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Chike seemed like the ideal gentleman when I initially met him on Facebook. He treated me like I was the only woman in the world, was courteous, and paid close attention. After months of conversation, he asked me to come see him in Port Harcourt.

He pledged to cover everything, including transportation, food, and even shopping expenses. I didn’t want too many questions, so I informed my family that I was going to Lagos for a job interview.

At first, everything appeared to be OK the day I arrived. He led me to his apartment, gave me some food, and instructed me to get some rest. Later that night, however, his tone shifted.

He began to make unsettling remarks about how “I belonged to him now” and that if I tried to leave, no one would discover me.

The door was locked from the outside when I woke up the following morning. I had lost my phone. Occasionally, he would bring food inside, watch me eat quietly, and then lock the door once more. I couldn’t get in touch with anyone.

I was in a serious situation by the third day. He merely grinned and said he was “testing” me to see if I could be a good wife, despite my tears and pleas for him to let me go.

His neighbor heard me yelling through the wall and phoned the police, saving my life. Chike attempted to explain it as “a misunderstanding” when they arrived, but I was so shaken that I could hardly talk.

I now know that he tried this with other girls before me. Some people didn’t report it at all.

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