Story for tonight… Vicky’s turn
Victoria Archibong — Vicky to her friends—had built a life many people admired. At thirty-five, she was one of the top executives at the MTN Nigeria Group. Her career had been her pride, her refuge, and for many years, her excuse.
Promotion after promotion came, and with each one she told herself the same thing: Marriage can wait. But time, as she would later discover, does not wait for anyone.
At first it had been playful teasing. Friends laughed and called her the “career woman.” But gradually the jokes changed. At weddings, Vicky began to notice the whispers behind her back.
“Ah, Vicky again? She’s becoming a professional bridesmaid.”
She laughed it off the first few times. After all, she had stood beside nearly all her friends as they walked down the aisle. But the laughter began to sting when her own younger siblings started overtaking her.
First her immediate younger sister got married. A year later, the second one followed. Even her younger brother found a wife and soon became a proud father.
Family gatherings became harder to endure.
The once lively conversations slowly shifted into subtle interrogations.
“So, Vicky… when are we coming for your own?”
She smiled politely every time. But inside, something had begun to ache.
What disturbed her even more was how some of her old friends suddenly changed around her. Invitations to visit their homes became fewer. When she did come around, she noticed the careful distance.
A husband who used to chat freely with her would suddenly become quiet when his wife entered the room.
Another would politely excuse himself from the sitting room the moment she arrived.
At first she thought it was coincidence.
Then it dawned on her.
They were shielding their husbands… from her.
That realization struck harder than any insult ever could.
For the first time in her life, Vicky began to feel that time was slipping through her fingers.
Determined to change her story, she turned to prayers. She began attending the powerful prayer and deliverance crusades organized by the Redeemed Christian Church of God and ensured she never missed the monthly Holy Ghost Services led by Enoch Adeboye.
Business trips were carefully scheduled to ensure she was physically present at the monthly event. Night after night she joined thousands of worshippers crying out to God for breakthroughs of every kind. But deep in her heart, Vicky had only one prayer.
“Lord, remember me.”
It was during one of those massive gatherings that her life took a turn she could never have imagined.
Among the sea of worshippers that night stood a tall, quiet man who could not take his eyes off her.
His name was Opoku.
Unknown to many around them, Opoku was no ordinary visitor to Nigeria. He was a bachelor—and the first son of the President of Ghana.
From the moment he saw Vicky, something about her held his attention. Her elegance. Her calm confidence. The quiet dignity with which she worshipped.
When Pastor Adeboye asked the congregation to hold hands and pray prayers of agreement, Opoku moved closer and gently took Vicky’s two hands. Almost instinctively, he positioned himself slightly in front of her, shielding her from the curious glances of those around them.
Neither of them spoke much during the service, yet an unusual familiarity seemed to grow between them.
By the time the program ended at about 3:30am, Opoku knew he could not simply walk away. He normally booked a VIP suite at the camp where he would retire to until dawn when diplomatic vehicles and security took the airport. This night was different, he couldn’t let this gorgeous lady out of sight. Vicky who drove herself to the camp, would join chairs together like many other attendees to take a nap till daylight.
Watching carefully, Opoku quickly volunteered to arrange the make ship bed. It was only then that Vicky actually began to notice him and wondered why the attention. She however, shrugged off the thought. “I’ve endured too many heartbreaks to allow this fine boy into my space abeg.”
Curiously, he didn’t leave the venue or attempt to also take a nap. Instead he asked her to permit him to watch over her. “Which one concern me ?” She thought to herself as she put her handbag under the little pillow she came with and closed her eyes.
Opoku diligently kept watch, throwing angry glances at men who dared look in her direction.
By 5:30am, Vicky’s alarm clock rang and she woke up to see Opoku sitting beside her, watching her closely. A few meters away were men that looked like bouncers or security details also standing guard.
She adjusted her dress, picked up her belongings and thanked him for the care. She made to leave but he politely asked for her name after which he introduced himself.
“I’m Opoku John Kufor.”
“Hmmm. That name rings a bell. Are you from Ghana ?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Are those men with you ?”
“Yes. They follow me every I go especially in Africa. I told them to leave but they insisted it is State protocol,” he said in the most alluring English accent.
“And the accent ? It’s not Ghanaian…,” Vicky replied.
“Oh, I spent nearly all my life in the UK, returned recently to set up an investment bank in my country. Went to Imperial College and did my Masters and PhD in Oxford.”
“Wait, wait, are you related to the Ghanaian president ?” Vicky probed casually.
“He’s my father.”
“Ok. Nice to meet you. I come to Ghana often. I manage the country’s business alongside all other Anglophone countries in Africa and the Middle East.”
“Oh, great to know.” Here is my card. Call me anytime you’re in the country. I’d love to show you around,” Opoku said.
“Not a problem. I’ll try. My visits are always hectic but I’ll try to,” Vicky responded.
Opoku also offered to take her pillow and cymbal but one of the security men rushed up to help. The President’s Son gave him the weirdest look of his life and he let go.
Outside the venue, he made a surprising request.
“Could you please take me to the airport ?” I have a 10:30 flight,” he asked softly.
Vicky hesitated for a moment.
Behind them, a line of Ghanaian diplomatic vehicles with headlights and hazard lights flashing, waited quietly.
Yet something about his simplicity disarmed her. He rode in her 2026 Range Rover while his convoy came behind them.
During the drive to the Murtala Muhammed International Airport, conversation flowed easily between them, as though they had known each other for years.
When they arrived, Opoku reluctantly completed his departure formalities, but neither of them seemed ready to say goodbye.
Standing near the departure gate, they held each other tightly.
The final boarding announcement echoed through the terminal.
Time had ran out.
Opoku leaned forward and kissed her—softly but passionately. She didn’t even resist but rather settle into his hug chest closing her eyes tightly as if it was the safest place to be.
Then he looked into her eyes and made a promise.
“I will come back for you,” he said.
“Within a week or two.”
And with that, he turned and walked toward the boarding gate gesturing that he would call, leaving Vicky standing there… her heart racing, her mind spinning, wondering how things proceeded so quickly and asking herself if she wasn’t walking into another heartbreak.
An airport security official who had been watching the lovebirds quietly laughed and told Vicky, “madam, no worry you hear. Oga say im go come see you again and I know say e go come.”
“Mcheeeewww,” Vicky eyed him fiercely and walked away.
Should Vicky just trash the thoughts of Opoku and trash his call card ? Find out in Chapter 2.”
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