Many ignored her.
Some brushed past without a glance.
One well-dressed woman wrinkled her nose as Sarah passed. “Ah, old age suffering,” the woman muttered, adjusting her designer handbag.
Sarah heard it. She always did.
But she kept walking, pushing, calling.
Children pointed at her. Traders whispered, “Who left this kind of old woman like this? Doesn’t she have even one child who can rent her a room?”
She never answered.
She had once loved a man—a bricklayer with kind eyes. He had promised her a future, but fate stole him before their son’s first birthday.
Then came the accident.
The coma.
The hospital.
When she woke, her baby was gone.
They said he died.
She screamed, wailed, prayed—but no one brought her child back.
That child, Agu, had been her whole world.
And when the world took him, she stopped hoping.
Now she sold bananas, not because they brought her joy, but because they bought bread.
Miles away, in a high-rise glass tower overlooking Enugu’s skyline, Chief Agu was sealing yet another multi-million-dollar deal.
He stood in a sleek conference room at Novate Systems headquarters, commanding the attention of foreign investors and Nigerian tech experts alike.
His voice was calm and measured.
“Our algorithm now processes data forty percent faster. We’ve integrated machine learning to predict security breaches before they happen. Gentlemen, you’re looking at the future of African cybersecurity.”
Applause followed.
A German investor nodded. “You have built something remarkable, Chief Agu.”
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