Etisalat Flash Fiction Prize, Dressed Like A Prince (excerpt).

We need new clothes, Godspower and I. He needs them more, with his tattered trousers and red T-shirt turned brown. My gown is torn, but it’s still blue.

It’s Independence Day, so there’s no school. We play and goof around. Godspower sings ‘God Bless Nigeria’. His voice is a kite lifting me to the heavens. He wants to be a musician when he grows up, like MJ or Fela.

“Grace, let’s go to America.” Godspower says.

“Okay.” I reply, and we set out.

America is a boutique beside the new stadium. We like sitting across the street; watching wealthy women shepherd fussy well dressed children in and out. We watch and ache.

Godspower says our parents will bring us clothes from Yobe, when they return. It has been nine months now. Their phones numbers are unavailable, their whereabouts, unknown. Grandma says we should pray. I do, but fear swallows my faith.

Today, we are horrified. America has been …

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