The Ordeal of an Average Nigerian Worker (A True Life Story)

My son was unwell all through the night and few minutes before 5.00am, my wife and I decided to take him to our family hospital so that the doctors could treat him. While we were at the hospital's reception waiting for doctor to attend to him, a young lady was escorted by young men in the pool of her own blood.

It was just before the first light of dawn when Ngozi, a 26-year-old banker, began her usual morning walk down the quiet streets of Lagos with her father. After her father had left her at a junction close to the major road, she noticed that the city was still wrapped in shadows, the stillness of the hour offering no hints of the dangers that lurked in the dark corners.

She had only taken a few steps down the street when she felt the prickle of something amiss. A movement, a rustle from her side, caught her eye. Before she could fully comprehend it, three figures emerged from the darkness, their faces half-hidden behind masks and scarves, their bodies cloaked in the shadows.

The taller one lunged forward, blocking her path, while the others man circled behind her. A flash of cold steel—an unexpected chill ran through her veins as the glint of a knife caught the first rays of dawn. "Give me your phone!" the tall man growled, his voice rough like gravel.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she froze, terrified. The phone in her hand felt like it weighed 50kg. She had heard the stories, the street robberies that happened on these very roads, but she never imagined she would be a victim. With trembling hands, she tried to reach for her purse, but before she could make a move, the man reached out and snatched it from her.

"Don’t try to fight us," one of the men hissed from behind, as he brandished the knife menacingly. But Ngozi wasn’t thinking about the phone anymore. She just wanted to survive.

In a split second, she made a decision. The instinct to fight or flee kicked in. With a desperate cry, she tried to push the man in front of her, but in doing so, she was caught off guard. The other robber slashed the blade across her wrist, sending a sharp pain shooting through her body. The warm blood spilled out instantly, soaking her clothes.

Screaming in agony, she stumbled backward, her legs shaky from both fear and the sudden pain. But the attackers didn’t care. They were already moving toward the street, vanishing into the dark alleys as quickly as they had appeared, leaving Ngozi gasping for breath and clutching her injured wrist.

As she sank to her knees, tears mixing with the dirt on her face, she fought to hold herself together. The pain was unbearable, but it was the overwhelming sense of helplessness that cut deeper than the wound itself. Her phone was gone. Her money and bag were gone.

It felt like hours, though only minutes had passed, before the sound of distant footsteps reached her ears. Two early morning joggers, perhaps unaware of what had just happened, passed by without noticing her. Her vision blurred from tears, her body aching, but she couldn’t stay there. She couldn’t just let the thieves get away with it.

Summoning the strength that only desperation could provide, Ngozi slowly stood up. She stumbled toward the nearest corner, hoping to find help. She could feel the blood still dripping from her wrist, her legs weak from shock, but there was a fire inside her now. She wasn’t going to be another statistic.

The young men escorted her to the hospital for treatment. Because of the lots of blood she had lost, we allowed her get treatment first before my son. Also, we helped her block her accounts before they hack into them.

Dear Nigerian worker, please stay safe as you commute to your work place.

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NOTE: This is a true life story however, the name of the victim was changed.