The town of Limon in Kura was bustling with the activity of political campaigners as the election season approached. From the edge of the neighborhood, one could see groups of politicians gathering, indicating that a political meeting had just concluded.
He adjusted his large, now faded red robe, which had turned a milky color due to prolonged exposure to the sun. He wasn't employed in a traditional sense; instead, he roamed the streets as a beggar. His leg was wrapped in a bandage, making him appear as if he had just been pulled out of a pit. His shoe, tied with plastic, was in a poor state.
His heart raced as he saw the group of politicians begin to leave. It was clear their meeting had ended. He removed his shoe, believing it was slowing him down, and placed it under his armpit, sprinting as fast as he could towards them, shouting:
"I'd rather run than miss out! By God, I can't afford to miss this chance, especially with that arrogant young politician with numerous eyes like roasted groundnuts. That’s why I support Alhaji Datti's campaign."
Unfortunately, before he could reach them, they had already gotten into their cars. The remaining thugs were also scattering in different directions. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he headed back to his dilapidated home. His house had no proper walls, just makeshift coverings. From the entrance, he could see a line of people buying bean cakes. By the time he got closer, he realized they were sold out, and the people he saw were just socializing.
His face fell as the realization hit him. He sighed deeply and said:
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