Whenever I think of my daughter, Tiaraoluwa, I am always in awe—not just of how she has grown physically, but also of the depth of her growth spiritually. 

I remember when she began to stutter at the age of three. It wasn’t something she was born with; it came from a place of shyness, a quiet timidity that made her withdraw into herself.

Her teachers at the nursery school often used to say she was unusually quiet—always keeping to herself, observing more than she spoke, almost as if she was afraid her voice would fail her.

Sometimes, I would watch her struggle to get her words out, and my heart would ache, wondering how such a little girl was already fighting battles she couldn’t even explain.

But during that season, my wife and I chose a different approach. Instead of focusing only on the challenge, we decided to nurture her from within.We got her a Bible, journals, pens, and a children’s iPad.

Gently and consistently, we began teaching her how to read the Bible. We also guided her in reciting three Psalms—Psalm 23, Psalm 24, and Psalm 27—day after day, word by word, line upon line.

What we didn’t fully realize at the time was that, beyond helping her speak, God was building something deeper in her—a confidence rooted not in her voice, but in His Word.

When she turned five, I couldn’t believe what I witnessed with my own eyes.

One  morning, I heard a faint sound coming from the sitting room. At first, I thought it was the television or noise from outside. My wife had already gone to the market to get ingredients for the weekend, so it was just Tiara and I in the house.

I was curious, so I followed the sound quietly, step by step, until I got closer. 

And then I heard it clearly.

It was Tiara.

She was standing all by herself, recording a video on her iPad, her Bible open before her. 

Reciting Psalm 27. 

Her voice was steady, confident, and alive. 

I froze. 

The same Tiara who would lower her face whenever she stuttered, was now standing before a camera, bold and unashamed.

I wanted to shout and run to her—but I held myself back. I didn’t want to interrupt that moment. So I waited.

When my wife returned, I told her what I had seen.

Omo, I was so overcome with joy that a grown man like me broke in tears. 

My wife was still trying to process it, until Tiara came running out.

“Mummy!”

Clear.

Strong.

Without a single stammer.

From that moment on, something changed.

That Psalm became Tiara's favourite scripture.

She held onto it so dearly that even her classmates began to call her “The Lord Is My Light.”

So, it happened, one Thursday.

I had just closed from work and was on my way home. I couldn’t wait to see Tiaraoluwa welcome me with her favourite—Psalm 27. That had become her routine.

With her two milk teeth missing, leaving that little gap for new ones to grow, her smile always melted my heart.

I boarded the first bus. Evening had already set in.

There’s something beautiful about watching people return home as the sun sets—each person carrying their own stories and uncertainties. Life, with all its unpredictable turns.

When I got down, I quickly bought Tiara’s favourite snack—meat pie—before taking the second bus that would lead me home.

The moment I entered, something felt off.

The windows were completely wound up.

I asked the driver to wind them down. He laughed it off, joking that his bus had “AC” and that I should relax.

Air conditioner in a public danfo? How?

I wasn't ready for any argument, so I sat down. Hopefully, he would do that once we start our journey. 

There were already two men at the back. I was the only one in the front.

The driver didn’t stop to pick other passengers. He said he would get them along the way.

We started moving.

Then suddenly, from behind, the two men grabbed me. One forced my head down while the other pressed a white handkerchief over my nose and mouth.

In that instant, it hit me.

I had entered one chance.

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