For a breath they only looked at each other.

  “Hey, Paa,” Kazeem said, trying to hide his joy.

  His father nodded once. “Yeah, hi,” he said, and motioned him outside. His travel bag was already by the wall, proof he’d been home long enough to speak with Yasséna and learn what’s been happening, not long enough to unpack. Close up, the man’s eyes were tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix.

  “...You grew,” he said. Zokou knew his son too well; change was easy to spot. The air around Kazeem felt more mature, like someone who’d had to grow against his will. His amber eyes, shinier now, had lost a bit of their old innocence. There was a charm there, and a tiredness he was hiding.

  “Maybe,” Kazeem said, with a little grin.

  A smile tried and gave up at the man’s mouth. He pulled Kazeem into his usual bear hug, the kind that makes you drown in love… and sometimes suffocate from the strength. He was never the talkative type; hugs were how Zokou showed affection.

  I really missed you, Paa, Kazeem thought. In a time when he couldn’t speak about what was happening to him, this hug was the biggest support he needed.

  He inhaled. “...”

  “Paa?”

  “Hm?”

  “You need at least two bags of lemon in your armpits right now.”

  “...Take the buckets. Let’s go fetch water. Let me see how your back holds a weight.”

  They stepped outside to the sound of Yasséna’s laughter. Neighbors noticed them walking to the public tap.

  “You’re back, Uncle Zokou.” A boy offered to carry one bucket three steps just to say later that he had.

  “Hey, Zokou, how was the edge?” an elder near the tap asked.

  His father’s answers were short:“Quiet enough,” “We’ll see after noon”, but the way people made room for him said the rest. In Azuma, some men take space with noise. His father used silence and his size.

  On the way back, he set the buckets in the sand and drew a half-circle with a stick. “Where are we?”

  “Azuma,” Kazeem said.

  “On the street, yes.” His father marked another line. “On a map.”

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  Kazeem crouched and thought. Until recently he hadn’t cared much about the outside world. While other kids dreamed of leaving “the village” to see cities, he just wanted to scavenge sometimes, daydream at the top of the old tower, and be with his family. But he still had a rough idea. He squinted at the simple map Zokou drew. The lines in the dust made a kind of river mouth. “Here?” he said, confident.

  “...Wrong,” his father said.

  “...”

  He cut a longer curve. “This is Asukyen, the ‘salt-waters’ region. It’s called that for its rivers, lagoons, and flats. The open sea is far west now. Asukyen sits at the bottom of Zriwla, the country we’re in.”

  He drew another circle and a smaller one in the center of it. “The capital, Zrahua, sits upriver. Big and loud. Men there think law is the same as truth,” he said, his eyes cooled, then stilled again.

  “You’re from there,” Kazeem said.

  “Once,” his father said, which wasn’t the same as yes. He went back to the first circle and made a mark to the southeast. “Saliena ,people call it Salt city or the trench city. The people there keep the trench, and whatever emerges from it. City of scavengers. Polite until they aren’t.” Another mark to the west: “Gohoua, Sea Gate of Zriwla. That’s where most of our fish come from. It’s forbidden to go too far out; those who tried never came back to prove the rule wrong.”

  ”Wait isn’t salt supposed to be in the sea? Why is there in the trench ?” Kazeem asked.

  ”Saliena was a sea”

  ”Huh? What happened then?” Asked Kazeem more perplexed.

  ”ion know ask your mother.”

  ”…”

  Finally, he pointed north, beyond the forest. “Adiekela, merchant city. That’s where old scrap and salt from the other two flow.”

  “And Azuma?”

  “Between all that,” his father said. “Quiet town built on old city ruins.”

  “What is after the trench?”

  “Another country.”

  “And the sea?”

  “The sea.”

  “...And the vines?”

  “Vines.”

  ”paa…” said Kazeem slightly irritated. Zokou had this habit of making him curious then stopping midway. Kazeem, never knew if it was his way of teasing him or if he wasn’t doing on purpose.

  With an almost imperceptible smirk Zokou patted his son head and said”That’s all you need to know for now.”

  On the way back, people asked Zokou small things and got small answers that still settled them. A guard asked if he’d heard wild dogs near the north path; Zokou only said, “They weren’t dogs,” and the guard stood straighter.

  At the door, Yasséna was already back from the market, shawl tied tight, a little sweat at her hairline. “Eh, look at you two. Were there traffic jams on the road?”

  She took one bucket from Kazeem before he could argue, checked his face, then checked it again, the way only mothers do. “You slept?”

  “I did,” he lied, then softened it. “Well, enough.”

  Her eyes said she heard the lie and forgave it for now. She set the bucket down and clapped her hands once. “Wash yourself, eat, and then we’ll take a walk.”

  “Alright ... But why not talk first?” Kazeem asked.

  “To the day,” she said, like it was obvious. “People have things to say when he’s in town.” She tipped her head at the man. “And your dad listens better with food.”

  They ate rice with eggplant sauce. Every child in the town already complains about this sauce at least ten time in their life, not because it tasted awful but because when they see this sauce they know that they will have to eat the same thing at least 6 times in the week. Even Kazeem would have usually frown at the sight of the sauce. However, after Gods knows how many times he had to eat and have the smell of sauce graine, he couldn’t be happier to see something different in his plate.

  Zokou didn’t speak until the second bowl was gone.

  “After,” he said, “we walk. You watch. Keep your mouth small.”

  “I can do that,” Kazeem said. He was used to that anyway.

  Closing thought: Quiet towns carry other people’s storms.