I AM PREGNANT FOR MY LECTURER: The Twist (Part 2)

As I gazed upon the wall, my eyes danced with desperation, searching for answers etched upon the blank canvas of the ceiling. The fan’s gentle caress whispered secrets, its soft whir a lullaby of longing.

My mind was a tempest-tossed sea, waves of confusion crashing against the shores of my soul. Depression’s dark specter loomed, its shadowy tendrils snaking around my heart, squeezing tight. My thoughts were a maze of twisted corridors, each path leading to a dead end of despair.

The options swirled before me like a kaleidoscope of anguish: keep the baby, a precious gem born of turmoil; report the incident, a beacon of hope in a sea of darkness; or abortion. These thoughts filled my head like a razor’s edge slicing through my very essence.

But then, just like a ray of sunlight piercing the stormy skies, I recalled the pastor’s words from our last fellowship: “Thou shalt not kill,” the Bible verse thundered within me, a clarion call to righteousness in the face of turmoil. His sermon was a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of my heart.

I closed my eyes and prayed, my words a desperate cry to the heavens, seeking solace in the divine. And then, like a soft whisper in the darkness, I remembered my mother’s wise words: “When all seems lost, remember the God in the bigger picture.” A sense of peace settled over me, a fragile calm in the eye of the hurricane.

Time, a thief in the night, stole away my options, each passing day a grain of sand slipping through the hourglass. Two months and two weeks pregnant, the clock ticked on, a relentless drumbeat urging me toward a decision.

Kiera Eze, a victim of Mr. Nidibusi’s monstrosity, had already undergone two traumatic abortions for him. She took me to her doctor, who specialized in abortions. His words were stark and urgent: “Make up your mind, but know this – it must be done before 12 weeks.” I was already 10 weeks pregnant, and his warning sent my heart racing. My sweet roommate, a loyal sentinel, stood watch over me, a constant presence in the midst of chaos.

I hid from the world, shrouded in baggy clothes, a fugitive from the prying eyes of strangers. And Mr. Nidibusi, that monstrous lecturer, walked so freely in the university environment, his smile a grotesque parody of innocence, his eyes gleaming with malevolence like a predator stalking its prey.

In utter despair, my mind raced with uncertainty. But deep within, I knew abortion wasn’t the solution to my problems. I couldn’t bring myself to harm an innocent child, a victim of another man’s sin.To escape the suffocating thoughts, I decided to distract myself, recognizing the danger of slipping into depression. It wouldn’t be healthy for me or my unborn child.

Despite my hatred for Mr. Nidibusi, I couldn’t bring myself to resent the innocent life growing inside me.

I picked up my phone and began scrolling through Facebook.That’s when I saw an advert video from ‘The Blues NGOs,’ an organization founded by an African philanthropist in West Africa. They claimed to offer support for individuals struggling with depression, rape, poverty, stagnation, and more.

Initially skeptical, I thought, ‘What if this is just another fake social media ad?’ Still, I took a screenshot of the flyer.I continued scrolling until exhaustion took over, and I drifted off to sleep. Sleep had become my temporary escape, a remedy to numb the pain, since I couldn’t resort to alcohol or smoking.

The following weekend, my roommates left for their boyfriends’ house, leaving me alone. I seized the opportunity to call the number on the Blues NGO flyer.

A gentle-voiced lady answered, requesting my details and emailing me a bio-data form to fill out. Afterwards, I was connected to a woman counselor, to whom I poured out my story.Surprisingly, I found myself opening up, despite being typically secretive. The counselor asked for the lecturer’s name, school, and picture.She assured me that the agency would take it from there and send a representative to support me throughout the process.

The next day, I received a call from the agency, informing me that a lawyer, sent from Abuja, would pick me up.She arrived at my school, and we met at a nearby restaurant. With her notebook and dairy, she meticulously documented my account.

Meanwhile, the agency had already emailed the university, requesting a meeting with the Vice Chancellor and board members.Given the NGO’s prestige as one of Africa’s largest, the university was eager to schedule a meeting with them.

Click HERE to Read Part 3

Click HERE to Read Part 1