If Only She Knew Who Steals Her Clothes...

If you have ever lived in a Nigerian public compound before, you will understand that sometimes the real battle is not paying rent or sharing one bathroom with 12 people. It is protecting your property from neighbors who believe that borrowing without telling you is a normal way of life. That was the exact wala she was facing in her own overcrowded compound in Ouyo. UI was a young seamstress in her mid-20s. She was so hardworking that she could sew a full anchor gown in one night and still find time to laugh with her customers in the Morning. Her room was small, and the space was just enough for her wooden bed, her sewing machine, a big plastic drum of water, and a row of neatly folded fabrics she guarded like treasure. She worked from home most of the time, which meant that she saw a lot of compound drama in life, from Mamay's endless quarrels with her husband to the caretaker's daily habits of drinking broku from morning till night and still swearing that she was just tired and not drunk. Now, if there was one thing I loved, it was her.

Clothes. She might not have plenty of money, but every rapper, every blouse, and every gown she owned was made with care and stitched to fit her figure perfectly. She made them herself, washed them until they were clean enough to blind your eyes in the sun, and then hung them on the compound line that stretched between the go tree and the bathroom wall. At first, everything was fine until one Tuesday afternoon, after coming back from delivering a gown to a customer. She noticed that her favorite pink gown was missing. She looked around Thinking maybe it fell, but it was nowhere to be found. She frowned, but she told herself that maybe she was just imagining things. Two weeks later, another blouse disappeared. This time, she was very sure. She remembered clearly how she hung it in the middle of the line so that the sun could reach it properly. The blouse was not old. In fact, it was one of her best. Deep blue with gold embroidery. She searched the whole compound like a madwoman. Even checked the bushes near the back fence, but it had vanished like smoke. She Asked the caretaker if anyone had seen it. But the man just scratched his head and said, "H, this compound gets many people. Anything fit happen, no vex." By the third disappearance, which was a full gown she had only worn to church once. Uin knew this was not carelessness. Somebody was deliberately targeting her wardrobe, and she had no idea why. It wasn't as if she were the richest tenant or the most stylish. Well, maybe that was the problem. Some people in the compound just couldn't Stand to see another person shining when they themselves were living in faded skirts from 2015. So she began to suspect everyone. The young lady in room six always greeted her with an oversweet smile. The woman who liked to sit outside pretending to plug ugly leaves while her eyes followed every movement like CCTV. Even the quiet student who claimed she was too busy with school to mind anyone's business. UI's suspicion grew so much that she started waking up at odd hours just to peep through her window to see if Nobody was touching the line. Well, the whole thing would have been easier if she could just stop drying her clothes outside, but her tiny room was too cramped to hang anything indoors. Besides, wet clothes needed the open sun or else they would smell like dead rats. And in that compound, any small smell was enough to make people start gossiping that she had spiritual problems. The more UI thought about it, the angrier she became. She worked too hard to be moving naked because some shameless person had decided that her Clothes were a free boutique. One evening, as she sat on her bed folding the few clothes she had left, she muttered under her breath, "Whoever you are, you will soon collect from me; I will deal with you." And from the day UI swore she would catch the thief. The compound entered a new season of drama. Every tenant was already a suspect in her eyes, and the smallest movement near the clothes line made her ears stand up like a dog's. She started with the easiest method. She would sit by her.

Window in the evening, pretending to be mending a ton wrapper while secretly keeping one eye on the line. But the thief was smart because nothing ever disappeared on the days she watched. It was as if the person knew she was on guard. The first person she truly suspected was Blessing, the extra nice tenant in room six. Blessing was the type of girl who would greet you five times a day and still find a reason to come to your room just to check on you. She also had a habit of suddenly wearing new clothes that nobody could ever.

Remember seeing her in possession before. Ouai noticed one Sunday that Bless's hair tie looked suspiciously like the fabric she had once sewn for a blouse. But when she tried to look closely and asked about it, Blessing quickly removed it and said, "Uh, sister, this one, my auntie sent it from the village." Then there was Mama Bin, the compound's unofficial sensitivity camera. She would sit on a plastic chair in front of her room from morning till night with a bunch of Ugu leaves, cutting them into small pieces that never seemed to finish. She had sharp eyes. She could tell you who came to the gates at 2:00 a.m., who received a package, and even who sneezed twice in the bathroom. Yet, strangely, whenever UI asked if she had seen anyone pick clothes from the line, Mama Ib would just sigh and say, "I didn't see anything." Oh, you know, people's hearts are dark these days. One Tuesday afternoon, Ouai decided to set a trap. She washed an old skirt she no longer wore.

Liked. But while it was still damp, she hid behind a big goa tree, pretending to plug leaves. The plan was simple. She would wait for the thief to think no one was watching. Then she would catch them red-handed. She stayed there for over an hour, asweating, fighting mosquitoes, and shifting from one leg to another. Finally, she heard footsteps. Her heart started beating fast. But when she peeped, it was only the landlord's youngest child, a small boy of 6 years old, who came to chase a chicken away.

From the gutter. Another day, she decided to involve her friend Ago from room 2. Ago was always ready for drama, so the two of them agreed that they would take turns watching the line. Ago's shift was in the afternoon, while UI went to deliver a customer's dress. Unfortunately, when Uayu returned, Ago was dozing in a plastic chair near the mango tree with flies circling her head. She woke up and said, "Nothing happened, though, except that one breeze just blew your toe down, but I put it back." Ouai Shook her head in frustration. Clearly, Ago was not meant for undercover work. Of course, the gossip began to spread. Tenants started whispering whenever she passed. Some pretended to pity her while others acted as if she was exaggerating. The caretaker even laughed and told her, "If not me, I could just buy a padlock for my rapper." That joke almost made her pour him a full basin of soapy water. But the real insult came one Saturday morning when UI went to the market and returned to find that two of her freshly.

Washed gowns were missing from the line that day. She didn't cry or shout. She just stood in the middle of the compound with her hands on her waist, scanning each face like a soldier. She knew the thief was right there, probably pretending to be busy sweeping or carrying water. And she swore to herself that the next time she washed, it wouldn't be ordinary clothes hanging on that line. The morning after the double theft, Yayi sat in her room staring at the half-empty basket where her rappers.

Used to be. She didn't even bother to cook breakfast. Instead, she boiled hot water, made a strong cup of lipin, and sat cross-legged on her bed, sipping slowly like a detective in deep thoughts. She had tried watching the line. She had tried enlisting friends, and she had even prayed, but the thief was always two steps ahead. That was when the idea hit her like a mosquito buzzing straight into her ear. If the person wants to be a stealing rapper, let them come and carry the kind of rapper that will steal their destiny. The plan Sounded wicked in her head. But the more she thought about it, the more she felt it was fair. She wouldn't harm anybody physically. God forbid. But she would make sure that the thief regretted touching her things ever again. She would just pretend to go spiritual and do a few rituals that involved blood. Still, she knew she had to make it believable if she just poured ordinary palm oil on a rapper. The thief might think she was just careless and still carry it. No, this one had to look and smell like something dangerous, like Something from the hands of a woman who knew her way around the shrine. Even though UI had never entered a shrine in her life before, first, she needed palm oil. That one was easy. There was always some in the kitchen. The tricky part was the animal blood she wanted to use. She couldn't exactly walk into the compound and start shouting, "Who gets goats where I feel small? People would suspect her." So, she decided to go to the slaughter section of my three markets. The next day, she simply dressed in an Old skirt and faded t-shirts so that nobody would pay her much attention. When she reached the meat sellers, she walked straight to a man she knew, Uncle Dan, the one who always sold meat to her. She leaned close and whispered, "I beg, I need small goat's blood for cooking." She made sure to say it in the most casual tone she could manage. Uncle Dan looked at her strangely, but shrugged and poured some into a used water bottle for her. Make you use them today before they spoil. She smiled Sweetly thanked him, paid him 200 naira, and talked the bottle deep into her bag as if it were contraband. Back home, she waited until the compound was quiet when most people had gone to church evening service. Then she locked her door, kept an old bucket on the floor, and began preparing the weapon. She chose one of her oldest wrappers, which still looked attractive. Perfect bait. She dipped the bottom part in palm oil first, letting the red oil soak into it until it looked as if it had been through war. Then she added streaks.

Of goat blood in random patterns, using a small broomstick to smear it in jagged lines until it almost looked like someone had dragged the clothes through a forest of sacrifices. When she held it up, even she felt small goosebumps. The smell was powerful. Palm oil and raw blood together created a sharp metallic aroma that could make a stubborn stomach twist. She knew for sure that if the thief mistakenly touched this thing, hey, they wouldn't even be able to hide their reaction, thereby accidentally.

Exposing themselves. But she wasn't done. For full effect, she decided to add a sprinkle of ashes from the coort so that it would have that dusty spiritual look. She even muttered a few made-up words under her breath while doing it, just in case anybody was dropping. By the time she finished, the rapper looked like something pulled out from under a village shrine. She smiled, admired her handwork, and carried it outside to the line. She walked slowly, letting the neighbors see her, and she Pegged it in the most visible spot right at the front where everyone passed. That night she slept well for the first time in weeks. Not because she was sure she would catch the thief immediately, but because she knew the day the person tried to carry this rapper would be a day the whole of that compound would not forget. The next morning came, and it was bright and lively. Children ran up and down the corridor. Women were making noise with pots in the shared kitchen, and someone at the far end was blasting.

A loud Fuji song on their small speaker. But UI wasn't paying attention to any of it. She was sitting inside her room with one eye on her small mirror as she pretended to do her makeup and the other eye peeking through the cotton slit at the clothes line outside. The juju rapper was still there, flapping gently in the morning breeze. People looked at it, but no one touched it. Even Mama Esther from room 4, who was famous for inspecting everyone's laundry to check the material, passed by and kept her Hands to herself. That alone was a miracle. By mid-morning, the compound was quiet again. Most of the men had gone to work, and the women were inside their rooms. That was when UI saw her. The neighbor, she had never really suspected. Her name was Becky, a slim and sharpeyed girl in her late 20s who always had the latest clothes but never seemed to have money to buy them. Becky stepped out of her room carrying a basin for fetching water. But Ouai noticed her eyes flicked towards the line as she walked. Ui's heart began to race, but She didn't move. She needed this to happen naturally. If she scared Becky away now, the mystery would continue. As she watched, Becky casually strolled to the tap area, pretending to rinse her basin. Then, on her way back, she slowed down near the line. She glanced left and right, making sure no one was watching. But she didn't know that Uayu was there behind the cotton, holding her breath like a sniper. In one swift motion, Becky yanked the juju wrapper off the line, folded it roughly, and shoved it.

Into her basin under a small towel. The entire move took less than 5 seconds, but to UI, it played out in slow motion. Her jaw almost dropped. So, it's you, Becky. But Yai still didn't shout. She knew this was just the beginning. The real show would start when Becky got to her room and tried to handle the thing properly. 1 hour passed. Uh stayed inside pretending to cook, but her ears were alert for any strange sound. Just then, a sudden high-pitched scream came from Becky's room, followed by loud.

Banging and the sound of something crashing. People began running towards her door, shouting, "Waiting happened." Oy stepped out slowly and kept her face neutral as if she was just as confused as everyone else. When she reached Becky's door, she saw her sitting on the floor, breathing hard with her hands trembling. Her basin was overturned, and right there in the middle of her room lay the juju rapper still wet, still smelling like goat sacrifice and covered with a fresh streak of palm oil. Becky's Voice shook as she stammered. It followed me. My hand is hot. My chest is hot. She kept shaking her fingers as if they were burning, even though there was nothing on them. The older women in the compound gasped and began crossing themselves, muttering prayers. Mama Esther shouted, "I said it before, now. Some people wash their clothes with spirits inside. Have you seen it now?" But Becky, this looks like Ouai's rapper. How did the rapper end up in your room? Becky paused for a second and Then she continued crying. Ouai stood at the back of the crowd, biting her lips so she wouldn't laugh. She knew it wasn't Lu Juju, just clever acting on her part when she prepared the rapper. But the fear in Becky's eyes was real, and that was more than enough for her. Before the end of that day, the whole compound, and even people from the next streets, already knew what had happened to Becky. The next morning, the corridor was filled with small clusters of neighbors fetching water, washing.

Plates, and sweeping sand that wasn't there. All just so that they could be around when Becky stepped outside. Becky, however, didn't show face. She stayed locked inside her room, embarrassed and occasionally coughing loudly as if she had caught some mysterious rapper induced illness. Mama Esther, who had seen the whole thing yesterday, acted like the official news broadcaster. She was telling anyone who would listen. I told you people, now this life is not ordinary. Some rappers are not just about clothes. They are spiritual Armor. If you touch them, your life is scattered. She even shook her head slowly as if she was remembering a personal tragedy involving rappers. However, the real drama began when the landlord, Mr. Okon, came to the compound around noon. He had heard the story from his wife, and he wasn't happy that spiritual warfare had entered his property. He gathered everyone in the corridor like a headmaster calling for assembly. Everybody, sit down, he ordered. We cannot have people bringing juju into my Compound. This is a respectable environment. Children are here, and families are also here. If you people want to do a shrine meeting, please go and do it somewhere else. Yay sat on her stool at the far end and pretended to be deeply hurt. Sir, with all due respect, I am the one being victimized here for months. My clothes have been missing, but I didn't talk because I didn't want to spoil peace. Yesterday, I finally watched my late grandmother's traditional rapper that she used to tie a baby on her back during midnight prayer.

Video. And before I could bring it in, it disappeared again. Now look at where it ended. At the mention of the late grandmother and the midnight video, half the compound members gasped and started murmuring. Becky's eyes widened. So you mean yes said the wrapper, " it is not ordinary cloth. My grandmother prayed and fasted on it for 7 days. Anyone with a wicked heart who touches it. Well, only God knows what will happen to them. By this time, even the landlord shifted uncomfortably. The women began nodding like church members During a fiery sermon. Someone from the crowd even muttered. No wonder Becky nearly collapsed yesterday. Becky tried to defend herself. I I only I only She stammered. But before she could finish, Mama Esther jumped in with, "Uh-uh. So you admit you took it." And the crowd erupted like someone had fired a gun. Becky, you're one man, " one man shouted. If you like the rapper that much, go to the market and buy your own now. Stop rubbing clothes line like area boy. The laughter that followed was loud and shameless.

Some of the younger girls even started chanting. Becky the rapiff. Becky did the rap like a nursery rhyme. The landlord, who was struggling to hide his own laughter, finally cleared his throat and said From today on, anybody caught stealing clothes will be fined 5,000 naira, and that person will wash the whole compound for one week. Becky, consider yourself warned. Becky's face was red, and her lips were pressed so tightly together that it looked as if she was holding back tears or insults. She stood up. Hissed loudly and slammed Her door was so hard that one of the neighbors, a lanky man, almost fell from his stool. Well, for it was a sweet moment. She sat there pretending to be humble, but inside her chest, a victory drum was playing. Not only had her clothesline teeth been cut, but the girl's reputation had been roasted in public like Suya meats. Becky stayed indoors for 3 days straight after the rapper incident. People said she was sick. Some said she was fastened to cleanse herself, while others swore they heard her crying at night. But on the On the fourth day, she came out looking different. Her hair was freshly braided. She wore a spotless white t-shirt, and she was holding a brand new bucket with shiny pegs in her hand. She walked slowly to the corridor and smiled politely at neighbors as if she were a reformed choir member. Everyone watched her like a Nollywood audience, waiting for the next plot twist. "Good afternoon, my people," Becky said sweetly and set her buckets down. "I know there has been, well, a little misunderstanding in this compound.

People think I am a thief, but I am not, and I have decided to prove my innocence." The woman leaned forward. Mama Esther narrowed her eyes, ready for the action. Becky pointed at her clothes line. From today, I will be hanging my clothes outside day and night, and if anything disappears, then all of you will know I was never the problem. There is someone else who was mopping her doorstep, who couldn't resist laughing. Becky, are you sure? Anyone can be tempted, though. I am very sure. Becky replied confidently as if she were Holding a surprise card. In fact, to show I am serious, I will start by washing my biscuit. The one I bought for Christmas last year, and hung it right now. Within 30 minutes, Becky had her skirt hanging proudly on the line, swaying in the breeze like a political flag. The compound people kept passing and pretending not to stare. But truly, every single person was monitoring the skirt's safety. Hours passed, and the skirt remained untouched. Becky's smile grew wider. She started singing gospel songs.

Loudly, making sure Yayi could hear her. It was clear she had now realized that the cross of the rapper story was a lie, and she was about to prove it. But just before 900 p.m., as people were closing down for the night, a sudden heavy wind blew through the compound. It was the kind of wind that sent Lylon bags flying and slammed doors without knocking. In the confusion, Becky's skirt flew right off the line. Now, here's where the twist came in. The skirt didn't just follow. It landed directly on Oai's Freshly washed white bed sheets. And Becky, who had been drinking malt and eating Suya earlier, ran out without rinsing her hands. She grabbed the skirt and, in the process, smeared oil all over the sheets. The moment UI saw the oil stain, her eyes widened. So it is not enough. You were stealing my clothes before. Now you want to destroy my property, she shouted. The compound exploded into noise again. Some people defended Becky, saying it was an accident, while others said it was the spirit of rapper revenge.

At work. But the loudest moment came when Becky, in trying to explain herself, shouted, "I don't care about the sheet. I just wanted to prove that someone would steal my skirt and then push the blame to that person before she could finish." A voice from the back, the landlord's wife asked, "But Beckyo, where did you even get that skirt? I can swear I saw UI wearing the same thing last year. The compound went silent for three seconds. Then everybody turned and looked at UI, who folded her arms slowly and said Exactly that was my Christmas 2 years ago. The neighbors shouted, "Ah!" and Becky's face changed color like traffic lights. By the next morning, it was official. Becky's innocence project had failed spectacularly. Not only had she not cleared her name, she had now confirmed in public that at least one item in her wardrobe had previously belonged to UI. Life after the Christmas exposure was not easy for Becky. Every time she stepped outside, she could feel eyes burning into her back. Even when She bent down to fetch water from the tap. Someone would whisper, "Check your bucket before she carries it." And the laughter would follow her like background music. Still, Becky tried to act on face, she started locking herself indoors more often, cooking at odd hours, and doing her laundry at midnight to avoid stairs. But Kama, that patient landlord of life, had already signed her tenancy agreement. It all began on a Saturday morning. The landlord's wife called everyone to the compound square.

And announced, "My people, my younger sister from the village is coming to stay here for 6 months. Please treat her well. Now, this younger sister turned out to be a nononsense woman named Mama Peace. She was a widow in her late 40s with a megaphone-like voice and eyes that scanned people's souls. The first day she came, she stood at the center of the corridor, looked at all the tenants as if she came for an environmental inspection, and marched on inside. For the first few weeks, nothing strange Happened. Then one bright afternoon, Mama Peace decided to sundry her most prized rapper, a bright red George lace her late husband had bought her before he died. She hung it neatly, looked around, and announced loudly, "These clothes are worth more than some people's entire wardrobe. Let me see the hand that will touch it." Becky, who was sweeping her corner, hissed loudly. But that night, when everyone had gone inside, a small voice in her chest whispered, "This rapper will fit you.

more than that old woman now." Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was stubbornness. Or maybe it was leftover arrogance from her stealing days. I don't know. But Becky foolishly reached for the wrapper. And the moment she touched it, a loud, piercing scream tore through the compound in two. Mama piece came flying out as if she had been waiting in ambush, holding a giant touchlight in one hand and a kobokco whip in the other. Before Becky could explain, Mama Piece shouted and whipped her with one heavy lash. Thief, so it Is you. The noise woke the whole compound. Neighbors rushed out. Yay took him, and when she saw the scene, she leaned on the wall with a satisfied grin. I said it, a tie doesn't change. It's just the right opportunity that hasn't come. However, the real embarrassment came when Mama Peace, in the heat of shouting, revealed that she had deliberately baited the thief without an expensive rapper because she had heard stories about Becky before she even moved in. Apparently, Becky's reputation as clothesline general The overseer had traveled far and wide. The landlord, who was tired of the drama, didn't even wait for the end of the month. The very next morning, he told Becky, "Pack your things. We need peace in this compound." And just like that, Becky was gone. But her exit didn't end the laughter. For weeks after, whenever the wind blew someone's clothes off the line, neighbors would jokingly shout, "Becky, come carry your property." Even though she was nowhere around. As for Wuyi, she now hung her clothes in the Open without fear. She would even leave her best rappers overnight. And every time she saw them still there in the morning, she would smile and say, "God of public compound, you do this one well." Thank you for watching the story. Kindly share your thoughts about the story with me in the comments section. Share the story with your loved ones and give the story a thumbs up. Subscribe to this channel if you've not done so by now. Until I bring another story your way. Bye.