Preumble

The stench of rotting garbage assaulted us as we ventured deeper into the Dandora Dumpsite. A man with a jagged scar running down his cheek emerged from the trash heaps, a machete glinting in his hand.

"What do men find more appealing to them?" he asked, drawing closer with the machete held high.

Panic clawed at my throat. I shouldn't have agreed to this crazy idea of exploring the infamous Dandora Dumpsite.

"I don't know...money?" I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.

The man chuckled, a cruel sound that sent shivers down my spine. "Wrong again, that's where you go weep," he sneered.

The ugly man with scars that seemed to scream for attention was drawing near us. If that wasn't enough, he had a crude weapon ready to strike at any moment. I knew this was a bad idea.

Why you ask? We hitched a ride on a lorry to the infamous dumpster of Nairobi, the Dandora dumping site. Mountains of garbage stretched from Korogocho to Dandora, a seemingly endless landscape of waste. It covered a massive 42 hectares, a testament to the ever-growing city where people never seemed to sleep, rushing to appointments in an endless, chaotic dance.

"Who brought you here, lads?" he growled, his gaze locking onto me directly. I knew this was it. I should have stayed safe at home with my friends and little brother, who always stuck by my side on our adventures.

"I...I boarded the lorry," I stammered, my tiny voice pushed to its limit.

"Huh! You think this is the Kenya Bus Service?" he scoffed.

"I will show you to respect your elders!"

He began a bizarre counting exercise: "One...Two...Two and a half... Three... Four and a quarter..."

"Five!" I blurted out, mistakenly thinking it was some kind of test. Silence.

This wasn't Mrs. Ochieng's classroom. Frenzied thoughts and panicked voices filled my head. This wasn't going to end well.

I closed my eyes, bracing for the worst.

Then, a booming laugh erupted.

"Hahahaha! See this boy is braver than the rest of you. If you had balls like him, you would have been the leader of the gang!"

"Sir, I am sorry, but can we leave?" I pleaded, clutching my brother's hand, ready to bolt at a moment's notice. This wasn't how I envisioned our day.

"Here," the man grunted, offering a packet of milk. "Take this and give it to your brother. He must be hungry."

I took the milk, staring him down as if we were locked in a brutal boxing match. The machete was still in his hand, and I wouldn't dare relax my guard.

Passing the milk to my brother, I whispered, "Here, drink quickly. We're leaving."

"What about you?" he asked with concern.

"I'll be fine," I lied, my voice heavy with doubt.

"Empty promises," I muttered under my breath.

"Thank you, Sir," I stammered.

"You're welcome, brave boy. What's your name?"

"Odu!" I replied without hesitation.

"Odu...?" he echoed, a strange look on his face. "Have you paid for the milk your brother just drank?"