Ikeja. A roadside stall. The evening air thick with the aroma of sizzling suya, steaming amala, and pepper soup. I sat there, one of those occasional roadside meals that still feel like a small act of normalcy in a country where the cost of living has rewritten daily life. Then a well-dressed woman approached the seller. She explained that she was expecting a transfer that had not yet landed. She would pay as soon as it came in.