Khisa had returned to Lusimba.
As he passed through the city gates, the sun cast a golden hue across the land, and the people rose in a chorus of cheers, ululations, and praise songs that echoed from the market stalls to the highest rooftops. The air was thick with the scent of roasted maize, wildflowers, and fresh soil—home. The old chiefs and new ministers lined up in full ceremonial attire, their staffs adorned with feathers, beads, and iron rings that clinked with each movement.
His mother stood at the forefront, her hands folded before her, tears silently streaming down her face. When Khisa dismounted, she rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as though afraid he might vanish again.
"You've returned," she whispered, voice cracking.
"I'm home, Mama," he replied, his voice hoarse.
Behind her, the women who helped raise him came forth—Aunt Wekesa, Mama Nali, old Granny Sefu. They clung to him, weeping openly, their joy unrestrained.
