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...
"I write to notify you that I will no longer try to convince you that I am good enough to be an employed citizen of and in this country. How many times do I have to state that I have my PVC, NIMC, International Passport, Driver’s Licence, Birth Certificate, LASRRA, NEPA/PHCN bill (even though I am still unemployed I pay my tax), Waste Management bill, Water bill, and so on?” "Do you not know I have been to primary school, secondary school, and university? Do you not know I have a masters degree plus a PHD? Add to the fact that I never failed any subject or course in the four walls of all the schools I have attended. You can take that to the bank!" "You are all making too much noise. Say I take all your claims to the bank surely, I will not cash out. My great grandfather was a farmer, and so was my grandfather. My father died farming and now I have inherited the family heirloom. I am sure my son will also take up this inheritance. With all the experiences we garnered...