As her taxi crawled toward the airport, stuck behind a broken-down Danfo bus, her phone pinged. A new submission to NaijaVault.
She sat on her balcony in the rain, watching okada riders splash through the flooded streets. In the distance, a church choir sang “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” She thought of her uncle’s grin, the way he’d say: “Naija no dey carry last, but we dey carry too much secret.” naijavault
Inside were scanned documents, voice recordings, and photographs that traced a web of stolen oil money, ghost contracts, and the names of politicians who had never spent a day in court. Temi couldn’t publish them openly — she’d end up like her uncle. So she built a vault. As her taxi crawled toward the airport, stuck