Çity Trend

my female neighbour tried to rāpe me I never imagined that a woman living next door could put me through something like this. One evening, my neighbour came to my room to ask for a power bank. I didn't suspect anything because we were neighbours. After giving her the power bank, she asked me to give her an iPhone USB cord. I told her I didn't have one because I use an android phone. But instead of leaving, she started making unwanted advances and touching me in ways I wasn't comfortable with. When I tried to stop her, she refused to listen. I had to struggle to get away from her. What hurt me most was imagining how people would react if I told them. Some would laugh, others would ask how a grown man could be sexually assaulted by a woman. But nobody talks about how frightening it is when someone ignores your refusal. Being a man doesn't mean you cannot be violated. No means no, regardless of gender.

my wìcked neighbour sold her own son to a rich, barren man abroad for ₦5 million. I still remember how everything happened. The man had been searching for a child for years, and somehow, my neighbour got connected to him through someone who promised to arrange a child for him. What shocked me most was that she agreed to hand over her own son for money. She told people the boy would have a better life abroad, but I couldn't understand how a mother could put a price on her own child. The boy was still young, innocent and completely unaware that the person he trusted most had allegedly made a deal about his future. Whenever I remember that story, one question keeps disturbing me: **How desperate for money can someone become before they stop seeing their own child as a human being?** ₦5 million can finish, but the damage done to that child may follow him for the rest of his life.

a former neighbour of mine had been pretending to be rich on Instagram and suddenly died. His friends organised an expensive burial to maintain the image he had created online. After the burial, his landlord revealed that he had owed six months' rent, his car was rented, and even the clothes in his burial photographs were borrowed. The most painful discovery was that his younger sister had dropped out of school because she kept sending him money, believing he was building a successful life abroad.

during my first week at work, I discovered that my manager was secretly deducting ₦15,000 from each staff member’s salary and using a junior employee to cover his tracks. When I confronted him and refused to sign a false report, he called me arrogant and accused me of trying to destroy his reputation. I was sacked before completing my first week, and the painful part was watching colleagues who knew the truth pretend nothing had happened because they were afraid of losing their jobs too.

my landlord had a strange habit of appearing outside my apartment whenever I was discussing something private on the phone, even when nobody had told him I was home. One night, I heard someone unlock my door from outside, but when I checked, the corridor was empty, and the next morning he casually asked why I was awake at midnight. What frightened me most was when he mentioned something I had only discussed inside my bedroom with someone I trusted.

in Ogbogi village, a schoolteacher noticed that one boy attended her class every day and answered questions correctly, but his name never appeared on the school register. One afternoon, she visited his home to investigate and discovered that his parents had lost their only son in a river accident 15 years earlier. When she showed them his photograph, the mother broke down in tears because the boy she had been teaching was the same child they had buried 15 years ago.

in Ado-Ekiti, a taxi driver noticed that the same woman entered his car every Thursday night, always requested the same address and paid with old ₦100 notes. One evening, he decided to ask other drivers about her, but they went silent when he showed them her photograph. They told him the woman had died in a road accident 11 years earlier, and the strangest part was that the address she always gave was the cemetery where she was buried.