Joseph Attoh 
I had just begun the next face of my career, newly employed and transferred to my first station in the Volta Region, Sogakope, to be precise as an Executive Assistant on September 1, 2025.
Settling in was smooth. The work came with little challenge, and though the environment was not particularly appealing, the people were warm and lively. I inherited the room of my predecessor, continuing the rent from where she left off. Life seemed ordinary, even promising, until the evening that changed everything.
September 30, 2025, began like any other day. I returned home from the office, weary but eager to unwind. But the moment I opened my door, a chill ran down my spine.
My room was in complete disarray. Clothes lay scattered, books tossed aside, the mattress overturned, everything was upside down. It looked as though a storm had raged through, but only within the confines of my space.
I froze, my breath caught in my throat, as the truth struck me with brutal clarity: someone had broken in.
I rushed to check my belongings, heart pounding. Miraculously, nothing was missing. My laptop, tablet, documents, everything was still there. Yet the violation of my personal space left me shaken. The thought that strangers had rummaged through my life while I was away was deeply unsettling.
As I tried to process the shock, I learned that my co-tenant had not been so fortunate. His room had also been invaded, and his personal laptop was gone. The theft was precise, almost surgical. What baffled us most was how they had gained entry.
There were no signs of forced entry, no broken locks, no damaged doors. It was as if the intruders had used a master key, something deliberate and chilling. The locks had been opened, not broken. That detail alone sent shivers down our spines.
The next morning, we wasted no time. A carpenter was called, and additional locks were installed on each door. It was a small measure, but it gave us a fragile sense of control, a way to reclaim our space.
Still, the incident lingered in my mind for days, even weeks. The shock did not fade easily. It was not just about the physical intrusion, but the psychological impact, the feeling of vulnerability in a place that was supposed to be safe.
Through it all, I held onto one truth: God had been good. If the intruders had met me in the room, what might have happened? What if it had been my laptop, my tablet, or any other valuable they had taken? I believe it was divine intervention that spared me. This, I know, was the doing of the Lord.
Written by Gina Akua Padi
About The Author
Joseph Otsibah 
