Mjules Anthony

The outpouring of love has been overwhelming. Two days ago he was on the floor, passed out and almost dead. Today he has a family. We probably can’t save the whole world but we can start from somewhere. One person at a time, is enough sometimes." - Bassey Ekpo Bassey.

This is the one who fell down where others could see and help. I can't help but wonder about the thousands no one saw, who died alone. UPDATE: The world is filled with empathetic people. Simon has been offered a job as a guard and N197,000 has been raised for him as of today.

to do for him but I'll try. The boy almost died yesterday, from sheer hunger. I wore my helmet, kicked my bike to life and rode of. Tears strolled down my face as I rode. I couldn’t help thinking of a country that chews its young and spits them out like sugar cane chaff.

People sprung into action. Some went for food, some brought water. The elder rushed to get his pastor and I asked him if he had a phone. I wrote my number on a piece of paper and put it in the file that housed his CV. Yes, he had a CV with him. I told him I didn’t know what...

“What kind of country is this?” we asked no one in particular. It was a rhetorical question. One that has been asked across the ages and across generations. Asked by the masses, and even by those sitting on the bodies of the masses. A question I suspect, may never get an answer.

“I have a degree in English. I've been walking all day and haven’t eaten. Just give me food, please." He starting crying softly. An elder from a church across the road joined him. My eyes watered as I fought off a tear. Even policemen were teary.

Our man on the floor at this time had recovered enough to talk. "Please, I just need food," he whispered. "I haven’t eaten for five days." He looked like he was in his early thirties but life had dealt with him unfairly. We knew he was telling the truth. His eyes weren’t lying.

He quickly went to their van and brought half a bottle of Sprite. He held it to the man's mouth, as he was too weak to hold the bottle. He drank it slowly. At that point, someone offered to take him to the hospital. His car was available but only if one of us would go with him.

They moved him to a more comfortable place. Now he was lying on the pavement with his head resting on the side of a dustbin. There were two smartly dressed mobile policemen with us. Their vehicle was parked opposite were the man fell. “He needs Sprite,” one of them said.

The dead man came back to life. Just barely. His breathing was shallow, uneven, almost nonexistent. "He’s alive!" we shouted. Then confusion set in with different suggestions. “Let’s take him to the hospital.” “Let’s move him across the road.” “Bring water, let’s pour on him.”

They didn’t know what to do; whether to touch him or leave him. “There's a hospital on this street,” I volunteered. “Let’s get a doctor,” said another person. “Na BP,” someone whispered. But nobody seemed ready to listen to me. Then something happened.

"Yesterday night at about 7pm, I was riding when I saw a dead body. Or so I thought. The body was still, in the middle of a residential area in Garki, Abuja. That’s not a regular sight, so I stopped. There where people around the body. “The man just slumped,” someone told me.