We were packed, like sardine, in this small, airless room that reeks of sweat and rat droppings. I remember that Danfo bus revving with accustomed ease through the dark forest, swerving to avoid trees, with the aid of its powerful headlights, my eyes, unlike my colleagues,’ defying their magical sedative.
A fierce-looking woman mounts guard outside the room. She doesn’t talk, but her glare sends her message.
I only see her blazing sword when she pulls it out and chops off Idika’s head in her bid to escape.
Our blood runs cold.
This beast, they call her ‘The Jailor.’