The gong hit the bell so loud that Owondiki cringed. As her eardrums vibrated, she waited outside the tall building with blue paint and a big gate.

Her clothes were taken. Everything, including her panties and bra. They removed her earrings, her watch, and her hair ruffles. They handed her a new pair of black trousers, a white shirt, and a pair of rubber shoes. Once she was dressed, they gave her a bar of soap and walked her down to the cell block.

As the bell rang, Owondiki could see the prisoners behind the second gate. One of the guards unlocked two padlocks and a key lock, opening a small part of the gate, at the bottom.

"Oya," another guard said, pushing Owondiki towards the small opening.

She crouched down and crawled. As soon as her whole body was through, they banged the gate behind her and locked it back.

The entire building was built in a square. At the center, there was a large field. Surrounding that field were rooms on every side of the building. Rooms, from which prisoners were currently emerging.

A girl in shredded, black shorts and a sleeveless shirt, came out of the door, closest to Owondiki. She was light–skinned, and she had long, unkempt locks in her hair. There was a bruise on her neck, as if someone had grabbed her too tight, and a cut on her lower lip. She was, also, barefoot.

"Orabo nibi nibi." Small girl, she said, smiling at Owondiki. "Wehcam," she said, exaggerating a local Izecha accent of the English word, "welcome".

"Thank you," Owondiki replied, stepping back as the girl advanced on her. She had to be younger than Owondiki. Twenty, twenty-one years old, at the most. And yet, here she was, talking down to Owondiki.

Owondiki tried to move away but the girl got in her path. When she moved the other way, the girl blocked her again.

"Please move."

"Orabo, behave."

When she tried to move again and the girl blocked her, Owondiki shoved her away. She stumbled back and fell to the ground. The prison erupted in angry shouts as three more women rushed to the girl while the two women who'd been coming closer pounced on Owondiki. They punched her to the ground and one of them kicked her in the back.

Owondiki howled in pain. They finally pulled her to her knees as two new women held her up.

"I'm... I'm sor...sorry," Owondiki said.

"I bin won give you choice, but choice don finish." She nodded at the women above Owondiki. While those two held her, another one came and unbuttoned her shirt.

"Please," Owondiki begged.

They pulled the shirt off her back. Then they removed her trousers and her shoes. Once she was completely naked, they tossed her on the grass. Groaning, she curled in on herself, trying to cover up.

"Wetin you dey cover? Free yourself," the girl said. "Man no dey here, oh."

As she left, Owondiki looked around at the other prisoners who'd stood by and let them take all her things. None of them were going to help her. It was only her first day, all her clothes were gone and she'd somehow managed to piss off the Don of the prison.

Stand up, Owondiki. Get up.

She needed to move away from their sight. To hide, somewhere. But where would she go? She was naked and alone, with no one to help.

"Wear this," someone said behind her as fabric landed on Owondiki's body.

She obeyed, quickly.

"Thank you," she said to the good Samaritan.

"What's your name?" the woman asked.

With great effort, Owondiki looked at the woman squatting beside her and was shocked to see who it was.

"Jera Franklin," she said, breathlessly. She hadn't expected to meet her, just yet. Owondiki wasn't ready.

"That's my name," Jera said. "I was asking for yours."

"Oh, Owondiki," she replied. "My name is Owondiki Owondiki."

"Hello, Owondiki Owondiki."

Jera stood, offering her hand to Owondiki.

Owondiki raised her hand to take Jera's when she heard someone say, "Wetin you dey do, Kajera?"

Owondiki's hand stopped as she withdrew from Jera. It was the girl speaking. She was using the familiar honorific "ka" before Jera's name. It was a term of endearment and respect, used by younger people to address elders who they were close to.

"Nu diye dinde." You've had your fun, Jera said. "Leave her alone."

"Ka," the girl said, walking up to them. "You sabi rules. I allow make she wear cloth, but she suppose sleep outside one day, at least."

Ignoring her, Jera bent to pick Owondiki from the ground.

"Are you serious?" the girl asked in Jiki.

"Owondiki, this is Gift, the troublemaker," Jera said in Jiki, as both of them switched completely from English. "Gift, say hello to Owondiki."

Gift pushed Owondiki away and she fell on her shoulder. She rolled away, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Gift," Jera hissed, getting in Gift's face as Gift met Jera head-on. Several of the prisoners were, suddenly, on their feet.

Standing face-to-face, as they were, Gift was slightly taller than Jera. In contrast to Jera's dark skin, Gift's lighter skin looked even lighter.

"Move," she pushed Gift aside. Without hesitation, Gift got back in her face as Jera moved further away from her.

"Things are different now, Ka. I know your secret."

"I'm warning you, Gift–"

"I know why Clans Authority came to visit you," Gift lowered her voice. "Maybe you want me to tell everyone? Let us see what that does to your street cred."

Jera punched Gift.

The girl fell but before she could recover, Jera grabbed her by the neck, pulled her to her feet, and punched her again. Instead of falling, this time, she staggered back. When Jera advanced on her, she tried to hit back, but Jera blocked, twisted her arm, turned her around, and locked both her hands behind her back. She kicked the back of Gift's knees, causing her to kneel as she cried out in pain.

With one hand hooking both Gift's hands at her back, Jera raised her other free hand, with the gracefulness of a classical dancer.

"Stay where you are," she said to the women who had moved closer. "Easy. Go back and sit down!" When they didn't move, she yelled, "NOW!" and the women flinched, retracing their steps to where they'd been earlier.

"Kajera," Gift groaned, kneeling beside Owondiki.

Using her two hands to keep Gift down, Jera dropped to one knee, speaking so quietly that only Owondiki and Gift could hear her.

"I don't want to have this conversation with you again."

"You're hurting me."

"You're going to walk away. Do you understand me?"

"Kajera–"

Jera twisted her wrist, and she screamed in pain.

"Do you understand me?"

"Y–yes," she cried.

Jera shoved her on the grass and stood. As Gift struggled to her feet and ran, Jera crouched down, close to Owondiki, and wrapped Owondiki's arm around her neck.

"You didn't have to do that for me," Owondiki said.

"I know," Jera replied, pulling her up.

"Why did you?"

Grunting under their combined weight, Jera gritted her teeth.

"I hate bullies."

She allowed Jera to help her into the corridor and into the first room. The windows were higher than any of them could reach but had thick, metal bars. No beds. Just metal bunks stuck to the walls that had wrappers on them. The place had a stale stench that made Owondiki's stomach churn, but she stifled the urge to vomit.

"Why is she... who gave her so much power?"

"The warden," Jera explained, maneuvering Owondiki onto the bunk in the far corner so that she could slide down. "He lets her out of the prison when he's feeling lonely, and she uses those visits to text people's families and get messages and water and other things that the prison ordinarily doesn't give us."

"They don't give you water?"

"We get water once a week and food once a day," Jera said. "But don't worry. By the time you use the pit toilets and shower in front of a bunch of strangers, you'll learn that this is a prison and not a vacation home."

Not that she was surprised. Ibesan wasn't famous for its 5-star reviews but barely any water? Eating once a day? The director never said anything about this in the briefing.

"Let me see your wrist."

"It hurts a bit."

"Don't think about it."

"I can't think about anything else."

"Think about your family. Your favorite food. Where did you go to school?" Jera asked. "Your English... when you were speaking before... your English was impeccable."

"Bato," she grunted. "I went to Bato, Izecha."

"Really?" Jera said joyously, as she rotated Owondiki's wrist carefully. "I went to Bato, Osekoni. What university?"

"Kekpe Pride," Owondiki said before she could stop herself. Biting her lips, she closed her eyes, expecting a negative reaction from Jera.

But nothing happened. No sound, no reaction, except for Jera tearing a piece of fabric with her teeth.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"I heard you," Jera replied with a shrug. "You went to a clans-blood university. So did I."

Owondiki knew that. She knew everything that was in Jera's file. Given the amount of vitriol she'd spat at the clans and everyone who affiliated with them, Owondiki had expected a recoil.

"That's all you have to say?"

"What did you expect? A grand speech about the indoctrination that goes on in those schools?"

"Well, yeah," Owondiki said.

"I don't need to give you a speech. After all, you're in Ibesan here with the rest of us. That should tell you all you need to know about what the clans think of you, as a person."

Smooth, Owondiki thought to herself.

Jera Franklin was a classic cult leader. Charismatic, knowledgeable, and set apart from everyone else.

Her followers weren't uneducated youth with impressionable minds. Jera Franklin had convinced people with degrees and enviable specialties that she was their savior. That she and she alone was going to lead them into an era of liberation and prosperity. An era where the clans lost their power over Usehjiki. She'd convinced smart people that she could do the impossible and these were experienced adults who could recognize manipulation from a mile away.

Yet, they'd fallen for Jera Franklin's charm.

Owondiki could see why. She was easy to talk to, protective and caring. Owondiki could also recognize the signs of recruitment. Jera didn't do things out of the goodness of her heart. If there was a reason for her to recruit Owondiki, then the best play would be for Owondiki to play along.

"They're not all bad," Owondiki said.

"Don't worry. One day, you'll learn that we're nothing to them."

"You're not nothing to them. They came to visit you."

Jera continued wrapping the wrist.

"They came to see me because they need something from me."

"Really? What's that?"

Jera tilted her head as her eyes narrowed in mild suspicion. For a moment, Owondiki couldn't move. She'd seen her chance to ask, and she'd taken it. But as they sat there, she regretted it. She should have kept quiet. She should have eased Jera into the idea of trust.

Jera knotted the rope around Owondiki's wrist, pulled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her hands around them, frowning.

"My grandfather was Jonathan Mbeteli."

Owondiki was startled by the fact that Jera just said it so plainly. Regular citizens were not aware that Jera Franklin was also Jera Mbeteli. People knew her as a domestic terrorist. They had no idea that she was descended from a man who had once published a blasphemous book that predicted the fall of the clans, decades ago.

"I changed my name when I got out of secondary school. I had my papers. Straight A's in WAEC and NJEB. I was a model student. But no clans-blood university would give admission to Mbeteli's granddaughter."

"Why clans-blood universities?"

"Can you compare the level of access and comfort those schools afford? If they were offering scholarships to exceptional commoners, I wanted to benefit from them," she said with a sad smile. "But they wouldn't take me. So, I changed my name. Got new papers of origin and then I retook the NJEB and WAEC exams." Jera buried her head in her knees. "Anyways," she breathed loudly as she raised her head again. "My grandfather only published one book but there were other bits of material he was working with. That's what Clans Authority came looking for. They want the other five files."

"Five?" Owondiki asked.

"Yes."

"...I'll give you all three files," Jera had said, just the day before to the director. Three files, not five.

Clans Authority had no idea how many files Jonathan Mbeteli had compiled. There were five, but because of what Jera had said, Clans Authority would be looking for only three.

"Where are they now?"

The suspicious look was back on Jera's face.

"I'm not going to tell you that."

"We're locked in here for life. Who will I tell?"

Before Jera had a chance to respond, Owondiki's eyes caught movement behind Jera. Jera looked back, just as the crowd of women came into full view, heading for the room, with anger in their eyes and weapons in their hands.