I wake to soft singing and the smell of woodsmoke. I find myself under a thatch roof, the memory of the battle rushing back. I'm lying on a woven mat in a hut, night having fallen. My body protests as I sit up—
Through the open doorway I see the glow of a communal fire. Villagers and my companions are gathered there, humming a gentle song of mourning.
Leaning on the wall for support, I manage to get to my feet. Someone has bandaged the cut on my arm and cleaned the grime from my face—my skin smells of shea and medicinal herbs. Despite the aches, a deep gratitude wells in me. These people, barely knowing me, have cared for me as one of their own.
At the doorway, I pause. Dozens of villagers and companions gather around a large fire in the clearing, sparks flying up to meet the stars. I spot Nyota kneeling beside an elder, helping her drink from a calabash, while Kwame tends the flames.
As I step out of the hut, Nyota notices me and quickly comes to my side.
"You should be resting," she says softly, though a smile touches her lips. She steadies me with a hand at my elbow.
"I'm sore, but I'll live," I answer hoarsely, managing a small smile. I glance toward the singing. "I couldn't sleep through that."
She guides me toward the fireside. "The village is honoring the fallen and giving thanks for the living. We let you rest as long as we could."
I ease myself onto a low bench with Nyota at my side. The fire warms my limbs. Across the flames, the chief elder sits on a stool, his face grave but calm. Beside him, Kofi's body lies wrapped in kente, a sprig of white flowers on his chest. My heart clenches, but at least he's at peace here.
For a while I simply listen. The hymns give way to soft conversations; even gentle laughter occasionally rises. Overhead, countless stars spread across a clear, moonless sky. The night feels peaceful and whole.
Eventually, Nyota helps me up and walks with me back to the hut, supporting me with her arm. At the door, I squeeze her hand. "Goodnight, Nyota," I say softly.
"Goodnight, Obasi," she replies, returning the gentle squeeze. I duck inside. I sink onto the mat, every muscle grateful for rest. In the quiet, the distant echo of drumming still lulls me, like a heartbeat of the earth. For the first time in memory, I feel safe. No nightmares lurk—only peaceful darkness, watched over by my ancestors.
Just before I drift into sleep, one thought glows in my mind: we are alive, we are healing, and all will be well.