It was a cool, quiet evening—one of those rare days when the city seemed to exhale. I boarded the bus home from work, grateful for the unusual calm. The vehicle was only half-full, a welcome contrast to the usual chaos of rush hour. The driver was sealed off in his little cubicle up front, and we passengers were scattered like leaves on a still pond. Among them was a man who immediately caught my eye—late 60s, wearing a crisp white cap that read ' Chosen One' in bold black letters. He was flipping through a newspaper with such frantic energy it looked like he was searching for something long lost—or perhaps arguing with the headlines themselves. Opposite him sat another older man, though you wouldn't know it from his clothes. He was dressed like a teenager—like someone clinging to relevance with both hands. Then, out of nowhere, the man in the cap spoke, loud and clear, as if addressing a courtroom rather than a quiet bus. 'Does time determine what's right or wrong...
VULTURES IN THE CITY "I heard you saw one recently. Did you testify such just to make us cautious or what? We bury our dead here and it is not a carnivorous environment either so what are you saying?" "I am not saying anything new. Yes this is the city but would you say you are not familiar with the dropping of abled bodied men lately? Have you not heard and perceived odors in the wee hours of the morning when you are struggling to get to work. Yesterday did we not witness the body of one Omeri lying helpless from the brutal cuttings of brutal ritualists? Or that of our friend Zezi who never made it to church. It is a year after and no one has seen or heard from him. So, my friend, there are vultures in the city now. We all know where to go to find what to eat so the new jollof rice for vultures is here." "Well, I will not totally agree with you because I have not seen any. Until then, I believe we are safe. At least this jungle is not filled with hun...