. I quickly called a friend to come help me transport the loads to my house with his truck. Of course, it isn't nice to disturb someone's peace to come lift your heavy baggage for free, so I paid him upfront. He strongly refused the cash, but I secretly transferred it to him anyway. Given his bank, I knew the alert would only hit his phone five hours later.

Leaving the loads safely with him, I remembered I needed to restock on some soaps and cleaning materials. Since I had been away for a week, my apartment would definitely need a little dusting. I decided to drop by the marketplace.

The market—the chaotic center of all trades. I stood at the entrance, merely admiring the sight of the additional stress I was about to put my body through. "Lord, give me strength," I sighed, letting out a deep breath as I brought out my phone to check my list. Swish! In a split second, my hand was empty.

"Thief! Thief! She’s gotten my phone!" I shouted, the adrenaline instantly wiping away my exhaustion.

I bolted, chasing after a woman wearing a full hijab with her face completely covered. I didn't know where the energy came from, but it grew immense as I gained ground. I almost caught up to her, but then the worst possible thing happened. The thief ran straight into a crowded Muslim gathering celebrating a religious festival. People celebrating wasn't the issue, but the issue was that I ended up looking completely stupid.

"Thief! Thief! The lady on the full hijab stole my phone!" I yelled out, only to freeze.

I suddenly realized there were dozens of ladies in the crowd putting on identical hijabs, all with their faces covered.

"I'm totally screwed," I thought.

I scanned the crowd frantically until I noticed one particular lady making a hurried, suspicious way toward the far end of the clearing. I knew I couldn't catch up to her if I tried to plow directly through the thick crowd, so I quickly ran around the perimeter, cutting her off based on the direction she was heading. This was the beginning of another legend of the Fast and Furious. At that moment, I didn't care about gender or decorum; all I wanted to do was find a big piece of wood and smash it over her head the moment I saw her.

My legs were swift, and soon I almost caught up. But she pulled another trick, darting through a narrow shortcut and vanishing from my sight to hide. I knew I was too close for her to have completely outrun me; she had to be hiding nearby. I stopped in my tracks, panting, scanning the bushes, the makeshift shops, and the passing people.

Suddenly, I noticed two older ladies moving forward, deep in discussion. They were also wearing hijabs. I almost looked past them, thinking it was just another group of market women, until my eyes locked onto a third figure walking slightly behind them. It was my phone. She was holding it tightly, trying desperately to hide it from both me and the women she was walking with, making sure nobody noticed anything unusual. I crept closer and heard her murmur nervously,

"Maami, ko ri bee..." meaning, "Mother, that's not how it is."

That was all I needed to hear. Catch the parents of the thief, and you've caught the thief. Hahahaha! What an inexperienced thief. I muttered to myself that I wouldn't have made such an amateur mistake even when I was a primary school kid skilled at stealing my classmates' pens. She hadn't even thought to slide the phone inside her long hijab sleeve to completely hide it from my sight; instead, she was trying to wield the phone out in the open like it was hers to deceive me. But I knew my phone like the back of my hand.

"Ẹ ba mí di obinrin yẹn mu!" I shouted in Yoruba. "Help me hold that lady!"

The girl panicked and tried to bolt, but her mother was incredibly quick. She lunged forward and grabbed her daughter firmly, demanding to know why she was running. The girl instantly burst into heavy tears, weeping and shaking.

"Mummy, please promise you won't be angry when you hear!" she cried out. I walked up and rudely grabbed my phone out of her hand, loudly accusing her of theft. I was shocked to see a youth like her stealing, let alone weeping so bitterly like someone who had just lost a child. "Haa! Fatimah?!" her mother exclaimed, her jaw dropping in absolute horror. "Even if we have nothing left, it has not reached this extent! Why would you steal, for Allah's sake?" Tears began falling off the mother's face, little by little.

Right there in the dirt, the mother knelt down along with the other elderly woman who was with her, begging me passionately not to be annoyed. I was still fuming, hot steam practically pouring out of my ears like a volcano, but seeing two elderly women on their knees in a public market completely deflated my anger. I calmed down, told them it was fine, and turned to walk away. But my spirit wouldn't let me leave. Perhaps I had been led to this family for a reason. I couldn't explain the sudden tug at my heart, so I decided to do something unusual: I offered to follow them to their house. When we arrived at their humble compound, I was deeply touched. They were living in a dilapidated mud house that looked like it belonged in a historical museum rather than a residential area. Lately, I had been running out of ideas for my VTubing and social media pages, and I hadn't posted a video in a while. My initial, cynical internet-brain thought: Maybe posting their story online would go viral and help them.

But then, my conscience pierced my heart like a spear. What will they gain if you receive all the praise for a one-time charity video? Money will finish one day, and all that will be left is their dignity. A person's honesty is worth far more than views. I looked at the crumbling walls and thought about what I would have done if I were in her exact situation—I might have done far worse. I sat down on a plastic chair and gently asked them to tell me their story.

The mother wiped her eyes and explained that it all started four years ago when Fatimah had just finished her WAEC. The extended family had gathered to discuss her future, insisting that she study Islamic Studies in the university and devote her life strictly to religious leadership. Fatimah's parents, however, wanted to let the girl choose her own path. They were ready to support her dreams, but the moment Fatimah announced she wanted to become a gynecologist, the extended family backed out in anger, claiming the girl's choice brought no honor to the family line. They had been the ones sponsoring her education, and true to their word, they cut off all financial support. Refusing to let their daughter's dream die, the parents gathered every single Kobo they had saved over decades and used it to send her to school. There were months when the parents literally starved themselves, and times when Fatimah had to beg just to buy textbooks. Against all odds, she graduated.

"Now that she is a graduate," the mother wept softly,

"she has been going everywhere looking for a medical job, but she finds none. We have been moving around begging. The debts from her school days and our current feeding have accumulated, and nobody is ready to lend us a single Naira anymore. We haven't even been able to afford a decent meal for months. All we think about every waking hour is how to survive another day. Everyone else just blames us for chasing away our wealthy extended family helpers. Yesterday night, we were sitting right here, crying, saying that maybe we were wrong to stand our ground. It’s hard to tell what is right or wrong anymore when your stomach is empty. Fatimah must have heard us despairing. Her morals must have completely shattered under the pressure, prompting her to take that foolish step today."

My heart was completely moved with compassion. Fatimah was back on her knees in front of me, begging for forgiveness, crying that she would do absolutely anything to make it up to me, as long as her parents could get something to eat. She didn't care if she died, as long as they survived.

Tears rolled down my own eyes. Lately, I had been so consumed with making money through social media and chasing views. Now that I had amassed a comfortable amount of success, I hadn't even known what to do with it, and I had been stressed over buying a car. Looking at this family, the car suddenly felt incredibly unimportant. I would rather help these people a million times over than buy a vehicle.

I immediately opened my bag to offer them a significant sum of money, but to my surprise, they adamantly refused. They would only accept just enough to buy a proper meal for that evening, claiming it was completely unjust to take charity from me after what Fatimah had done. By the letter of the law, I could have handed her over to the police to face years in prison, or worse, dragged her back to the market center to be beaten by a mob practicing jungle justice. Yet here they were, protecting their integrity even in starvation.

"In that case," I asked, "would you mind if I saw your CV?"

Fatimah quickly hurried inside and brought out a neatly tucked folder. I opened it, and her credentials were absolutely perfect. A brilliant smile broke across my face as a sudden realization hit me.

My aunt—the very same aunt whose house I had just left after the chaotic weekend of pranks—was currently searching for qualified medical staff for her private hospital. She desperately needed someone reliable to stand in for her when she was taking breaks or busy handling her primary shift at the government public hospital.

"This is perfect," I said, looking up at Fatimah. "I think you did the right thing by refusing the quick cash, but please, do not refuse the lifeline I am about to offer you. You can always change your mind later or leave if you find a better hospital, but for now, please don't say no if my aunt approves your application."

Right there in the room, I took out my phone, scanned her documents, and sent them directly to my aunt. I deliberately omitted the part about the market chase and the stolen phone, framing her purely as a brilliant, struggling graduate in need of an interview. My aunt, trusting my recommendation, replied almost immediately, telling her to come in for an interview the very next day. I promised to help her with her transport fare for the interview. I also told her that once she officially secured the job, she and her family would be relocating to one of my aunt's vacant rental apartments, and I would personally take care of the rent until they could fully stand on their own feet.

They burst into tears once more, showering me with prayers and thank-yous. But in truth, it wasn't me—it was God who had finally answered their long prayers, and I made sure to tell them so. Perhaps Fatimah was truly meant to cross paths with me for her ultimate breakthrough, and the terrible mistake she made was just the catalyst to speed things up. Still, I was deeply glad to see another family smile.

"Please, don't tell anyone it was me who helped you. I really don't like unnecessary attention from people," I insisted as I prepared to head home that evening.

Because I had completely lost my bearings running through the shortcuts, Fatimah had to escort me out of the neighborhood. As we walked, I knew the local town members and merchants she had borrowed money from wouldn't just let her family pack up and leave without trouble. So, I took out my wallet and personally settled the outstanding debts with the immediate town members and creditors right then and there. The rest of the debts, I told her, she could easily clear online once her salary payments started rolling in. While we were walking, she had pulled back her hijab, and it felt far more human to finally see her face clearly. She is actually very beautiful, I thought to myself, watching her expression soften.

But still... the moment I finally got back to my own apartment, I could do absolutely nothing but drop onto my bed and complain bitterly into my pillow all night long. There goes my dream of buying a car! 😭😭😭

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