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The congregation stared at the thin, silent girl in her torn dress and dirty feet, and they believed every word.
Nobody asked for proof.
Nobody asked Adai what she had to say.
They watched a 12-year-old child be called a witch in front of the entire community, and they said, “Amen.”
And when it was over, Blessing walked out of that church with her head high and her reputation polished, while Adai walked behind her, carrying the weight of a lie she could never wash off.
The witch label changed everything in the community.
Neighbors who had once looked at Adai with pity now crossed to the other side of the road when they saw her coming.
Market women whispered behind her back and covered their children’s eyes.
Boys in the street threw small stones at her when she carried water to the borehole.
Mothers warned their daughters to stay away from that possessed girl.
The entire town turned against a child because one woman told one lie inside a church.
And Blessing used the label perfectly.
She used it as permission to do anything she wanted.
“I am living with a witch in my house,” she told visitors. “Pray for me. I am suffering.”
And they prayed for her.
They brought her food and gifts.
They told her she was a brave, strong woman of God.
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And nobody—not a single person in that entire community—ever walked to the backyard and asked why a child was sleeping in a dog kennel.
Then came the stolen necklace.
