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will to live despite all this.” Momodou had said nothing more and left. Sila and his children were at the hospital for a week, and from the nurse he learned that he would have to pay the remaining bill. He didn’t have the money and wouldn’t have for many months, if ever. So one night he quietly woke his children and they escaped the hospital and went to an amputee camp. The camp seemed like a good idea in the beginning. But then people would come by to watch them as though they were animals in the zoo. Sila left with his children after two weeks. He found a job carrying loads, which enabled him to rent a shack on the outskirts of the city. Doing menial jobs that came with cruel comments bruised his dignity. But he was a strong man physically, emotionally, and psychologically. Every morning, he would chant to himself under his breath before going out for the day, “I can always restore my dignity, and may my ears become deaf to negative voices today.” He never showed his despair about his situation outwardly, perhaps for his children’s sake. And his children learned from their father to carry themselves with dignity even when looked upon with questioning eyes. It did take getting used to, though, how to function without a hand or hands. Sila couldn’t wait to return home and saved up so he would be ready.
    Other people who wanted the same jobs as him called him names and suggested that he wasn’t as capable. On one occasion, while a group of desperate young men were trying to convince a trader to hire them to carry his loads instead of the “one-arm useless man,” he proved them wrong by picking up the two huge bundles one at a time with his only hand and loading them into the vehicle without any help. The young men were going to do it together and had been negotiating payment for four workers. They had walked away angry, and the trader happily paid Sila for the job of four people. He left with his children on the first day he knew he could safely do so.
    En route to Imperi, they passed through the town where they had been amputated. There was no other road. It was the only time tears came down all their faces. They walked quickly, saying nothing to one another, but someone heard their heavy footsteps. It was Sergeant Cutlass, who was no longer a soldier but was being hunted by them since his squad had been dismantled at the end of the war; he had come to the town and stayed in its ruins. He had been there for a week, unable to sleep, tormented by everything about the place—but still something held him there. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw Sila and his children. He thought they had died. He was happy, a bit, that they were alive, but all that had happened that day came back vigorously in his mind. He sat on the ground, sighing, his sun-beaten face twitching with so much pain that it no longer had its youthfulness. He decided to follow Sila and his family, thinking he needed to make amends, but he didn’t know how. Sila and his children were unaware that he was behind them. They strode home, finally happy, as their father had told them they would have a simple and perfect life there in their own family house, never worrying about getting kicked out because they couldn’t afford rent.
    “Greetings to you, all my elders, to the trees, the land, and all that remains. Sila is home to where his spirit brightens.” He bent to the side so the bag on his head fell toward his left hand, which caught it swiftly and set it down on the earth.
    “Welcome back, Sila. Your house is the only one in slightly better condition than most in town,” Pa Moiwa said, feeling a bit awkward about not knowing how to greet Sila properly. Greetings were customarily done with the shaking of right hands. The elders bowed slightly to acknowledge Sila, who was in his forties.
    “My children, Hawa and Maada. We lost everyone else.” He said the last part quickly and went on. “But blessings that our house is somewhat