The morning sun rose over Conakry, casting long shadows across the polished new tiles of Ousman’s courtyard. Inside, the family had gathered for breakfast, laughing and talking about what Sakina would buy them next.
Ousman sat at the head of the table, pouring tea, looking every bit the proud patriarch.
Then the heavy iron gate rattled open.
Sakina stepped into the yard. She wasn’t alone. Behind her came Tanti Awa, two village elders, a representative from the local prefecture, and a young man in a sharp suit carrying a leather
