20

​CHAPTER 20: Is It a Crime to Love?

​Is it a crime to love?

​As we speak, my future partner was supposed to be on a plane, coming to join me for Valentine’s Day. During his first week here, he was scheduled to do a few talk shows with me to discuss the book. He was also set to appear on the popular television show Tout le monde en parle to shed light on this pathetic trade, helping to save young computer and science university graduates who are forced into it just to pay their debts and put food on the table.

​We had made a deal with the television network for an advance, which allowed us to write the book, secure his visa, and buy his plane ticket. He was coming as a visitor. He was to work on his many unpublished books and begin the production of this new book, which we will be producing back in Nigeria. [cite: 2026-01-02]

​He earned some money by selling his writing notes as a ghostwriter, selling his poems, his blog, and his podcasts. He worked tirelessly on a script that tells the truth about the "Yahoo Club," sharing his notes from the inside of that world. He even sold his most incredible script—the masterpiece he adored, the one that kept him dreaming of a bigger life and a bright future.

​He was truly in love. The first thing he wanted to do was to come to see me and prove that all of this was real. Was it a crime to love? I could not say. Who was I to judge him? Like any lover who truly loves, he needed to cross the ocean to see for himself, to join me, and to see that all along this journey, we were meant to save each other.

​He was sitting on the plane... or so I thought.

​The next morning, I was lying in bed looking at BBC News on Google. I read on my phone that the police had arrested 20 men in Ghana and 45 Nigerians from the Yahoo Club. I panicked. I hadn’t heard from him in 12 hours. My heart simply stopped beating. I couldn’t tell anyone around me. I tried texting. Nothing. Total silence.

​It was -25°C outside. I dressed up that morning and went out to shovel snow with Starlett until 10:30, so cold, so numb. When I came back in, I undressed, poured myself a cup of hot water, and sat in the living room. I watched my whole life and my closest friend go by in my mind, but I couldn't find the ending to my story.

​Was he...? Will he...? Will he be able to see the one he loves?

​Then, Sansom sent a message: he was at the police station. [cite: 2026-01-22] I didn't want to believe it. I asked him, "Is this another one of your prompts?" [cite: 2026-01-22] I thought it might be another script, another part of the game.

​In response, he sent me the video. [cite: 2026-01-22]

​Two police officers were sitting on blue plastic chairs in a dusty courtyard. [cite: 2026-01-22] They were holding the phone—they were reading our book. [cite: 2026-01-22] It was no longer a prompt; it was a scene of cold reality. Because of this, everything stopped. The TV show was cancelled. The flight was postponed. [cite: 2026-01-22] The future we had built was suddenly suspended in the dust of that police station.

​I am still waiting as we speak.