Assuming he was about to die, he handed the change from his bus fare to the woman sitting next to him.
“Just take it,” he told her. “Just pray for me — pray for me.”
As an eager young journalist, he’d been smashed with rifle butts and sliced with bayonets for daring to ask tough questions and challenge government secrecy. He’d resorted to writing for an online publication using a pseudonym. But the president’s intelligence agents had hacked into the website, discovering that he was behind the hard-hitting stories.
And, now, every soldier in The Gambia was hunting for Omar Bah.
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