Dry Leaves by Eghosa Imasuen

“I sure say na here I keep the money. Look, see the waterproof, now? They tore it.” Mesiri was distraught – his shoe-polish black complexion glistened with sweat in the cool morning. We had a lot of guests left over from Tuesday night. It had been a boys’ night and we had had fun, unbridled since no girls were allowed. Even Roscoe’s girl, Mamode, who had been the immediate reason for the ‘celebration’ – she came back to school in the first week of December – had been escorted to our junction for a bike at ten pm... Full Story