Take a seat, you are now in the village square. Enjoy!
The Guests of Mama Maimuna by Tega Oghenechovwen

Jologho came alive with a start, gasping for air. His rheumy eyes popped open from the images of horror that had been clouding his head. The arteries on his neck thumped as if they were worms participating in a freedom march. He saw himself scuttle across violent cities, shatter walls, twist irons, maul cavernous mountains, circle predators, and then he saw himself stop to heave a breath of dread when he got to Dadin Kowa. The air that rushed…

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