Loaded down with as much loot as she could carry, most of it her contributions, she wheeled her bike as far down the dirt road before gunning it full throttle and speeding off into the night, her mind sure she could hear Vick’s yells of rage beneath the steady roar of the powerful engine. ULLUSTRATION | JOHN NYAGA
Wema gunned her motorbike down a narrow lane littered with trash, dexterously swerving potholes filled with stinking muddy water and two dirty brown mounds, one smaller than the other. A homeless man and his dog covered in tattered rags deep in slumber were regular occupants of this side street.
She emerged into a ramshackle marketplace that subtly merged into a slum town, slowing her pace as she navigated thronged dirt roads that criss-crossed rows of tiny shanty structures, some mere polythene sheets stretched over wooden beams.
