The StoryTeller

Her gaze fell on the bottle of sleeping pills on her bedside table. For the first time, she considered it. What if she took just a few more than the recommended dose? Just enough to make it stop. Her breath hitched. She reached out, her fingers brushing against the bottle cap. Then, A loud bang at the door. She gasped, jerking her hand away. The knocking came again, urgent and insistent. “Adebisi!” Tola’s voice rang through the door. “Open up!” Adebisi sat frozen, her heart hammering. She hadn’t told Tola where she lived. How did she…? “Adebisi, I know you’re in there,” Tola called again, her voice thick with emotion. “Please, just open the door.” Adebisi hesitated, then, with shaky steps, she got up and unlocked the door. The moment it swung open, Tola stepped inside and pulled her into a tight hug. “I had a dream,” Tola whispered, her voice trembling. “I saw you… and I knew I had to come.” Adebisi broke. The walls she had built, the mask she wore, everything crumbled a...

Lagos was loud. Horns blared, danfos swerved recklessly, traders shouted prices of everything from groundnuts to fake designer bags.  It was the city that never slept, but somehow, Adebisi felt like she was trapped in an endless nightmare. She stood at the BRT bus stop in Yaba, staring blankly at the crowd around her.  Voices rose and fell, people pushed past her, but it all felt distant, like she was watching a movie she wasn’t part of. The air smelled of roasted corn and petrol fumes, and the sky was heavy with the promise of rain. She felt it again. That sinking, crushing feeling in her chest. The one that made it hard to breathe, like something invisible was sitting on her lungs. Her psychiatrist called it generalized anxiety disorder . Her mother called it spiritual warfare . Adebisi didn’t know what to call it anymore. The little orange pill bottle in her bag was supposed to help. Take one in the morning, one at night, the doctor had said.  It was meant to ...