Written by Chinazam Queen on Facebook
Today marks five years since life gave me yet another chance — my fourth chance to live.
Five years since I, Chinazam, begged on the streets of Lagos with tears, pain, and injuries I could hardly describe.
My storms have been many. Enough for an entire book. Enough to break the strongest heart. But somehow, grace refused to let me go.
In November 2020, shortly after my mother’s burial, I returned to Lagos to resume my job with an insurance company. That morning, I was rushing to the Civil Defence office in Ikeja to pick up a queue number before heading back to work.
But my life was about to change.
“I Entered a Wrong Bus… and Became the Only Outcast Inside”
Arriving at Ikeja Under Bridge, I unknowingly entered a wrong vehicle. I was the only woman inside — the only target.
According to them, they had been monitoring me from afar.
The moment I attempted to scream, they locked the doors. One of them grabbed my neck, trying to strangle me as the driver sped off into an isolated, unknown location.
When they stopped, one attempted to assault me. I fought back with the last strength in me, injuring him with my nails. That angered them. They beat my face beyond recognition, and brought out an iron which they used to strike me. My vision blurred… my body went numb.
Yet I begged.
“Please spare me. I just lost my mum. I’m begging you.”
One of them replied with a cold question:
“Do you want to join her?”
They searched my bag, found my ATM cards and cash, forced me to give them my PINs — and beat me again when they realized the first one was wrong. They even carried a POS machine to confirm the transactions.
After draining my accounts, they applied abonki into my eyes, worsening an already existing childhood eye condition. They attempted again to violate me…
But God sent help.
“A Security Man Saved Me”
A security man heard my struggling and rushed over with a torchlight. The men panicked and fled.
He helped me sit by the roadside. I could barely see, could barely walk because of the iron blow to my leg. He handed me water and said:
“Go and thank your God. You are a destiny child.”
I asked him where I was and begged for ₦500 to find my way home, but he had nothing on him.
I limped across the road and began begging strangers for transport fare. People walked past — some judging, some avoiding. It was heartbreaking.
Eventually, a bus stopped. I entered without money. When the conductor demanded payment, the passengers ignored me — until one man looked closely and saw my swollen, bruised face. He paid my fare silently.
I still pray for him. God bless that man.
“All My Savings Were Gone”
When I finally got home, everything in both accounts had been withdrawn. I reported the case, but officers told me they needed CCTV footage — which the bank would only release after head office approval.
The process took days. The pain took months.
My colleagues later rushed me to the hospital. The doctor confirmed possible internal bleeding and placed me on treatment.
Everyone who heard the story called me lucky.
But I call myself grace in human form.
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“Amazing Grace Has Been My Story”
I survived because God said my journey wasn’t over.
He fetched water with a basket to disgrace the bucket for my sake.
He cracked a palm kernel with an egg just to shame the stone.
He brought iron from the sea with a stick just to disgrace the magnet.
The fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.
Today, I stand tall — alive, healed, and thankful.
To everyone who visited me, checked on me, supported me, or prayed for me — you remain in my heart forever.
— Chimna Azam
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