His tiny slippers slap against the sand covered concrete floor. He quickens his pace and burst into a sprint, his loose shorts billow in the wind and the polythene bag in his hands dance to the beats of his footsteps.
The muscles at the back of his tiny legs contract and expand like those of a seasoned athlete. He does this a lot but not for the fun. He does it out of necessity. He slows down and brings himself to a halt as he arrives his mother’s shop.
She is not around and he must watch it for her, it is their meal ticket, his next school fees. He looks around as people his age waltz around in their school bags and uniforms, what fun they must be having he thinks to himself.
He puts his polythene bag in between his legs and continues watch over his mother’s shop. He hopes passers-by stop today to buy his mother’s Gala. Although he is hungry, possession is different from ownership.
He takes a good look around his mother’s shop. The bridge overhead provides shade from the sun, the bus stop bench provides a place to seat and to put his mother’s tray of Gala. This is his mother’s shop, an under the bridge bus stop. It’s not all bad, at least the drama of the passenger’s and bus conductors is entertaining.
“Give me 2 Gala” a man demands, shaking a hundred naira note. The boy gets excited, he’s one small step closer to his school fees despite it being so far away.