My yellow Peugeot 205 rattles along a Lagos road as I head home after another disappointing day at my hair salon.
I check my rear-view mirror and look away from the swollen evidence of what happens when I arrive any later than is expected. Seldom does my husband hit my face; it raises questions. But liquor won last night.
A traffic light stops me at a crossroad between hell and the unknown.
It becomes a yellow flash, urging me to decide.
At the sight of green, my Peugeot screeches on a path away from him and three sickening children.