The gold watch that nearly finished me in London

2016. I was still doing agency shifts then, and my younger brother Tunde had just gained admission to University of Ibadan. School fees, accommodation, feeding money... my salary was not matching anything. So when one Nigerian family in Bromley asked me to do private night care for their father, I said yes immediately. The money was good. I needed it.

The man had dementia. I bathed him, fed him, changed him, sang to him when he was restless. His daughter Remi and her husband Femi treated me well at first. Called me Aunty Bose. Bought me Christmas hamper.

Then one morning Remi called me. Her voice was cold. "The gold watch is missing. It was on the dresser. Nobody else entered that room except you."

My dear, I stood there with my phone shaking. Six weeks of service. Six weeks of washing that man like my own father. And this is what I get.

They didn't sack me. They did worse. They kept me on, watching me like a thief, while they "investigated." Every time I entered the room, Remi's eyes followed me. Femi stopped greeting me. I cried in my car outside their gate more than once. I almost resigned. But Tunde's fees were due.

Three weeks later, the truth came out. Their houseboy, small boy of 19, had taken it. He confessed when they threatened police. Sold it for 250 pounds to some man in Peckham.

Remi called me. She was crying. She said sorry. She said she would pay me extra. I told her to keep her money. I finished my shift that night and never went back.

What I learned... people will trust a gold watch more than they trust a woman who cleaned their father's body. It is what it is. God sees.