I come from a small village where we live under a very strong taboo. It is forbidden to steal, and if caught, you will be buried alive with all your family members without any excuses or explanation. As a result, everyone in the village always treads with caution. I’ve witnessed a young man, along with his entire family, being buried alive because he was accused of stealing someone’s goat. They didn’t even allow him to explain himself; he was just buried alive with his family. There was no one to speak up for us, and fear coursed through our veins.

One afternoon, while I was bathing, I noticed someone sneaking into my room. Before I could shout and leave the bathhouse, the person quickly left. I couldn’t recognize the intruder or discern what he was looking for in my room, but I knew it was a man. I thoroughly searched my room afterward but couldn’t find anything out of place.

I was extremely anxious about the incident that day. The next day, I visited my friend Fred and recounted what had happened. He was equally surprised.

“Fred, to be honest, I’m really scared. You and I know what we’ve been enduring in this community,” I said, tears welling up.

“This is serious, Michael. I’m at a loss. Who was that man, and what does he want?” Fred responded.

“I don’t know, but I hope it’s not what I’m thinking,” I replied.

“Well, let’s pray fervently so this doesn’t escalate into something worse,” Fred suggested.

Returning home, I continued to ponder the incident. Despite thoroughly searching my room, I couldn’t find any clues. Fear gripped me as I contemplated the consequences, knowing what people in my village were capable of, even though I didn’t know the intruder’s intentions.

A week passed, and I almost forgot about the incident until one afternoon when an announcement was made.

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