But the image of Chief Oladipo’s hand reaching through the darkness would not leave him.
“No,” he whispered. “I won’t stop.”
He limped toward the city, shouting for help.
At a roadside stall, a few men laughed.
“Who did you see this time? The president?”
“I’m serious,” Mustafa begged. “Please, he’s still alive.”
One man smirked. “And what do we get for helping you?”
Mustafa blinked. “I don’t have anything.”
