An autopsy of the silent son, by Stephanie Shaakaa

There is a specific kind of dust that settles on the shoulders of boys in the reddish grit of laterite roads or the soot from generator fumes and danfo exhaust. It is something slower, heavier, almost invisible at first glance. The residue of days noticed often, but never fully seen.To move into Lagos at dawn is to see pushing wheelbarrows through Balogun Market while traders are still untangling their wares. Apprentices asleep on wooden benches inside mechanic workshops in Ojuelegba. Small fig