Kwame sat among them and closed his eyes. The firelight danced on his face. For the first time in thirty years, he was not waiting.
He was simply there.
The truth was simpler and heavier. Kwame was waiting for Ny . bole ny
The young man sat down in the dust. He opened his satchel and pulled out a small, flat object wrapped in cloth. “My name is Kofi,” he said. “I am a social worker. I have been tracing family histories for a documentary about the war.” Kwame sat among them and closed his eyes
“Are you Kwame?” the young man asked. He was simply there
“I found this in an old mass grave near the northern border,” Kofi said quietly. “The remains were never identified. But the tag… I traced the batch number to this region. I am sorry.”