I’d stripped my living space of all unessential furnishings, with only Maya for company to train me in my people’s history, customs, and traditions. Incense burned at all times. I prayed to my ancestors, spending quality time with them. I ate only food prepared in traditional ways, if one allowed for synthed meat. Because this was a time of cleansing, I refused to see even the closest members of my family, even as I considered the community’s next steps.

Besides, I saw Fela every time I closed my eyes.

On the seventh day, the beating of gbedu drums signals my return from Ipebi. I never understood Camara Xola’s careful shuffle before. Despite his infirmities, his walk should not have been affected. But the slow steps, the slight stoop, all hinted at the weight of his office. The dignity and grace required to shoulder it. As I dress, the symbology of the occasion serves as reminder for who I am now. The loose-fitting, wide sleeves of my white-and-red handwoven robe. Its interlaced patterns, triangles divided into smaller triangles, forming the sacred triangles of Alkebulan. The way the diamond patterns repeat continuously, illustrating the continuity and balance to life. To eternity. My bead-embroidered headdress has the image of a bird sculpted on top of it. A beaded veil shields my face, the world obscured by a thin partition, a reminder of the distance required to see clearly. Free from the constraints and entanglements of a single relationship.

Fela’s image sears my mind.

An alarm siren clangs from outside my chamber. I dart out of my room and race to the source of the disturbance. The Green Zone lies only a few meters down the hallway. The air sweetens with every step in its direction. I pause at the outer rim of the entryway. My senses on fire in ways I don’t understand. My thoughts gallop. My emi attenuates to a peak. Without reason, I whirl.

A panga blade misses me by centimeters. My robes flutter when I lunge to the side and grab the wrist holding the blade. I bend it and use it to control the body of its bearer, drawing him into my knee. A little more pressure and I could snap his wrist in several places.

“Drop it.” My eyes flashed with anger. My tone is clear: I would issue this command only once.

The blade clatters against the fused regolith floor. Niyabinghi agents arrived in time to collect the blade and detain the man. A contingent of guards has not been assigned to me yet. Though I have little need for security since I am the one who trained them. I study the man. A nondescript weusi with flat features and dusty complexion. A haughtiness buoys his spirit. A pride fills his eyes. He’s a martyr waiting for his moment.

“Why did you attack me?”