By Moshood Isamotu
Every adult Nigerian should by now have developed a heightened instinct for recognising security threats and taking unconventional but sensible steps to protect themselves. We live in dangerous times when ritualists, kidnappers, armed robbers, bandits, cultists and other criminals operate in baffling dimensions. This is a time when we prioritize security before anything else. Our prayers are not complete without mentioning security.
A delay in returning home from work now raises questions. Routine visits to neighbours may attract suspicion, while children no longer enjoy the freedom of playing outdoors as previous generations did. We sermonize safety to our wards in schools before we tell them to face their study.
Sadly, religious places and hotels, once regarded as safe havens, have also become sources of anxiety. Staying in a hotel for relaxation, holidaying away from home or lodging somewhere while in transit used to be pleasurable experiences. Today, they come with an unsettling question: Am I truly safe here?
The case of Dr. Rahmon Adedoyin, founder of Oduduwa University and owner of Hilton Hotel in Ile-Ife, Osun State, remains a chilling reminder of the vulnerability of hotel guests. On May 30, 2023, an Osun State High Court sentenced him to death by hanging over the murder of Timothy Adegoke, an Obafemi Awolowo University postgraduate student who died during his stay at the hotel. The case further heightened public concerns about the safety of hotel accommodation.
Against this background, my experience at a guest house in Akure, Ondo State, last week reinforced the importance of vigilance, intuition and personal responsibility for one’s safety.
Around 3 p.m, I checked into a guest house at Alagbaka Estate, Bank Road, behind Zenith Bank in Akure. I had chosen the place because its quiet atmosphere appeared ideal for rest, reflection, and some intellectual engagement. Initially, the surroundings seemed peaceful, with little noise or distraction.
But peace can sometimes be deceptive.
Almost immediately, my security instincts became alert. I began observing my surroundings more carefully. A few people came and went, mostly individually. The visitors were predominantly young men, with a few casually dressed women. I also noticed a tinted Lexus SUV parked within the premises.
I tried to settle into my room, hoping my apprehension would disappear. By 7 p.m., however, the environment had become more unsettling. The compound contained six detached guest rooms but was only partially illuminated. I could hardly make out what was happening around the premises, and I did not know who occupied the other rooms.
By 8 p.m., I was restless. My mind began to explore uncomfortable possibilities. What if something happened? What if the apparent quietness concealed a danger I had failed to anticipate? How would I respond if I suddenly found myself in a threatening situation? I mentally rehearsed possible scenarios, hoping I would never need to act on them. Then came the moment that heightened my anxiety.
A huge, heavily built man passed my room window. I noticed him twice. Watching him move around the premises, I could not help thinking that I would be no match for him in a physical confrontation if he decided to attack me.
I quickly activated my sixth sense. I decided that remaining alone in my room, wondering what might happen, would not help. I stepped out and went to the reception, hoping to understand the situation better. There, I met a young man who appeared to be about 28 years old. During our conversation, he told me he would be on duty for the night shift.
Not long afterwards, the heavily built man I had seen around my window came to the reception. When he moved away, I asked the receptionist who he was. His response did little to reassure me. He explained that the man was merely a friend of the guest house owner. I then asked how many rooms were occupied. The receptionist said only three rooms had guests, including myself; three guests in the entire facility, and I had no idea who the others were.
The poorly lit compound, the unfamiliar occupants, and the unexplained movements of the imposing man combined to deepen my uneasiness.
I knew I needed to act. I could not afford to ignore my instincts, but I also did not want to provoke anyone or create unnecessary tension. I needed a way to protect myself without openly confronting anybody.
Then I thought of a strategy. I brought out my phone and pretended to call my wife. I spoke loudly enough for the receptionist and the heavily built man, the only other people I could see nearby, to hear me.
There was nobody on the other end of the line, really. I staged the conversation, but I carefully chose my words to convey one message: people knew where I was, my movements were traceable, and my disappearance would not go unnoticed.
“Yes, I believe you have the address of this guest house,” I said. “I have shared the Google Maps location with you, including a photograph of the building and the street. I have also sent you the receipt for my payment.”
I continued: “I took a picture of the receptionist who served me when I arrived this afternoon and sent it to you on WhatsApp. I will now send you a picture of the night receptionist. His name is Deinde. I am also taking a picture of another man on the premises and will send it to you.”
After a brief pause, I continued with my Nollywood act performance. “I have also contacted my police friend at FUTA. He knows this place and will come early tomorrow morning to check on me. He advised me to call immediately if I sensed any danger so that he could contact the police station in this area. “I have also contacted two friends in Akure. Both have the address. One of them says he knows this guest house and its owner. He has promised that if they do not hear from me by 6 a.m., they will come here to find out what has happened.”
I delivered every statement with conviction. My objective was to make it clear that my whereabouts were known and that people outside the premises were concerned about my safety.
Then I added the final message: “If you do not hear from me by 7 a.m., please alert everyone that this guest house was my last known location. I have already sent you the relevant contact details.”
I also took photographs of the reception area while the receptionist was present.
When I ended the call, the receptionist could no longer conceal his curiosity. He asked why I was becoming apprehensive and reporting the guest house to everybody. I turned the question back to him.
“Why are you afraid that I am taking steps to protect myself?” I asked.
I further stated that the Divisional Crime Officer (DCO) of the police station responsible for the area was my friend and would come looking for me if he did not hear from me early the following morning.
I was not accusing anyone of wrongdoing. I had no evidence that anybody intended to harm me. However, I had a responsibility to protect myself and was unwilling to surrender that responsibility simply because I was staying in a place expected to provide comfort and security. Sometimes, when the intentions of people around us are uncertain, the knowledge that someone is monitoring our whereabouts and will ask questions if we disappear may discourage a potential threat.
At least, that was my hope.
With my silent warning delivered, I returned to my room. But sleep was no longer the simple, natural act it should have been. I went to bed with one eye open and the other closed. Even as I lay down, I remained conscious of the sounds around me. Every unusual movement attracted my attention, and every unfamiliar noise threatened to rekindle my anxiety. The room that had seemed a peaceful retreat only hours earlier had become a place where I felt compelled to remain alert.
Thankfully, nothing happened to me. I stayed at the guest house for two nights and eventually left without incident. I remain grateful to God for preserving my life and allowing me to return safely.
In retrospect, I cannot say that anyone intended to harm me at the Guest House. I have no evidence to support such a conclusion. My apprehension only arose from the circumstances, the uncertainty surrounding the environment, and the instincts that urged me to take precautions.
Nevertheless, the experience left me with important lessons.
First, personal security must never be taken for granted. We must learn to observe our surroundings, ask reasonable questions, and pay attention to circumstances that make us uncomfortable. Politeness, embarrassment, or the fear of being misunderstood should never prevent us from taking sensible precautions.
Second, whenever we check into a hotel or guest house, someone we trust should know where we are. Sharing the address, location, and accommodation details with family or friends is particularly important when travelling alone. Where appropriate, we should also share relevant contact information and maintain regular communication. Whenever possible, we should verify the accommodation and its security arrangements before settling in.
Third, intuition is not proof, but neither should it be dismissed. An unfamiliar situation does not automatically mean danger is imminent. However, when something feels wrong, it is reasonable to pause, assess the circumstances, and take proportionate steps to protect oneself. Vigilance is not an accusation; it is a precaution.
We live in difficult times. The days when travelers could check into any accommodation and sleep without a second thought may be disappearing. We must become more conscious of our personal safety without allowing fear to consume our lives.
In matters of personal security, it is better to take a reasonable precaution and discover that it was unnecessary than to ignore a warning sign and later regret the decision.
We pray for peace, but we must also exercise wisdom. We trust in God, but we must not abandon common sense. Faith does not require carelessness, and caution is not cowardice. Sometimes, survival begins with paying attention.
That night in Akure taught me once again that peace of mind is priceless, vigilance is indispensable, and the instinct to survive must never be silenced.
Isamotu is a veteran journalist and retired banker
