Inside the strategy room, a senior official slammed a fist onto a wooden table littered with crumpled reports. The air was thick with the smell of old paper and urgent sweat. "We told INEC," he shouted to a room of weary lawyers and frustrated candidates. "We gave them the maps. We flagged the security concerns. Now, thousands of our people are standing in the sun, waiting for a ghost to show up and hand them a ballot."
"They are not coming," a woman whispered beside him, her voice cracking the heavy midday heat. Inside the strategy room, a senior official slammed
Chidi stood in the center of Ward 4, his PVC clutched so tightly in his pocket that the plastic edges dug into his palm. He had been there since 6:00 AM. By noon, the only thing that had arrived at the polling unit was a wandering goat and a growing sense of dread. There were no green-and-white ballot boxes, no blue-vested officials, and certainly no ink pads. "We gave them the maps