The first thing I noticed was her hair. She had gone almost completely gray. Her skirt suit hung on her, shapeless. She wore no make-up. She had no colour. But I recognised her all the same. Nike, my younger friend, once lovely, shapely and lively, made her way into the airport lounge. I called her name, tentatively and she brightened momentarily and then we hugged and hugged. “What’s happened to you? You are not ill? Please tell me you are fine.” I asked as bad pictures of AIDS and cancer…
Read MoreBefore You Dissolve Like Alum, By Funke Egbemode
