The minute details gave me vivid pictures of the trotro experience.
I live on the outskirts of town, well not exactly town as you’d imagine. My journey involves breaching one of the most notorious slums in the country to get home. And by home I mean a sharp contrast to the gloomy prologue that sucks your mirth and makes you appreciate the resilience of those who made it across the river. Mine is a residential community north of the slums, founded by the nouveau riche who made it out of the squalor of the slums. I have never been ashamed of where I live, never been bothered that people look down on me as a product of the slums. Never felt superior to my distant neighbours; to the best of my knowledge I grew up in the middle of the squalor till my parents crawled out.
This particular afternoon I dreaded the journey home from school. Anytime I left the comfort…
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