There is a go slow on Epe Expressway. This isn't unusual. The traffic has gotten so bad that go slows are common these days, even on the Peninsula. But this time its a weekend, it's not regular rush hours traffic.
We slowly make our way to the heart of Victoria Island. I see a crowd of people on the median. They're standing in a circle. I wonder what they're looking at. Minutes tick by. The crowd shifts. I see a man lying on the ground. The dirt beside him is red.
As we get closer I can see him. His eyes are closed and he is bleeding from his head. He is motionless.
"Is he dead?" I ask my dad.
"Probably," he replies.
"Why is everyone just standing around?" I ask.
"Whoever touches the body is responsible for it. Better to wait for the family," our driver says.
"Responsible for it?"
"Yes, responsible for taking care of it."
I try to think of what that means. Making sure the person gets to the hospital. To the morgue. Gets buried. That's a lot of work.
Someone from the crowd turns their head to look down the street. For the ambulance I guess. I wonder if they know who the person is. They must. Right?
I turn away from the window. I don't want to see anything else. We pass the crowd and the car picks up speed. But I can't get his image out of my head.