He turned and vanished into the labyrinthine alleys of Kibera, the rain swallowing his footsteps.

Sele pointed a thick finger at Abdi’s chest. “Your soul. You leave your soul here, in Kibera. A man fighting for revenge has no soul. He is just a ghost. But if you leave it with me, I will keep it safe. I will water it. I will pray for it. And when you finish your war… you will have to come back to collect it.”

“No, Afande. I came back to thank you for keeping it.”

Abdi finally looked up. The fire in his eyes had settled into a cold, hard ember. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small, worn leather pouch—a kiongo —that contained a pinch of soil from his mother’s grave and a lock of his sister’s hair.

He looked up.

He knelt down, ignoring the mud, and took Sele’s hand, pressing it to his forehead in a gesture of deep, profound respect.

Abdi tilted his head.

Sele pulled him to his feet and wrapped him in a bear hug that smelled of old cologne, rain, and redemption.