Bold (2)

BOLD Prisons

Beauty slumped onto her sofa with a sigh. It had been a crazy week at work and she was more than ready for the weekend. Her phone buzzed with a notification, and she reached for it. She saw that the picture she had posted from Bose’s birthday party had already crossed a hundred likes on Instagram.

She looked at the picture and was proud of what she saw. The only thing that still bothered her was how much cleavage the dress had revealed. Feeling guilty that she’d had the guts to post the picture even after the Holy Spirit’s refrain, she left her page and mindlessly began to scroll.

If Beauty was looking for validation that the dress she’d worn to the party wasn’t that bad, she got it. Nearly every other picture showed ladies flaunting similar styles or far more daring ones. Mini-skirts that stopped at the upper thigh, crop tops paired with ripped jeans that barely held together and gowns with outrageous slits filled her screen.

Beauty was about to leave the app entirely when a video caught her eye. A female preacher was talking about Kingdom culture and what she said was scripturally sound, but even Beauty was distracted by her dressing. Her gown was a skin-tight bodycon, glittering under the lights and hugging every curve. A dramatic slit ran up her thigh, so high that every gesture on stage felt more like a fashion display than a sermon, and her bold red lipstick seemed to command more attention than her message.

Beauty sat up, bewildered. The message was solid, but the messenger was… distracting. Each powerful scripture the woman quoted felt drowned out by the statement her outfit made. It felt like a sermon on Kingdom living wrapped in worldly glamour.

Beauty locked her phone and let it slip from her hand onto her lap. A quiet heaviness settled over her. For the first time that evening, she admitted to herself what she had been trying to ignore: this was not the way God wanted her to live.

Yes, the Bible might not spell out in detail what women should or shouldn’t wear, but one truth was unmistakable: God had called His daughters to modesty.

But who defines modesty in today’s culture? The church? Society? My friends? She wondered aloud.

The answer came swiftly, like a gentle whisper brushing through her spirit:
“Me,” the Holy Spirit said. “Even in fashion, follow Me.”

Olivia closed the lid on a boiling pot of yam. Tonight, she was treating her family to a special dinner: yam and sweet potato porridge. She’d found the recipe on her fave’s YouTube channel and was convinced this weekend was the perfect time to try it out.

While waiting for the yam to soften, she picked up her phone and opened Instagram to catch up on what she’d been missing. Life as a graduate assistant in a private university rarely left her with much time to scroll.

The first video on her feed was a podcast by a popular food influencer. He was interviewing a guest chef when he asked a bold question:

“Do you think it’s okay to lie about your qualifications in a job interview, even if you don’t have the certification, but you do have the skills?”

Olivia smiled to herself. That was an easy answer. But to her surprise, the guest chef replied confidently:

“Yes, it’s fine to lie. As long as you can prove yourself on the job, it’s not really a lie.”

Olivia blinked. Did he really just say that? But what shocked her more were the comments pouring in underneath. Almost everyone agreed.

 “Omo, na to package yourself sure pass. Later you go show say you get sense.”

“Facts! As long as you can deliver, who cares?”

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She wanted to type a response, to remind them that lying, even in “small things”, was still wrong. But then the familiar knot of fear tightened in her chest. What will people say? Will they call me judgmental? Self-righteous?

Scrolling further, she noticed the last person who dared to disagree had been torn apart. The replies under his comment were vicious:

“Hypocrite!” 

“Who are you to judge?”

Olivia’s courage crumbled. With a heavy sigh, she scrolled past the video, too afraid to confront the falsehood so entrenched in culture. 

Meanwhile, the next morning, Lanre was on the streets with the rest of his team members in the evangelism unit. He watched as David went ahead with the megaphone, boldly declaring the gospel of the Kingdom. He tried to push away the subtle envy he felt at that. He wished he could be that bold about telling other people of God’s love for them. 

But every time he thought of opening his mouth, that old voice hissed back at him: “You of all people? The one who can’t go a week without going back to those filthy sites? Keep quiet.”

It stung. How many times had he promised God he was done? A thousand? Maybe more. Each time, he’d fallen flat again, going back to the same cycle. It wasn’t just an addiction anymore; it was a thief, stealing his boldness and stripping him of confidence each time he wanted to share the gospel.

And so, while David thundered at the front, Lanre lingered at the back, his Bible pressed to his chest like a shield that no longer worked.

After the evangelism exercise, Lanre was surprised to see David walk up to him.
“How far now, Lanre. I didn’t know you came.”

“I did.”

“You used to be at the front at our earlier evangelism outreaches. Why did you stay at the bakc this time?”

Lanre forced a shrug, pasting on a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Nothing much.”

David studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Anyway, the Lord laid it on my heart for us to talk later this week. What day is convenient for us to see?”

They fixed a time and date; and as Lanre walked back down the road, dodging keke horns and okada men yelling for passengers, a strange mixture of fear and hope swirled in him. Maybe, just maybe, this meeting would be the turning point. Maybe this meeting would help him break free and restore his confidence in his identity as a child of God. 

But while Lanre carried his secret shame, David bore another burden. His anointing for hearing God was strong, yet his finances remained stuck. He had tried poultry farming, graphic design, countless job applications, even online trading, but every effort crumbled. He fasted, prayed, sowed seeds, yet nothing shifted. The hardest part? Others came to him for prayer, and their testimonies always came. Somehow, God answered through him, but not for him. It was frustrating. Humbling. And it was breaking him in ways poverty alone never could.

Hi there, reader! Obviously, the pressure is getting “wesser” for the BOLD clique, but the journey is far from over. Stay tuned for what happens next in BOLD.