You Can’t Sit with Them – 8

8    LAGOS, 2017.  Seven years ago. The air was thick with humidity and the scent of fried plantain drifting in from the neighbour’s window. Osas sat on the edge of her bed, phone in hand, staring at the flight confirmation Ruth had just forwarded.  “First class,” Ruth said, beaming. “He didn’t even blink.”  Osas frowned. “It’s just a birthday party.” …...