Nitarudi Na Roho Yangu Afande Sele -

Abdi finally looked up. The fire in his eyes had settled into a cold, hard ember. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small, worn leather pouch—a kiongo —that contained a pinch of soil from his mother’s grave and a lock of his sister’s hair.

“No,” he whispered to the empty street. “You said ‘with.’ But you left it here. So you have to come back.” nitarudi na roho yangu afande sele

“You didn’t come back for your soul,” Sele said, his voice thick. Abdi finally looked up

“I have to, Afande,” Abdi whispered. “The system you protect… it forgot us a long time ago. I can’t fight the system. But I can burn their warehouse.” “No,” he whispered to the empty street

Abdi tilted his head.

Sele stood there for a long time, clutching the leather pouch. He looked up at the bruised sky.