Chapter 3 The Invitation

The invitation came wrapped in lace and laced with danger. Aisha was nineteen, draped in Ankara and fake gold, when she met "Sister Teni", a sharp-dressed woman with skin like polished cocoa and a British accent that caught attention like perfume. Teni had watched Aisha close three deals in under an hour, haggling with men twice her age, eyes calculating, never blinking. Afterward, she approached her near the Molue bus stand with a question that would change her life: "Have you ever thought about working abroad?"

At first, Aisha laughed. The only "abroad" she knew was the Lagos Lagoon that separated her from Ikoyi. But Teni's offer wasn't about visas or university placements. It was about moving goods. "Luxury items", she said with a wink, "that only bold girls can carry". Aisha understood the code. Everyone in the market spoke it. The word "luxury" could mean anything from designer bags to pills packed into a body like a time bomb. Teni said the money was triple what Aisha made in a month - just for one trip. It was insane. It was impossible. It was irresistible.

That night, Aisha sat alone on her mother's veranda, counting stars and thoughts. The air buzzed with generator hums and the soft hiss of frying plantains nearby. Could she really do it? One trip. Just one. With the money, she could move their stall to a permanent shop, buy a generator, maybe even rent a small flat of her own. The fear inside her chest pulsed like a second heartbeat, but so did the hunger.

Two days later, she met Teni again at a corner bar in Surulere. She wore black jeans and ambition. "I'm ready", she said, not knowing she had just taken the first step down a path that would make her queen, or kill her trying.