“Then I hear this poor man moaning. I look around, and that’s when I see him. Lying on the ground in a government uniform. He’d been shot in the stomach. Soft moans. That’s what he’s letting out. Very soft moans, but I can hear very well, and I hear him. As soon as he sees that I am not the enemy, he begs for my help. Not in sewing up his wound, but in escaping. And I tell him it is absolute foolishness to try crossing this main street wearing a government uniform when there are rebels shooting katakata everywhere.” Peter leans in toward Paige and Amy and lowers his voice. “So I tell him I have an idea. And I go back into what’s left of my cousin’s home, and I open the dresser in my aam and aamee’s room, and it is just as I have hoped. The clothes are untouched. Not even a speck of dust on them. So I take one of her dresses and return to the soldier, and I say, ‘Hey, put this on, it will be very helpful.’” He bursts into laughter.

After a nervous beat, Paige and Amy join in. Ify can’t even bring herself to pretend. But when the table calms down, Paige asks, “Well, did he?”

“He refused at first, but eventually, he realized he wanted to live, so he wore the dress.” Peter takes generous sips of his water, then loudly smacks his lips.

“Where was your village again?” Ify asks.

All heads turn to her.

After a moment’s pause, Peter’s expression changes from one of surprise to one of smirking understanding. “Kaduna State.”

“An Igbo-speaking family that far north? Among the Muslims?”

Peter holds Ify’s gaze for long enough that sweat begins to bead Amy’s forehead. Then he looks away. “Everyone loved our family. Before the war, no problems.”

Ify lets out a quiet “Hmm.”

“Back then,” Peter continues, turning his attention to his more sympathetic audience, “it was possible to be a young man without joining a militia. Even though they would leave bodies to rot in the street, they would leave you alone if it was clear to them that you were not on the side of the government. The Angels of Heaven didn’t steal anything. They weren’t the reason we lost everything. That happened when another group, the Popular Front for Justice in Biafra, came in to take their territory. They were truly vicious. This group didn’t just want a Biafran state in southeast Nigeria. They wanted all of Nigeria to belong to Biafra. What is the expression? ‘Scorched earth’? That was them. Burn everything in their path, and as they left, they would salt the ground so nothing good could grow there.”

Amy gasps.