“Is that why those elders were talking to you?”

“I’m thankful that the Muungano experiment has made it this far. However, already people wonder what the next step will be.”

“You mean who will lead?” you ask. It is people’s next thoughts once they finish reeling from the loss Camara Xola represents to Muungano. Part of you fears that you have joined the dream of Muungano just in time to watch it crumble.

“Well, yes.”

“Do you think it should be you?”

Bayard flashes a hint of a wistful smile. “It doesn’t matter what I think. The Camara is chosen by the people. Even as we mourn, we scramble to figure out who to support to best move the work forward. Now what can I do to help you?”

“I…” You aren’t even sure how to form the question. You stride around the room with an air of inspection, not really looking at anything in particular. More not wanting to meet his eyes. “I don’t know who I am. No, who I’m supposed to be. Xola was helping me to find my path, encouraging me as I failed along it.”

“All journeys are marked by failure. How you respond to those failures defines who you are. Muungano is at a similar crossroads, needing to decide how best to stumble forward. My fear is that we may … relapse.”

“Relapse how?”

“It’s easy in times of uncertainty to retreat to what you know best. We have to both own and honor the grief present, making ourselves more available to one another in community as we move forward. Paying better attention to one another. Our emi and well-being, not being so preoccupied with work that when people present themselves, they don’t give into fear and the need to isolate. But Muungano’s always been about daring to dream.”

Bayard walks over to a row of candles and lights one. Lowering his head, he offers up a quick prayer. “Xola and I often had lively conversations about this. He was a spiritual man, though not a particularly religious one.”

“God is a trickster,” you recall the Camara’s words.

“Exactly. Xola had no disdain for religion as long as it nurtured curiosity and questions, remained flexible enough to adapt to new paradigms, and didn’t demand adherence to dogma over people.”

The words feel right, feel genuine, but your emi remains enflamed. Not as much by Bayard but by something in the air. An imperceptible shift in the atmosphere. “There is a war coming.”

“What sort of war?” Bayard angles toward you, stepping closer with keen interest.

“The bloody kind.” You close your eyes. All you can see is darkness, with swaths of red crackling through, lightning over an ocean, revealing billowing waves. “And with any war, there is the possibility of losing one’s way.”

“Is that why you’re here? To warn me?”

“To figure out what role we are to play.”