CITY THAT DOESN’T CARE
265 Words
Episode 2: A City That Doesn’t Care
Morning came with no alarm clock, just the noise of life outside. Hawkers shouting, bike horns screaming, and generators coughing to life. Zayyanu sat up slowly, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at Faruk — still asleep, still hungry.
He reached under the mat for a small black purse. ₦150. That was all he had. No rice, no garri. The last loaf of bread had been eaten the night before. He sighed. “We survive today, we try again tomorrow.”
Washing his face with leftover water from a yellow jerry can, he stepped out into the Lagos morning. It was hot already, dust rising from tired feet hitting the pavement. Every face he passed looked like his — tired, determined, half-broken.
He walked to the busy junction where job seekers gathered. Fifty young men stood there. Some had folders, others newspapers. Everyone was waiting for a miracle — a stranger to stop by and say, “We are hiring.”
He stood among them silently, gripping his worn-out brown file. Inside were copies of his degree, NYSC certificate, and a passport photo from better days.
Hours passed. No offers. Just rumors. “They’re hiring at the factory.” “The office across the bridge needs cleaners.” Lies. Always lies.
By 2pm, the sun was boiling his brain. He hadn’t eaten. He sat under a small mango tree and watched life move without him.
Then a voice called behind him, “You dey find job?”
Zayyanu turned slowly. A stranger. Smiling. Holding a pure water sachet.
- Writer
