“I hope we can begin your time in leadership by continuing the rich dialogue Xola and I shared.” VOP bridged his fingers in front of his face, his voice heavy and breathy through the filter of his mask.

“Xola was a once-in-a-lifetime gift. It’s too bad that gift was taken from us prematurely.” Maulana’s posture changed. An angry edge sharpened his tone. Lacking patience and having the need to prove himself, he allowed VOP to bait him with his timbre.

“Yes.” VOP’s voice held the hint of uncertainty, reading something akin to a trap in Maulana’s tone.

And we began to wonder if this would be our role now. A spectator, shut out of the game, whose counsel would go largely ignored.

“You should know who I am. I am Maulana Langston Buhari, the new Camara of Muungano. Son of Hakeem and Tiamoyo Buhari and grandson of Hakeem Buhari, one of the cofounders of First World.”

“Yours is a long and proud lineage.” VOP’s voice rose, turning the statement into a question.

“Yes. And I say all of that to confirm to you that I am not Camara Xola Adisa.” Without quite turning from him, Maulana seemed to side-eye him. He needed to be careful. He wanted to project strength and confidence, but he approached the precipice of coming across as a person struggling with his role and thus overcompensating.

“I understand that.” VOP lowered his gaze. The man appeared to age several decades. A web of fine lines crept about his eyes with the heavy creases in his face.

“I don’t think that you do. My name is Camara Maulana Buhari. As Camara, I am much like your title, the Voice of the People. But … I am also not the leader as you understand leadership. The Camara of Muungano understands that all have a voice here, that in any given moment, any can speak. Even now, you speak before the entire Ijo.” Maulana stepped aside to allow VOP the view of the full Ijo. Seething with anger and uncertainty, he didn’t know how far he could push VOP. Or how far VOP could afford to appear pushed.

“That’s … unusual. When Xola and I spoke…” The scar along his face twisted into a languid sneer.

“Again, you seem confused. My name is Maulana Buhari. Camara Adisa tended to keep your conversations to a smaller circle. He was always interested in the comfort of the person he was talking to. What you need to understand is that how a Camara operates is up to their discretion. Xola was taken from us. In his place, I now have the privilege to serve.”