Deportation: Where Fashola Fumbled By Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo.

Rivers of Hope


By Rudolph Okonkwo

During both winter and summer, in the same layers and layers of clothes, he sits each morning on the platform of Forest Hills train station. The stench from his body, unwashed for months, hits your nostril from 200 yards. His unkempt hair and beard rest on a heap of clothes stuffed in a plastic bag as he dozes off. Inside the F train heading to downtown Manhattan, his other colleague occupies half a section of the coach. Straphangers congregate at the other end, hands over their noses. Some days, he would be sleeping, mouth open and saliva dripping. Other days he would be in the pool of his urine or vomit or any other bodily fluid. Before you get off on 34th St, the woman with the baby would come into your coach, with a toddler in tow. In a foreign accent she would plead for…

View original post 2,057 more words

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s