Imagine taking a stroll through a bustling roundabout, only to have a mysterious encounter that changes your life forever. That’s what happened to me at Plaza Roundabout in Nigeria.

Greetings, my dear readers! It has been a while since I last shared a with you, and I must apologize for my absence. I have been on a much-needed break, but a recent event has compelled me to return to the virtual world of storytelling.

Before we explore the heart of this tale, I must suggest that you read my previous story, This Tale Would Reveal The Love Mask of Shattered Illusions and Unexpected Realities. It will provide valuable context for what transpired next.

The sun hung high in the sky when my adventure began, around 3 p.m. on an ordinary day. My wife had embarked on a two-week visit to her mother’s. So she said. Those two weeks felt like an eternity, and to add to the frustration, the power company seemed determined to keep our home in darkness. Yet, just down the street, a neighbourhood enjoyed uninterrupted power. It left me wondering if there was some magic involved.

But before I continue, allow me to share a little secret with you, my cherished readers. Last year, I had been an active attendee of morning Masses. The reason? Our church always had light, a welcome escape from the power woes at home. It was also the year I ceased serving at Mass, all thanks to my girlfriend, ahem, I mean, my wife.

Now, as the new year dawned, my coping strategy for the power issue had evolved. If our home lacked electricity, I would either venture onto the university campus to charge my phone or pay a visit to a friend who had a power supply. This brings us to the intriguing events of yesterday afternoon.

After a pleasant conversation with my dear mother over the phone, I decided to call my friend, Olive Peters. You might be surprised to hear such a name in West Africa, especially Nigeria, where names often reflect local customs and traditions. But in Akwa-Ibom state, it is not uncommon to find people with names that don’t immediately align with their heritage. This has sparked my curiosity about the reasons behind it. If you have insights, dear readers, especially those from Akwa-Ibom State, please share your thoughts in the comments section.

When I dialled Olive Peters, we exchanged pleasantries, and I told him I was coming over, explaining that I was feeling quite bored and needed some company for a stroll. To my delight, he was eager to see me and patiently awaited my arrival.

Having already bathed that afternoon, I got ready and left for his place. I estimated that I would be there in 15 to 20 minutes. However, when I reached his doorstep, he was fully dressed and playfully pointed out that I hadn’t adhered to my promised schedule. A quick check of my call log revealed that it took me 31 minutes from the moment I called him, meaning I spent 5 minutes preparing and 25 minutes walking to his place.

I apologized for the delay, and we set off for our walk, or perhaps more accurately, a stroll. Before leaving his home, I left my phone to charge because, remarkably, there was power available.

As we meandered through different routes, we eventually found ourselves on Ikot Ikpene Road. Olive then suggested we walk down to the Plaza, and I, unsuspecting, readily agreed. Little did I know that my friend had a hidden agenda, a plan that would unfold in a way I could never have foreseen. It was at this moment that I realized I’d left my phone behind.

Stay tuned for the upcoming instalment, where I will share the extraordinary events that transpired at the Plaza without my trusty companion, my phone. Until then, I remain your fictional character, Paul.