In July 2019, about a week after a Nigerian photographer Busola Dakolo went public with claims that she had been raped by Biodun Fatoyinbo, the charismatic mega-pastor of the Commonwealth of Zion Church, another woman came forward with evidence against him. The second woman’s story shared similarities with Dakolo’s, but it was also remarkably different. Dakolo had been a teenager just out of secondary school when she says Fatoyinbo raped her twice. The second woman, who chose to tell her story anonymously in a video chat that blurred her features, had been an adult member of Fatoyinbos staff when she was allegedly assaulted.

Her account was detailed, episodic even. The event, she alleged, took place in 2017 just about a year after she accepted a job offer to act as legal guardian to the Fatoyinbos children in an unnamed foreign country.

She says that prior to the assault, she’d been aware of previous harassment claims against Fatoyinbo, but did not believe them. He was, until the moment of the alleged rape, a mentor and father figure. In the days after the assault, she’d carried on with her life, showing up at work, determined to will the violence away while she planned her exit. What was most striking about her story was her resolve not to press charges even though Dakolo had already come forward.

And yet her reaction is not unusual at all in a place where people who experience sexual violence are afraid to press charges or speak publicly for fear of losing their livelihood or safety. In a country like Nigeria, survivors of workplace sexual harassment know that facts are not enough.