To great applause and shouts, you take the stairs and stride across the floor to take your seat next between Camara Xola and Wachiru. You can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy of Wachiru. By simple virtue of him being him, the natural-born son of Xola and Selamault, he wins any battle for people’s affections. You are left with the scraps, think about when he isn’t around. Silent and intent, he bobs his head without disdain for the proceedings, but caught up in his mental world of beats and melodies. His mind full of music, all staccato cadences, storytelling by a poet warrior. It makes your skin flush with pride and … something. Not quite anger, more frustration. That he squanders his position by always chasing after possibilities rather than embracing his birthright.

“You think too much,” Xola looms into your ear.

“I don’t want to miss anything,” you say.

“You’re here. Be here.” His long fingers dance along the console. The movements haphazard and jittery as if he’s playing a balafon. His eyes bother him, beginning to fail him, all the while he continues to act as if nothing is wrong. Xola slips without Selamault around, betraying the frailty of his condition. Ordinarily, she hovers over him in a constant fuss, the comfortable worry of a long-joined partner to their spouse. But buried in the interactions are her masking the severity of his symptoms. Passing food for him. Sharing his food, breaking his into portions for easy purchase and eating. Perusing files, reading them aloud in the guise of seeking his opinion on matters. A careful choreography. Without her around, his symptoms demonstrate that he is clearly worse than you thought. With your elevated position in the family, he has allowed you to see it. “You are as you have always been: among your people.”

The Ijo continue to seat themselves around the dais of the Dreaming City’s main chamber. You half rehearse what you would say to the Ijo, comforted by the fact that they are duty bound to greet and welcome you. Then you chide yourself for such cynicism. You know that the families—who have known and loved you since you first walked among them—eagerly await to rejoice in your formal induction into the community. The inchoate dread of expectation chews at you nonetheless, because you fear your ability to live up to the ghost of their dreams for you.

A mild commotion stirs near the area where the Buhari family have gathered.

Camara Xola stands, and the throng settles into a hush as he shuffles toward the dais. In a low, unwavering voice steeled with pride, he announces, “The Adisa family, governing family of the Ijo, presents the newest duly appointed member of our family: Amachi Adisa.”