DCC Nnewi could boast of a good number of beggars, adults, children, Igbos, Hausas, Fulanis, even people from Chad with their lovely long hair. Each time someone walked pass, they would plead with outstretched hands for alms.

Sometimes, sympathetic passers-by would fling ₦20, ₦50 notes to them, while the less sympathetic ones would fling off the beggars’ hands off their clothes, shake off the dirt, mutter an acute curse and walk off.

It was a normal event till… Till…

It was a Saturday afternoon, the bike man I boarded his bike to drop me at New Age Computers had some ideas in his head, so I shouted at him to drop me at the Roundabout. I calmly deducted ₦50 from his money and gave him the rest. He made to complain but the look in my eyes told him clear enough to keep off. He grumbled loudly and took the money. It is not Viktoreeah that you will kill with neck-breaking speed.

“Aunty please give me money,” a child beggar said, tugging at my dress. Wait, did I say tug? She wanted to pull off the dress or tear it.

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https://www.thezenpens.com/2019/06/04/big-sis/