He lowers the helmet over his head...

He lowers the helmet over his head, lifting the visor so he can see his way. The road lays before him, wild animals roam freely. He will have to be careful of them. It is early dusk and the light is a hazy purple, difficult to see. He pulls down the visor to check his vision and not wanting the get the dust in his eyes. Harmattan is here in its full force. The dust of the Sahara blown in and raised throughout the day, only to settle again in the night. He turns the key in the ignition from lock, to off, to on. No red and green lights. It means something. He is not sure what. He brings in the left handle and flicks the left peddle down until the lights come on. That done he now pushes the moto forward. The bike does not budge easily. He checks and remembers to pull in the left handle again. He pushes the bike forward into the garage and then comes out again to push in the next deciding to leave the helmet on though it belongs to the first bike. Once all four bikes are in the garage he surveys his parking abilities. He’ll do it better tomorrow. He lifts the helmet and places it over the mirror of bike: ER6368X. One can only dream of the day a watchman on 30 cedis a month (a dollar a day) can afford to ride off into the sunset on such a bike, any bike even. He is reminded of the pushbike at his house. The axle for the front wheel broken, no money to repair it, forced to borrow the shiny new, blue pushbike of one of his 4 female employers. She has a pushbike and a moto. He locks the door and goes back to sit outside the gate looking forward to the regular, easy banter he will have with his two other watchman friends.