The black vans arrived before dawn.
Each one picked up its passenger without fanfare just a polite nod from a uniformed driver and a sealed envelope handed over as they climbed in. No one knew the exact destination, only that they were to surrender their phones, watches, and any electronic devices the moment they stepped inside.
Eight passengers.
Eight strangers.
Each driven through winding roads into the coastal outskirts of Epe, where a secluded estate once a colonial guest house now stood reimagined as the Iroko Retreat Center.
By 7:15 AM, the vans arrived one by one, the morning sun spilling over the high stone gates like gold over secrets.
The estate was breathtaking low, elegant buildings framed with bougainvillea, palm trees lining the walkway, a koi pond rippling at the center. But it wasn't the beauty that drew the attention of the guests it was the silence.
Everything was too still. Too curated. Too intentional.
And the sense of being watched clung to the back of every neck.
Titi Ayeni stepped out first, clutching her grandmother's photo frame. She wore comfortable jeans and a long-sleeved blouse, no makeup, hair tied back. Her eyes scanned the others arriving.
Joy Obiakor, tall and soft-spoken, arrived next with a single duffel bag and her mother's scarf folded carefully in the outer pocket. She wore a plain black dress and greeted Titi with a respectful nod.
Farouk Olayemi, in simple trousers and a light brown shirt, exited the third van. He gave a small smile to the women, then took a seat on the stone bench beneath the jacaranda tree.
More followed.
Chika Mbanefo a boisterous, well-dressed private caregiver from Enugu who wore bold lipstick and fake lashes that trembled in the wind.
Idowu Benson a quiet former soldier turned trauma nurse, expression unreadable, posture perfect.
Cynthia Umeh a medical social worker with a guarded smile and businesslike attire.
Baba Kareem an elderly widower applying not to care, but to teach the others how to care. His presence confused some, intrigued others.
And finally
Remi Alade a calm, charming physiotherapist in his late 30s who greeted everyone warmly and sat cross-legged with eyes half-closed, as if meditating.
They sat in silence until a woman appeared tall, elegant, dressed in a soft grey gown.
Adunni.
She walked across the courtyard with a clipboard, no introduction.
"Welcome," she said. "Phones, watches, and any items not approved for the retreat will be placed in the lockers behind you. You may keep your one personal object. There is no social media. No outside contact. From this moment, you are observed and heard. Everything counts."
A few stiffened. One or two nodded. Remi smiled.
Adunni continued.
"This is not a test you pass by performance. This is not a reality show. It is not a competition, but you will be chosen. Everything you do your silences, your interactions, your kindness or lack thereof will determine who stays."
Then she looked directly at them.
"The woman you may serve is not a patient. She is a person. Treat her as such even when you do not recognize her."
Some exchanged confused glances.
"Rooms have been assigned. Meals are served communally. Daily tasks will be rotated."
Adunni stepped back.
"You are not here to impress. You are here to remain."
She left without another word.
A young housemaid appeared, eyes lowered, and motioned for them to follow her.
None noticed the older cleaning woman sweeping quietly near the koi pond—the one with a slight limp, dressed in faded Ankara, with sharp, watchful eyes.
Aunty Kike had arrived.
Mama Iroko was already among them.
The retreat unfolded slowly at first.
That morning, the eight were asked to clean their rooms and assist with setting up breakfast.
Joy folded napkins with care and rearranged chairs for someone shorter. Titi noticed Baba Kareem struggling with the kettle and gently stepped in. Farouk, quietly, refilled the flower vases at every table, even though it wasn't asked of him.
But Chika complained about the room temperature, called the food "retreat rations," and ignored the house staff entirely.
By noon, the first staged trial began: a housemaid named Lami (an undercover actor) entered the dining room in tears, carrying a broken vase. She claimed she'd dropped it accidentally and was afraid of being fired.
Cynthia told her to speak to management.
Remi offered to help explain on her behalf.
Idowu silently swept the glass and offered no comment.
Titi knelt beside Lami and offered tissues from her pocket. "It's just a vase," she said softly. "You matter more than that."
Behind the hidden camera wall, Adunni and Tunde watched every moment.
"She didn't even hesitate," Adunni whispered. "That's what we're looking for."
But the true test was coming.
That evening, as dinner was being prepared, Aunty Kike limped into the common lounge where three of the candidates sat. She carried a tray of jollof rice and stew spilling slightly as her hand shook.
Chika stood. "Ah ah, be careful now. You want to stain my clothes?"
The old woman apologized.
Remi rose and took the tray from her hands with a bow. "Let me carry that for you, ma. Please sit."
Farouk brought her a cup of water without being asked.
Titi touched her arm. "Did you hurt your leg recently?"
Aunty Kike smiled and sat.
"No, child. Life hurt it. Years ago."
They laughed.
But Cynthia muttered, "Can't they send younger staff?"
She didn't notice Aunty Kike glance at her over the rim of her cup, eyes gleaming with recognition.
Later that night, Idowu offered to clean up after dinner. Chika and Cynthia disappeared early to their rooms.
Mama Iroko sat under the mango tree, disguised, and whispered softly to herself:
"Some speak kindly to me, but it is how they speak to each other that tells me everything."
At 10:30 PM, a loud knock startled the house.
The same housemaid from earlier Lami burst into the common area in tears. "Someone stole my earrings. Gold. A gift from my mother."
Panic rippled through the group.
Accusations began. Whispers.
The actors knew their lines.
A decoy search was initiated. Each room was checked.
The earrings were "found" in a corner of Farouk's drawer.
He was called to explain.
He froze. "I… I didn't touch anything."
His voice was calm, but wounded. Hurt. Not performative.
Titi and Joy both stepped forward.
"This doesn't feel right," Joy said. "He doesn't even wear jewelry."
Titi added, "Anyone can plant things. I want to see if his bag was unzipped."
Remi stood between Farouk and the others. "Let's not turn this into a trial."
From behind the camera wall, Tunde exhaled. "They're not defending him because they know him. They're defending him because they recognize dignity."
"Tomorrow," Adunni said, "we raise the stakes."
Tunde nodded. "Let them feel what it means to be helpless. Let's see who leans in… and who walks away."
And in her small private quarters, Mama Iroko removed her headscarf and exhaled.
"Let them see me weak… because that's where the truth walks in without disguise."