Nigerian diaries
Nigeria’s humid weather made me feel like I was stuck in a sauna. My clothes clung to my skin and my mouth felt like cotton. I waited to get my car repaired with my driver busy helping the mechanic nearby the market road and I was looking for some decent air conditioned restaurant nearby. Abruptly I noticed a little girl with darkly-tanned skin that framed a frail figure. Her physique did not match those of the Nigerian people who bustled in the nearby markets. Her filthy clothes barely fit and her feet were bare, but what caught my attention were her eyes—dark, desperate eyes that cried for help. She cupped her hands and let out a dead groan, begging for money. For a good minute, I stared at her; after all, I had never seen a young beggar before. She groaned again. I dropped some coins into her hand—it would probably buy her a small loaf of bread. As the coins fell with a clink into her hands, her face illuminated and her desperate eyes twinkled. I smiled. Th...