Unnamed

Introduction

On March 23, 1996, under the shadowed skies of Jos, Plateau State, a baby girl came into the world—a fighter from the moment she took her first breath. Born into a modest family of four, she was their first daughter, a tiny, fragile being whose life seemed to hang by a thread. In her first weeks, life tested her resilience in unimaginable ways. First, a tumor emerged when she was just a week old, threatening to steal her away before she could even open her eyes to the world. Barely surviving that battle, another struck at two weeks old, a cruel reminder that life would not be kind to her.

Her parents fought to save her, sacrificing what little they had, but the scars of those early days lingered—not just on her body, but in the way she would see the world. For as much as they loved her, it seemed the weight of survival hardened their hearts. She grew up surrounded by unspoken struggles, an invisible wall separating her from the warmth she so desperately craved.

By the time she was seven, the streets of Jos had become her second home. Hawking goods for her mother under the unforgiving sun, she learned quickly that her childhood would not be one of play and laughter. The chores were endless, and the praise was rare. Her younger siblings looked up to her, but even they didn't see how often she cried herself to sleep.

At 12, her family left Jos for Kaduna State, hoping to find better opportunities. But for her, the move felt like trading one hardship for another. Life in Kaduna wasn't easier; it was harsher in ways she didn't expect. The weight of being the firstborn daughter bore down on her shoulders—cooking, cleaning, hawking—while silently battling the loneliness of feeling unseen.

Her parents, consumed by their own struggles, didn't notice the cracks forming in her spirit. They didn't see the way she longed for affection, for words of reassurance that she was more than just a worker in their household. And so, she learned to search for love elsewhere—in fleeting glances, in stolen moments, in the promises of boys who said all the right things but meant none of them.

But love, she would soon learn, wasn't as simple as she hoped.

Chapter One: The Weight of Love

The warm sun bathed the quiet streets of Jos, Plateau State, in a golden glow. Inside a modest two-room home, cries of a newborn baby pierced the air, each wail a declaration of life, of survival. Her name was Shelong—a name her parents chose as a prayer, a hope for peace in a world that offered them little of it.

But peace was hard to come by. At just a week old, Shelong's cries turned to weak, strangled gasps. Her tiny body, no bigger than her father's hand, fought a battle no child should ever face. The first tumor came without warning, a cruel visitor that demanded everything her parents had to give. They scraped together money for doctors, prayed through sleepless nights, and hoped against hope.

When the second tumor appeared just days later, her mother's strength began to crack. Shelong's father stood outside the hospital, staring at the sky, unable to pray anymore.

"She's so small," her mother whispered one night, cradling Shelong as if holding her too tightly would break her. "How much can she bear?"

But Shelong bore it. She survived.

Her parents called it a miracle, but miracles, Shalom would later learn, came with a cost.

By the time she was old enough to understand, Shalom saw the world through the lens of duty. Life was a series of tasks: hawking goods on dusty streets, scrubbing pots until her hands ached, and carrying buckets of water that seemed heavier with each step. Being the first daughter came with expectations, and she met them all without complaint—not because she wanted to, but because there was no one else to do it.

Her siblings, younger and carefree, played in the narrow alleyways while she cooked, cleaned, and folded their clothes. She envied them sometimes, their laughter echoing like a distant melody she couldn't quite reach.

Her mother's voice was always sharp, not cruel but never soft. "Shelong, the firewood is running low."

"Shelong, take these to the market."

"Shelong , why are you standing there? There's work to be done."

Her father barely spoke at all, his silence filling the room like an unspoken accusation.

"Do they even see me?" Shelong wondered often.

At twelve, the family packed their belongings and left Jos for Kaduna State. The decision had been her father's—a promise of greener pastures and better opportunities. Shalom didn't argue. She didn't cry when they said goodbye to the only home she'd ever known. She was used to silence by then.

Kaduna, with its bustling streets and unfamiliar faces, felt like a different world. The house was smaller, the responsibilities heavier. Shelong's routine remained the same—chores, hawking, endless demands. But in Kaduna, she noticed something new: the boys.

They stood in groups on street corners, their eyes lingering a little too long as she passed. At first, she ignored them. But one day, a boy with a crooked smile and confident swagger called out to her.

"Hey, fine girl," he said, his voice smooth as honey. "What's your name?"

Shelong hesitated, unsure what to say. No one had ever called her "fine" before. Her heart fluttered, a strange, unfamiliar feeling.

"Shelong," she finally mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

He grinned. "A name as beautiful as the girl who owns it."

For the first time in her life, Shelong felt seen.

It wasn't long before she started sneaking out to meet him, her heart racing with every stolen moment. He told her she was special, that he cared for her in a way no one else ever could. She believed him because she wanted to. Because it was the first time anyone had made her feel like she mattered.

But even then, in the quiet corners where they met, Shelong couldn't shake the weight of love. She wanted to believe it was real, but doubt lingered, heavy and unrelenting.

Deep down, she knew she was searching for something bigger than his words—a love that would fill the empty spaces inside her, a love that didn't feel so .

Chapter Two: Shadows of Kaduna

Kaduna was nothing like Jos. The streets buzzed with restless energy, the air thick with the scent of roasted corn and diesel. Everywhere Shelong turned, there were signs of life—women balancing trays of goods on their heads, children weaving between cars to sell sachets of water, and the endless hum of voices. For her parents, it was a land of promise, a chance to rebuild. For Shelong, it was just another place to survive.

At thirteen, she had grown accustomed to the rhythm of sacrifice. Each morning, she tied a faded scarf around her head and carried a tray stacked with goods through the busy streets. "Groundnuts! Garri! Come and buy!" she called out, her voice blending with the chorus of other hawkers.

The sun was merciless, leaving her skin hot and sticky, but Shelong didn't complain. Complaining never changed anything.

By the time she returned home, her legs aching and her throat dry, her mother would already have a new task waiting for her. The kitchen was always a battlefield of pots and pans, her siblings' laughter in the background a sharp reminder of everything she didn't have time to enjoy.

"Shelong, you're slow," her mother snapped one afternoon, watching her peel yams with trembling hands. "If you keep wasting time, we won't eat tonight."

"Yes, Mama," Shelong mumbled, her eyes fixed on the knife in her hand. She didn't argue, even though she hadn't stopped working since dawn.

Her father sat silently in the corner, his expression unreadable as he read the day's newspaper. He never intervened, never asked how she was doing. Shelong often wondered if he even noticed her at all.

It wasn't the work that weighed her down—it was the emptiness, the absence of warmth in her parents' eyes. She felt like a machine, useful only when she was doing something for them.

But outside the house, in the streets of Kaduna, Shelong found fleeting moments of escape.

One evening, after selling her last sachet of groundnuts, she wandered through the market, letting the noise and movement carry her away. Her scarf had slipped down, and strands of her hair clung to her damp forehead. She was about to head home when she heard a familiar voice.

"Shelong!"

Turning, she saw him—David, the boy with the crooked smile who had stopped her weeks ago. He leaned casually against a wooden stall, his arms crossed.

"Why are you always walking so fast? You never even stop to say hi," he teased.

Shelong felt a shy smile creep onto her face. "I have to get home."

David stepped closer, his tone softening. "Why don't you stay a little longer? I'll walk you back."

Her heart fluttered. No one had ever offered to walk her home before. She hesitated, glancing at the setting sun, knowing her mother would be furious if she was late. But something about David's presence made her want to linger.

"Okay," she said finally.

As they walked through the bustling streets, David asked her questions that no one else ever had. What did she like to do? What made her happy? What were her dreams?

Shelong stumbled over her answers, unsure of how to respond. She had spent so long doing what was expected of her that she had never stopped to think about what she wanted.

When they reached her house, David paused and looked at her with a seriousness that caught her off guard

"You're special, Shelong," he said quietly. "You deserve more than this."

His words echoed in her mind long after he left. That night, as she lay on her thin mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling, she thought about what "more" might look like. Could it be a life where she didn't have to hawk in the streets? A life where she felt loved, truly loved?

But even as she dreamed, a voice in the back of her mind whispered doubts. Love wasn't for people like her. She was too tired, too broken, too invisible to be truly seen.

Still, David's words stayed with her, a flicker of hope in the darkness.

Chapter Three: Threads of Friendship, Ties of Love

Shelong's life in Kaduna was far from easy, but it wasn't entirely without joy. Amidst the chaos of chores, hawking, and endless responsibilities, she found solace in the two people who brought light into her life: Esther and Agape.

She met Esther in her second year of secondary school, JSS2. Esther had been the loudest girl in class, always eager to speak her mind, even when no one asked her to. Shelong, quiet and reserved, had watched her with a mix of amusement and awe. They became friends almost by accident, paired together during a school debate. Esther's fiery confidence balanced Shelong's calm demeanor, and from that day on, they were inseparable.

Agape came into Shelong's life a year later, in JSS3. Unlike Esther, Agape was soft-spoken and thoughtful, her words measured and deliberate. The first time they met, Agape was sitting alone under a mango tree, reading a book. Shelong, curious and drawn to her quiet energy, had struck up a conversation.

Despite their differences, the three girls became a trio. Shelong often found herself mediating between Esther's chaotic energy and Agape's,calm presence. Their friendship was far from perfect—Esther's fiery nature clashed with Agape 's,reserved demeanor more times than Shelong could count—but they made it work.

For Shelong, their friendship wasn't about age or circumstance. She was older than both girls by a few years, but it didn't matter. With them, she felt seen and valued in ways she didn't with her own family. They weren't just friends—they were her escape, her family in a world that often felt cold and distant.

Yet, even as her friendships flourished, Shelong's, heart wrestled with more complicated emotions.

Dall·E had entered her life unexpectedly, like a storm she couldn't avoid. He was married, with two children, but their connection had grown too deep to ignore. She tried to pull away, to convince herself that it was wrong, but every time she looked at him, she felt her resolve crumble.

He had a way of making her feel like she was the only person in the world who mattered. His words were gentle, his touch even gentler, and for a girl who had spent most of her life feeling invisible, his attention was intoxicating.

"Shelong, you deserve to be loved," he had told her once, his voice low and earnest.

She wanted to believe him. She needed to believe him.

But there was always a shadow over their moments together—a gnawing guilt that whispered in her ear every time she saw his wedding ring or thought about his family. She knew she was playing with fire, but the flames felt too warm to resist.

Her two friends, Esther and Agape , were her sounding boards, though she never shared the full truth about Dall·Esther, with her bold personality, often urged Shelong to take charge of her life.

"Forget about love for now," Esther would say, her hands waving dramatically. "Focus on yourself. Men will only complicate things."

Agape, ever the voice of reason, would nod in agreement. "She's right. You have so much potential, Shelong. Don't waste it on people who can't give you what you truly deserve."

Their advice was sound, but Shelong struggled to let go.

In university, life grew even more complicated. Her family couldn't afford to support her fully, and there were days when she didn't know where her next meal would come from. It was during one of these desperate times that Mr. Joseph Kendr Falaye entered her life.

Through her sister, Shelong met Mr. Joseph kinde Falaye , who was a captain in the military at the time. He was older, disciplined, and kind in a way that caught her off guard. When she needed money for handouts, food, or even school fees, he was there.

"Don't worry about paying me back," he'd say, his voice steady. "Just focus on your studies. Make something of yourself."

His generosity extended to her family as well, easing the financial burdens her parents carried. Shelong couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude toward him. He became a silent pillar of support, a figure she could rely on when everything else seemed to fall apart.

Despite the challenges, Shelong pushed through. Between her friendships, her complicated love life, and the quiet support of Mr. Falaye , she found herself navigating a world that demanded everything from her.

But even with all the help and love she received, Shelong couldn't shake the emptiness that

Shelong's days often felt like a series of battles—against the unrelenting sun, the weight of expectations, and the quiet ache of being unseen. Yet in the company of her two closest friends, Esther and Agapi, the heaviness in her heart lightened, if only for a while.

Esther was the bold one. She spoke with the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt, her words sharp but never cruel. Shelong admired her courage, even envied it. Esther was the type to march into a teacher's office demanding fairness, while Shelong would shrink into the background.

"Why do you let people walk all over you?" Esther would say, her arms crossed and her brows furrowed. "You're stronger than you think, Shelong. You just don't see it yet."

Agape , on the other hand, was the calm within their trio's storm. She was introspective, often lost in thought, but when she spoke, her words carried wisdom far beyond her years.

"You can't carry everyone's burden," Agapi had told her one evening, as they sat beneath the old mango tree in their schoolyard. "Not your parents', not your siblings', and certainly not anyone else's. Sometimes, you have to choose yourself."

But choosing herself had never been an option. Shelong's life was built around duty—duty to her family, to her survival, and, recently, to Dall·E.

Their relationship was a secret she carried alone. She knew it wasn't right; Dall·E was married with two children, his life already tied to another woman. Yet, her feelings for him had grown too strong to ignore. He saw her in a way no one else did, and for a girl who had spent her life feeling invisible, his attention was a lifeline.

"Shelong," he had whispered one evening, as they sat together under the cover of darkness, "you deserve more than this world has given you. I'll make sure you never feel alone again."

But his promises came with shadows—guilt that gnawed at her every time she thought of his family, of the woman who wore his ring. She wanted to pull away, to let him go, but she couldn't. He was her escape, her fleeting taste of the love she had always craved.

Her friends, though unaware of the full truth, sensed the turmoil within her.

"Why do you look so tired all the time?" Esther asked one afternoon, as they shared a plate of roasted maize. "You're carrying something, and it's weighing you down."

"I'm fine," Shelong lied, forcing a smile. "It's just school."

But school was another battlefield. By the time she reached university, the financial strain on her family had grown unbearable. Her parents, though supportive in their own way, couldn't provide for her the way she needed. She often went days without proper meals, relying on garri soaked in water to fill her stomach.

When her sister introduced her to Mr. Joseph Kinde Falaye ,Shelong didn't know what to expect. He is a captain in the military, a man of few words but immense kindness. At first, she was hesitant to accept his help, pride warring with desperation. But Mr. Falaye had a way of making her feel at ease.

"Don't think of it as charity," he told her, handing her a bundle of cash to cover her handouts and foodstuffs. "Think of it as an investment. One day, you'll do the same for someone else."

His generosity extended beyond her needs. On more than one occasion, he stepped in to assist her parents, easing their burdens without asking for anything in return.

"He's a good man," her mother often said, her voice filled with gratitude. "We're lucky to have someone like him in our lives."

Shelong agreed, but she couldn't ignore the complexity of her feelings toward him. His kindness felt like a lifeline, but it also reminded her of everything she couldn't achieve on her own.

Through it all, her friends remained her anchors.

Esther was the dreamer, always talking about the future with a fire in her eyes. "One day, we'll leave this place," she'd say, waving her hands dramatically. "We'll see the world, Shelong. Just wait and see."

Agape was the realist, grounding their dreams with quiet wisdom. "It won't be easy," she'd say, her voice calm. "But if anyone can do it, it's us."

Their friendship gave Shelong strength, but it didn't erase the emptiness that lingered inside her.

On nights when the world felt too heavy, Shelong would lie awake, staring at the ceiling of her small, dimly lit room. The voices of her friends, the warmth of Mr. Falaye's,support, and the intensity of Dall·E's love all swirled in her mind, each pulling her in a different direction.

She wanted to believe that love, friendship, and kindness could fill the void within her. But deep down, she knew the answers she sought couldn't come from anyone else.

They had to come from her.

Chapter three : the uninvited guests

Shelong had always prided herself on her ability to help others, even when it came at a cost. So when Peace, her chubby, curvy, and sweet classmate, came to her after class one afternoon, her plea tugged at Shelong's heart

"I don't have anywhere to go right now," Pace said, her voice thick with desperation. "Please, just for a week. I promise it won't be more than that."

Shelong hesitated. She didn't live alone, after all. Her two roommates, Esther and Agapi, had just as much a say in who could stay in their small, rented apartment.

"I'll have to talk to my roommates first," Shelong said, her tone careful. "If they agree, you can stay for a week. But only a week, Peace. No surprises."

That evening, Shelong brought the matter to Esther and Agape.

"She needs a place to stay, just for a little while," Shelong said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

Esther raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. "A little while? How little are we talking?"

"Just a week," Shelong said quickly. "I gave her my word I'd ask you both. If you're not comfortable, I'll tell her to look elsewhere."

Agape , always the more diplomatic of the two, nodded. "If it's just for a week, I think it's fine. But we need to make sure she understands it's temporary."

Esther sighed, folding her arms. "Fine. But if she overstays, it's on you, Shelong."

With their agreement, Shelong informed Peace , who wasted no time moving in the very next day. At first, things were manageable. Peace's bubbly personality added a liveliness to their home, and she made an effort to contribute in small ways—washing dishes, helping with groceries, and sharing jokes that left everyone in stitches.

But as the week came to an end, peace didn't leave. She didn't even bring it up. Instead, she settled in as though she had been living there all along.

"She's still here," Esther muttered one morning, glaring at the makeshift bed Peace had set up in the corner of their shared room.

"I'll talk to her," Shelong promised.

But when Shelong approached Peace, the conversation went nowhere.

"Just a little longer," Peace said with a sheepish smile. "I'm still trying to sort things out."

Weeks turned into months. By the third month, the initial charm of having Peace around had worn thin. She borrowed money from everyone in the apartment, often claiming it was for emergencies, only to hand it over to her boyfriend. She contributed nothing to the rent and only occasionally helped with food.

"She's taking advantage of us," Esther said one evening, her voice sharp with frustration. "And don't even get me started on her bringing men into the apartment. It's disgusting!"

Shelong tried to mediate, but it was clear that Peace's behavior was pushing Esther to her breaking point.

Then came the day Esther snapped.

It started with a confrontation.

"You need to leave," Esther said firmly, standing in the center of the room with her arms crossed.

Peace, unbothered, leaned against the wall. "Why? Did you bring me here?"

Esther's jaw tightened. "No, but I agreed to let you stay. And now I'm saying it's time for you to go."

The argument escalated into a shouting match. Esther began throwing Peace's belongings out of the apartment, one item at a time. Clothes, shoes, and even Peace's cherished handbag landed in the dusty yard below.

"Enough!" Shelong shouted, stepping between them. "We can't handle this like children!"

But the damage was done. Peace refused to leave, claiming she had just as much right to stay as anyone else. Esther, unwilling to stay under the same roof as her, packed her own belongings and moved in with her boyfriend.

The fallout left Shelong in a difficult position. She called Esther later that evening.

"It's not fair for you to leave like this," Shelong said, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "We're supposed to handle things together."

Esther sighed on the other end of the line. "Shelong, I can't live with someone like her. I'm sorry, but I need my peace."

Eventually, Shelong managed to convince Esther to return so they could address the issue as a group. But when Esther came back, the situation only worsened.

"I'm not leaving," peace said stubbornly, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"You forget that it was my consent that allowed you here in the first place," Esther retorted.

The tension in the room was unbearable, and Shelong found herself caught in the middle. She couldn't bring herself to throw Peace out, but she also couldn't ignore the strain it was putting on her friendships.

By the sixth month, the situation reached its breaking point. Peace presence had turned their once-harmonious apartment into a battlefield, and Shelong knew something had to give.

By the fourth month, the apartment no longer felt like home. Peace carefree lifestyle became a source of constant friction, especially with Esther, who was growing increasingly frustrated.

Peace began to bring her boyfriend over frequently, turning their shared space into a revolving door for uninvited guests. Late-night arguments between Peace and her boyfriend disrupted everyone's sleep, and her refusal to address her behavior only fueled the resentment brewing in the apartment.

"She's treating this place like a hostel!" Esther snapped one evening, slamming her textbook shut. "I'm sick of it, Shelong. Either she goes, or I do."

Agape , who usually avoided confrontations, nodded quietly from her corner. "She's… starting to cross too many lines," she said softly, her voice barely audible.

Shelong felt the weight of their frustration pressing down on her shoulders. She didn't want to take sides, but the situation was becoming untenable.

That night, Shelong sat Peace down for a serious talk.

"Peace, you've been here much longer than we agreed," Shelong began, choosing her words carefully. "It's not fair to Esther and Agape . We all share this space, and it's becoming difficult for everyone."

Peace expression shifted to one of mock indignation. "Are you saying I'm not welcome here anymore?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"It's not about that," Shelong replied, trying to remain calm. "It's about respect. You've overstayed, and we've all tried to be patient. But you need to start making other arrangements."

Peace scoffed, leaning back against the wall. "I thought you were my friend,

Shelong sighed, feeling her patience wearing thin. "I am your friend, Peace.That's why I'm telling you this. Friends don't take advantage of each other."

Peace rolled her eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Take advantage? Wow. So now I'm the bad guy because I needed help?"

"Help has a limit, Peace!" Shelong's voice rose slightly before she caught herself. She glanced at Agape , who was watching quietly, and Esther, who stood with her arms crossed, daring peace to argue further. "You've been here for six months. Six. Months. You've borrowed money from all of us without paying back, brought strangers into our home, and contributed almost nothing to rent or food. This isn't fair."

The tension in the room was suffocating.

"I said I'm working on it!" Peace snapped, her tone defensive. "Do you think it's easy out there? You don't know what I'm going through!"

Esther, who had been holding back her anger, couldn't take it anymore. "What you're going through? What about us? Do you think it's easy to feed someone who doesn't contribute? Do you think it's easy to share a space with someone who has no respect for anyone else? You've turned this place into chaos!"

"I didn't force you to feed me!" Peace shot back, standing up to meet Esther's glare. "And if you're so tired of me, why didn't you just say so from the start?"

"Because we were trying to be decent human beings!" Esther yelled, stepping closer to Peace. "But clearly, decency is wasted on you!"

Agape flinched at the outburst, while Shelong raised her hands, trying to intervene. "Enough! Both of you, stop!"

But the argument had already spiraled out of control.

Esther, shaking with frustration, stormed to Peace's corner of the room and began grabbing her belongings. "If you won't leave, I'll make you leave!" she shouted, tossing Peace clothes onto the floor.

Peace shrieked, scrambling to gather her things. "What's your problem, Esther? Are you crazy?"

"You're the crazy one for thinking you can freeload forever!" Esther shot back, throwing a pair of Peace's shoes toward the door.

"Please, stop!" Shelong begged, stepping between them. "We can talk about this. Esther, this isn't the way—"

"Talking doesn't work with her, Shelong!" Esther cut in, her voice sharp. "She doesn't listen! She doesn't care! I'm done."

Esther grabbed her own bag and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by Pace's labored breathing. She glared at Shelong, tears of anger pooling in her eyes. "Are you going to throw me out too?" she demanded.

Shelong hesitated, her heart heavy with the weight of the situation. She glanced at Agape , who was sitting on her bed, head bowed. "Peace, I need you to understand… this can't continue. We can't keep living like this."

Peace shook her head, grabbing her scattered belongings. "You know what? Fine. I don't need this." She stuffed her clothes into a tattered bag, muttering under her breath. "Some friends you all turned out to be."

Without another word, Paece stormed out, slamming the door as Esther had.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Agape let out a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you think she'll be okay?"

Shelong sank onto her bed, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know," she admitted. "But we couldn't keep going like this. Something had to give."

For the first time in months, the apartment felt still. But the peace came with a price. The cracks in their friendships, though hidden before, were now exposed. Shelong couldn't shake the feeling that things would never quite be the same .