It was a mountain of waste—rotten vegetables, food wrappers, empty bottles, cartons. Flies filled the air. The stench hit her like a slap.
She froze.
This was not a place for humans.
But her hunger disagreed.
She hesitated near the edge, ashamed, watching from a distance.
Then a child, no older than six, ran into the dump barefoot and picked out a crushed soft drink bottle, smiling as if it were treasure. He ran off with it.
That was the final push.
Sarah stepped forward.
She moved slowly, head down, arms close to her body. She did not want to be seen, but there is little dignity in desperation. Everything about her screamed helplessness.
She stopped near a broken styrofoam tray that had once held jollof rice. Now it held bones, pepper sauce, and leftover crumbs.
She bent down, her fingers trembling as they reached for a piece of bread crust nearby.
A young girl passing by gasped.
“Jesus! That mad woman is eating from the dustbin!”
People turned.
A mother grabbed her son’s hand and whispered, “Come away. Don’t look at her.”
An Okada rider laughed. “Hunger is making people mad in this country.”
Sarah heard them.
Every word.
Her cheeks burned with shame.
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