THE night air outside Winifred’s family house was calm and clear, a deep contrast to the storm Orlanda carried inside her trembling chest. As Winifred led her through the compound and up the short steps to the porch, Orlanda kept glancing over her shoulder, half-expecting the shadows to break open and the masked men to drag her back into the nightmare she had barely escaped.

Inside, the sitting room was dimly lit, a single bulb casting a warm glow over faded furniture and a large TV set resting quietly in the corner. The sound of the clock on the wall ticked loudly in Orlanda’s ears, each tick echoing the pounding...