Melody Eze had walked through Diobu Market Road countless times, and like many residents of Port Harcourt, she knew the rhythm of one of the city’s busiest commercial hubs.
Every day, the road came alive with traders calling out to prospective buyers, buses struggling through traffic, motorcycles weaving between vehicles and pedestrians squeezing through every available space.
The smell of roasted corn mixed with fresh vegetables and dried fish wafted through the air, while loud bargaining and laughter formed the soundtrack of the market.
It was a place where thousands came to make a living, but for Melody, it was simply another route home, and she had no reason to believe that this walk would become another reminder of a reality many women silently endure.
With one hand holding her handbag and the other clutching a small shopping bag, she made her way through the crowded road, carefully avoiding puddles
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