Department of Rural Developmen 2025-09-13T16:06:22Z
-
It was one of those mornings where the sky wept relentlessly, and the mud clung to my boots like a stubborn memory. I was deep in the rural outskirts, tasked with assessing housing conditions for families who desperately needed aid, but all I could think about was the soggy stack of papers in my backpack. Each form was a testament to bureaucracy's inefficiency—smudged ink, torn edges, and the constant fear of losing data to the elements. My fingers were numb from the cold, and my spirit was fray
-
Rain hammered the tin roof like a frantic drummer, turning the village path outside into a chocolate-brown river. I huddled in a leaky shack, staring at my disintegrating clipboard – the paper form for Mrs. Adisa’s housing assessment was now a pulpy Rorschach test. Water seeped through my "waterproof" jacket, chilling my spine as panic set in. Five families waited, their eligibility for safe shelter hanging on my drowned notes. Then my fingers brushed the tablet in my satchel. I’d mocked it as b