She was her second; the third child to leave the house.
‘what does it matter if the fare is 70 0r 80NGN?’ her mum asked
It was as if she found solace, as if she hid in the tiny things. Along the road as they walked to the bus park, she had recounted stories from secondary school. Stories of borrowing money to classmates and not getting it back. Because she couldn’t ask them.
‘Now I’m wiser and I’ll ask my debtor mad’
She settled into the worn out seat of the 80NGN bus, her bags on her lap.
There was only one debtor now. Only one request too
‘Mama, please don ‘t cry!’