I trekked in darkness for close to an hour before I reached Ekpe. I tried to stop some cars on the Ekpe-Ajah Road but all of them sped pass as if I was waving a gun. I walked on, keeping company with occasional rodents crossing the road and the hundreds of crickets chirping good nights to me as I walked pass. My hand had grown to about twice its normal size. The stump had turned dark brown with the caked blood and seeing the empty space in the middle of the hand forced tears out of my eyes. The thought that I could fall down at any moment did not bother me as much as the thought that I had become a disabled man with nine and a half fingers. I remembered what Eric told me about a lot of Northerners staying in Mile Twelve the day I came to Lagos, and I made up my find to get there. I walked on, with not a dime on me, but with the determination to get out of Lagos that night.I reached Ajah, went passed the market and stood by the road waiting for the appropriate bus to come. I stood fo

I swayed to the right and to the left with each turn the truck took until my body ached to no end. The smell of vegetables remained with me throughout the journey and the planks under me creaked with every movement and bit my buttocks occasionally. The moon came out later that night and kept me company to the early morning hours. I looked at my hand in the darkness. I couldn't see it, but I felt the throbbing pain like the pain from a bad toothache. I fell asleep again a couple of times but the pain and the bites from the planks forced me awake to discover we had reached Lokoja. I couldn't tell what the time was, but I guessed it was around three in the morning. Sani parked amidst the other trucks, lined up beside the expressway. I stood up and stretched, feeling the cramps biting my legs. Voices came from the front of the truck, and I walked to the back to find out what was going on. The town was awake, and people moved about as if it wasn't the middle of the night. I saw Sani walk

Mom was waiting in the emergency room when we got to the hospital. She stood between two doctors, speaking to them, her back turned to us. I saw a hospital card in her hand and knew—the way you know you had stepped on a nail barefooted—that she had gotten the card for me as if I was a baby that couldn't do it himself. 'Mom,' Jasper called, and she turned.She walked to us, and I could see her face crowded with worry. She stopped two steps away, her eyes searching my face. I don't know what she saw—maybe the anger and the frustrations—but she came no further. The doctors she was speaking with walked past her and came to me. One of them, a man in his late fifties or early sixties, held my and lifted it up. 'Your mom told us what happened,' he said, peering at my hand. 'Come with me,' and he pulled my arm to follow him the way a teacher would pull a naughty student to the principal's office. 'Let me take a look,' he added. The second doctor, obviously a junior to the first, followed

I heard a knock on the door one Tuesday evening six months after I left the hospital. I looked at the time and knew mom was at the door; it was the time she got home from work every working day except some emergencies kept her. I opened the door and mom walked into the house with Maria trailing behind her. I gaped at Maria for many seconds while my heart ran a hundred meters race.‘Hello, Paul,’ Maria said, standing by the door, a big bag strapped around her shoulder. She wore a tighter Jeans than the ones I had seen her in and the T shirt hugged her closer and tighter, as if it was another layer of her skin. I opened my mouth to speak, but the thoughts of all the things that happened in Lagos flooded my mind and cut off the words from my throat.‘Do you know her?’ mom asked. She stood in the middle of the living room, her eyes searching my face.I nodded. ‘Well, ask her to come in and sit down.’ I moved away from the door. ‘Come in,’ I said.‘Thank you,’ Maria said and walked into

I got my phone number back two months after Maria's visitation. I figured there was no point hiding away anymore; if the police wanted me, they would have gone to the phone company to get my address and they would have arrested me by now. Joseph probably threw my phone away before the police got to them and that's why they have not come after me. But, in retrospect, I think the reason I got the line back was because of the call I received the next day after I got the line back if you believe in fate.'Hello,' the person on the other end said when I picked the call. 'Is this Mr. Paul?''Yeah?''My name is Patrick.'I was silent for a couple of seconds trying to remember which Patrick it was. 'Yeah?''I am...was Tolu's friend.''Tolu?''Yes. He gave me your number. He asked me to call you.''Yeah? What does he want?'The voice on the other end hesitated. 'He asked me to give you a letter,' the voice said. 'I am at Jibowu Park in Lagos trying to send it to you. Do you know Bonnyway trans