It was a factory job—7am to 7pm, paid daily.

I usually walked home to Magboro with a friend, but that day we closed separately. I waited, called him, no response—so I started walking slowly, hoping he’d catch up.

An agbero stopped me and asked for money.

I told him I didn’t have any. He left.

Minutes later, my friend called back. As I picked the call, the same agbero returned shouting, “Alaye!”

I quickened my steps.

Two men suddenly blocked me in front.

The agbero caught up from behind.

They asked for money again.

Before I could react, they snatched my phone.

When I hesitated, one of them showed me a knife.

Others picked sticks from the bush and surrounded me.

I froze.

I Couldn’t shout. Couldn’t move. My body went cold.

After taking my phone, they told me to run.

I didn’t.

I crossed the road slowly and sat at my friend’s mother’s shop nearby, shaking