“Oyinbo!” The voice of a short, stout woman sliced through the morning air, erupting from a tiny roadside bungalow in the grittiest part of Isheri. Clad in a worn wrapper, she stormed out onto the narrow, dusty street. “How many times have I told you to stop using my water? USELESS man!”
We use cookies to ensure that we give you the best experience on our website. If you continue to use this site, it implies that you are happy with it.Ok