The day I carried my neighbour's daughter to her husband's house and said nothing

1993, that year the fuel scarcity nearly finished us. I was still in Ministry of Education then, small clerk with four children at home. My neighbour's daughter, Bisi, she was 19, she got pregnant for a married man in Ring Road. The man's wife no born. So the family arranged it quietly. They told everybody she was going to her aunt in Ilorin.

I was the one who drove the car. Her father begged me, said I was the only one with a car that could make the trip without questions. We left Ibadan before 5am. Bisi cried the whole way, not loud, just quiet tears. When we reach the house, the man's people came out and took her inside like they were collecting a parcel. Nobody said thank you. I just turned the car and drove back.

For 30 years I never told anybody that story. Not even my wife. Bisi is a grandmother now in Lagos, doing well. But sometimes I wonder if that girl ever forgave us. The Yoruba say bi oba ti ri ni mo ti n ri, what the king sees is what I see. But some things you see, you carry them alone.