My Rich Nigerian Boo – Chapter 17

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough” – Mae West

One thing that most South Africans know is that crime is very rife in our country because cops are in the pockets on criminals. Criminals are always one step ahead because they have captured the system. That is one of the reasons one criminal is able to evade justice for over 10 years. When the cop told his colleague that he was talking to a Nigerian guy the first thing that invaded my mind was the criminals I ran away from. I thought the cops were in the pockets of those guys. The thought of being recaptured made my heart vibrate with fear. I knew they were going to finish me off. I screamed so loud the driver almost caused an accident. He stopped the car and asked why I was screaming. “Please don’t take me back to those Nigerians. They will kill me. You can drop me here and I will find my way home,” I said with my voice interrupted my heavy sobs.


“I told you this thing is a prostitute. She is high on drugs from Nigerians. Let’s drop this thing here and go to Lotto. Maybe he will boost us. Plus I want to extend my house,” the passenger cop said to his colleague. He opened the door for me and commanded me to leave. It was in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t believe black police officers could be so evil to a black woman that desperately needed help. I asked them to at least request an Uber for me but they drove off. They didn’t even care how I was going to get home. I lost hope in our cops from that day. As I stood there not knowing what to do, some car pulled over. The driver of the car was an Indian man.

He asked what I was doing in the middle of nowhere that time of the night. I told him that I had a fight with my husband and he forced me out of the car. As much as we claim to be a rainbow nation, reality is we don’t really trust other races. He got out of the car and walked towards me. I walked backwards. “Please don’t hurt me. I have been through a lot already today only. I beg you motho wa modimo,” I pleaded. You know you are in deep kak when your English decides to divorce your tongue. My legs were shaking at that moment. “I am a pastor, I will never hurt you. I want to help you. I am from the hospital to pray for a colleague who was involved in a car accident. Please allow me to help you. This place is very dangerous,” he said. I could send some truthfulness in his voice.

I decided to take a risk. He opened the door for me and I got in the car. I asked him to drop me at any bus terminal. “You look very terrible. I will drop you at the hotel so you can bath and sleep. You will decide what to do in the morning. I will pay for the hotel,” he said in a fatherly voice. He made me feel safe. My trusting gears were still on neutral but he made me feel better. To my surprise, he drove me to a hotel and paid. He didn’t even ask for my number or name. He told me he was doing Lord’s work. It was a shocker for me. We live in times where men expect something in return when they help women. We live in times where pastors have become parasites that make a living out of the sweat of their congregants in return for fake miracles.

I took a very long shower when I got to my hotel room. I washed my clothes with body shampoo and hung them in the bathroom. I was so hungry. I remembered I had some money with me. I wanted to call room service but decided against it. I was still a bit paranoid. I passed out the minute I threw myself on the bed. I thought my sleep would be interrupted by nightmares but nothing happened. I had a very peaceful night. I woke up feeling fresh in the morning. The first thing I did was to pray and thank God for sending the Indian pastor to rescue me. Immediately after praying, there was a knock on my door. I opened, and it was a staff member of the hotel. He told me he brought my parcels. My heart started beating fast.

He handed the parcel and left. It took me 10 minutes to gain strength to open the parcel. It was new clothes, toiletries, sanitary pad and a note. It was written “Whoever is generous to the poor lends to the Lord, and he will repay him for his deeds – Proverbs 19:17“. My eyes rained tears after reading the note. I changed into new clothes and headed to the reception. I asked the receptionist if they were able to request Uber and book flights for their guests. She said yes with a smile. She did everything for me. Within two hours I was on a flight to OR Tambo International Airport. I gave a sigh of relief when I landed in Kempton Park in one piece. From OR Tambo I Gautrained to Joburg. I walked from Park Station to Braamfontein. I didn’t even have key to my flat with me. Just as I was about to turn right on Wolmarans Street to join Simmonds Street, a familiar voice behind me went:




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