Inchlolo hung there, swaying gently in the wind. His body limp, his blackness faded, his eyes that had so long reflected that poetic violence of revolution, vaguely starred at a space beyond this reality. I searched around me for some evidence of a murderer, despite knowing full well that none would…

[Chest pump] My name is Inchebe, [chest pump] and I am the descendent of warriors. My ancestors, their courage known, their bravery tested, their spirits undeniable, their blood flows through me. [chest pump] I am Inchebe, a son of warriors.