Continuation on survivor's curse.

A group of armed men bursted in, shouting. The traffickers scrambled some running, others pulling out weapons.

There were cross fire of bullets which shattered a lantern and flames erupted. I felt hands on me, firm but urgent.

“Move! Move!”

I was yanked up and pulled through a narrow passage. My legs barely worked, but I ran. Outside, I gulped fresh air, coughing. The night sky stretched above me like salvation. I was thrown into a waiting van, surrounded by people—some crying, some unconscious. It was later I learned the truth.

The police had been tracking them for months. A syndicate, selling human parts to the highest bidder ritualists, organ traffickers, the worst of humanity. They raided just in time. I survived. Many didn’t. I sat in silence, staring at the city lights through the van window. Ogoja looked so normal and peaceful. But now I knew the truth. Some taxis aren’t taxis. Some passengers aren’t victims. And some roads lead to places you never return from.

Life had to move on. The trauma never truly left, but I refused to let it define me. I needed something normal again. So when I found a good deal on a generator, I didn’t overthink it.

A guy brought it to me, said it was second-hand but in good condition. The price was fair. I paid. About a month later, I was at home when a knock on the door changed everything. I opened it to see three men handcuffed. Behind them, police officers.

"Na here?" one of the officers asked.

"Yes," one of the men muttered.

I was confused. Then I saw it. The generator. The same one I had bought. The officers entered, looking around. “Oga, where you get this gen?”

I explained. I had paid for it fair and square. I didn’t know anything about its history. Then came the real story.

These three guys had stolen the generator from a family man’s home. The man had been saving for months to buy that generator. He had a wife, kids, and a sick mother who needed electricity for her medical equipment. That night, while he and his family slept, the thieves broke into his compound, carried the generator, and disappeared into the darkness. When morning came, he found his gate open, his generator gone. He was in shock.

But fate had its way. His neighbor had spotted the thieves loading the generator into a van and informed the local vigilantes. By the time they were caught, they had already sold it to me. Now, standing in my house, the police wanted answers. I tried to explain I was just a buyer, not a thief. I had no idea the generator was stolen. But it didn’t matter. Before I knew it, I was at the police station. Writing statements. Answering questions. Then, the worst part……cell.

Four days in detention for a crime I knew nothing about. The family man eventually said he didn’t want to press charges. He got his generator back. But the police still had to process everything. At the trial, the three thieves finally confessed.

"I wasn’t among them," I told the judge.

And they backed my story. My only crime? Buying a stolen generator.

"Release him," the judge ordered.

Four days of hell.

Four days of being called a criminal.

Four days of seeing the dark side of justice.

I walked out a free man.

But omo my eyes had seen shege.