By Ugoji Egbujo
In the middle of the road, the van was parked. People gathered. It was Independence Day. The country was 64. The van was laden with bread. The hungry, young and old, filled the streets, panting. Soldiers were everywhere, as if the van was carrying bullion. Old women jostled and shuffled stoically. Nobody looked shamefaced. Their faces told the story of their helplessness. The people who brought the bread came with cameras. Perhaps they would love to be called Renewed Hope Missionaries. One by one, lucky adults were handed a loaf each. One by one, they left. The crowd throbbed.
The distribution happened in the middle of the road. Nobody cared. The priority was food. Everything else could as well be suspended. A loaf of bread costs N1500. The bread dispensers bounced about like they were extending the life expectancy of the people. It was a worthy cause in these times of abject lack. Because they could have diverted it to a local market and fattened their purses. So they deserved the gratitude from the genuflecting old men and women for the miserable handout.