Nigeria, April 8 -- It was a deeply unsettling experience I had last month in Abuja, one of those moments when fate seems to assert a quiet, ruthless authority over human vigilance, as though reminding us that control is often an illusion. I have always guarded my phone like a "new bride" with a kind of obsessive attentiveness, the sort that makes one check, recheck, and reassure oneself of its presence, almost to the point where the object begins to feel like a living companion rather than a mere device. In a time when the cost of phones has risen to rival small capital investments, losing one is no longer a trivial inconvenience; it is a rupture: financial, emotional, and functional. It disrupts continuity, erases fragments of memory, ...