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every young person, to see if they could find their own. Sometimes they ran after a child and when he or she turned around, the mother would fall sluggishly to the ground, defeated. Most had searched for seven years, and this was their last chance to free the burden on their hearts.
    Children and young people came by themselves with no parents. In the beginning they came one at a time, then in pairs, followed by four, six, or more in a group. They had been at various orphanages and households that had tried to adopt them. Some had even been at centers to learn how to be “normal children” again, a phrase they detested, so they had left and become inhabitants of rough streets in cities and towns. They were more intelligent than their years and had experienced so much hardship that each day of their lives was equal to three or more years; this showed in their fierce eyes. You had to look closely to see residues of their childhood. They knew where their parents were from and so they had returned to this place that they hoped would ease their suffering or grant them the possibility of reuniting with family. They had walked longer than everyone else who had arrived in Imperi. Among these children was a young girl no more than sixteen, who came with a child on her back, a boy, about two. She was taller than most her age, with a long face and narrow eyes. She walked with her lips tucked in as though to muster strength for every step she took. Her breasts told that the child was hers. Her eyes, especially when placed upon the child, held love and deep hatred. Mama Kadie rose to meet her, this daughter of her neighbor who no longer walked the earth in physical form.
    “Mahawa, welcome home, my child. I am glad you remembered the way back. May I hold my grandchild?” Mahawa reluctantly removed the child from her back and gave him to the old woman while she continued to search her memory for something familiar.
    She must have known me before, which is why she calls my name that I haven’t gone by in so long. Her voice spoke inside her as she looked into the eyes of the woman whose delight for the young boy was instant. She was rubbing her nose on the child’s belly, making him laugh. She never asked who the father was. Mahawa was already dreading having to explain how this child had come to this world, a story she didn’t want to remember, not yet, perhaps not ever. She wanted people to make their own assumptions and leave her out of it.
    “You can stay with me and we could help each other. I need a daughter, and the gods have returned you just in time. Take him to the house over there.” Mama Kadie pointed. “Feed him and yourself with whatever is in the pots. You will introduce yourself properly later on.” The elders were silent with an inkling of the ordeal that the child carrying the child had endured. Their silence was, however, short-lived as more young people arrived, in particular a group of four—three boys and a girl. Three of them carried pillowcases filled with things and tied with ropes to prevent their contents from spilling out. The oldest, who was eighteen, walked ahead of the group, his muscular body erect in a manner that showed discipline and purpose. His eyes were as strong as his cheekbones, and they were attentive to everything. His face was so hardened, dark, and harsh that you knew that no smile or even smirk had passed on it for years. His eyes surveyed the town not in the way the other arrivals had, with hesitation, but more with a confidence that showed he feared nothing. He walked, almost running, toward the elders.
    “Good day Pa, Pa, and Mama. My name is Colonel.” He shook the hands of the elders strongly and looked deep into their eyes, forcing them to turn their gaze away, something that usually happened the other way around. He pointed at and spoke the names of the others: Salimatu, the girl, sixteen; and the boys, Amadu, the same age, and Victor, seventeen. Their faces looked like