Chapter One: The Morning After the Election
Chapter One: The Morning After the Election
The sun rose over Lagos like it always did—bright, impatient, and indifferent.
Banners still hung from electric poles along Ikorodu Road, their once-bold slogans now faded by rain and dust:
“A New Dawn for Nigeria.”
“Change You Can Trust.”
But the streets told a different story.
Ballot boxes lay overturned behind a closed primary school, papers soaked in last night’s rain. A torn voter register fluttered in the gutter like a wounded bird.
Adekunle stood at the bus stop, clutching his voter’s card. He had not slept. None of them had.
“They said our votes would count,” an old woman muttered beside him, her wrapper stained with mud. “I waited since 5 a.m. yesterday.”
Adekunle said nothing. His silence felt heavier than anger.
By noon, the results had been announced.
The man who had not campaigned.
The man who had not debated.
The man whose convoy never slowed in traffic.
He had won—by a landslide.
