04/24/2026
Father, look, those two boys sleeping in the trash look just like me!” Kalu said, pointing at the small children huddled on an old mattress on the sidewalk. Femi Adibayio stopped, following his five-year-old son's gaze. Two children, seemingly the same age, slept curled up between sacks of refuse. Their clothes were dirty and torn; their bare feet were scarred and bruised. The businessman felt a knot tighten in his chest at the sight, but he tried to pull Kalu’s hand, urging him to continue walking toward the car. He had just picked him up from the British International School Lagos, where he studied, and as was customary every Friday afternoon, they were returning home. They were driving through the city center, a route Femi usually avoided, always preferring to pass through the more affluent neighborhoods. However, heavy traffic and an accident on the main avenue had forced them to traverse that poorer, more deteriorated area. The narrow streets were teeming with homeless people, street vendors, and children playing amidst the garbage piled on the sidewalks.
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