The morning brought a strange stillness to the village as if the earth itself was holding its breath. Suleiman woke to the quiet, his heart heavy with the weight of the day ahead. He could feel it in his bones—something was shifting, something beyond the rebuilding of the school, beyond the day-to-day struggles. It was as though the village, the nation, stood on the brink of a turning point.
He sat up, the thin mattress beneath him creaking. Outside, the early light crept through the cracks in the mud walls, painting the small room in soft, golden hues. He could hear the faint sounds of life outside—the clatter of pots, the bleating of goats, the hushed conversations of neighbours—but there was an unease beneath it all.
Today, the elders were going to decide the village's future. There had been whispers of it for weeks now—discussions about the role the village would play in the wider conflict that still threatened the region. The insurgency had not disappeared; it had only retreated and regrouped. And now, the elders were debating whether to prepare for more conflict or to seek peace, even if it meant making difficult compromises.
Suleiman dressed slowly, his thoughts racing. He had been invited to the council meeting, along with a few others from the village who had been instrumental in the rebuilding efforts. It was an honour but also a burden. He would have to speak his mind, knowing that his words could influence the path the village would take.
As he stepped outside, the cool morning air greeted him, carrying with it the scent of fresh earth and smoke from early fires. He made his way toward the baobab tree where the council would gather, his footsteps crunching on the dry ground.
When he arrived, the elders were already seated, their faces grave and lined with the weight of years. Elder Musa sat at the centre, his presence commanding respect even in his old age. The other council members sat in a circle, and a small crowd gathered around them, waiting to hear the decision that would shape their lives.
Suleiman took his place among the other invitees, his heart pounding in his chest. Aisha was there too, her face calm but her eyes betraying her unease. She caught his gaze and gave him a small nod of encouragement.
Elder Musa cleared his throat, and the murmurs in the crowd fell silent. He looked around, his gaze sweeping over the gathered villagers before settling on Suleiman and the others who had been invited to speak.
"We are here today," Elder Musa began, his voice steady and clear, "to discuss the future of our village. The insurgency has not been defeated. They have pulled back, yes, but they are still out there, waiting for the right moment to strike again. We must decide how we will respond."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"For many years," Elder Musa continued, "we have lived in fear. We have seen our homes destroyed and our loved ones taken from us. We have rebuilt, but we cannot live in constant anticipation of another attack. We must decide whether we will continue to fight, or whether we will seek peace."
He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in.
"There are those among us who believe we should arm ourselves, prepare for war, and defend our village at all costs. Others believe we should negotiate, seek a truce, even if it means making concessions."
Suleiman felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The thought of more violence, of the village turning into a battleground once again, was unbearable. But the idea of negotiating with the insurgents, of making deals with those who had caused so much suffering, was equally difficult to accept.
Elder Musa turned to the group of invitees. "Suleiman, you have been a leader in our community. You have helped rebuild the school, and you have the respect of your fellow villagers. What do you think we should do?"
Suleiman hesitated, feeling the weight of the question pressing down on him. All eyes were on him, waiting for his answer. He glanced at Aisha, who gave him another encouraging nod.
He took a deep breath and stepped forward. "Elder Musa, my fellow villagers," he began, his voice steady but low, "we have all seen what violence brings. We have lost too much already—our homes, our families, our peace. If we continue to prepare for war, we will never know peace again. We will live in constant fear, and our children will grow up in a world defined by conflict."
He paused, gathering his thoughts. "But I also understand the fear that many of us feel. The insurgency is not gone. They are waiting for the right moment to strike again. And it is true that if we are not prepared, we may be vulnerable."
The crowd was silent, hanging on his every word.
"But I believe there is another way," Suleiman continued. "We cannot live in fear, but we also cannot live with hatred in our hearts. We must seek peace—not out of weakness, but out of strength. We must negotiate, yes, but we must do so from a place of power. We must make it clear that we will not be pushed around and that we will not be bullied. But we must also make it clear that we are willing to find a solution that benefits everyone."
Elder Musa nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "You speak wisely, Suleiman. But what if the insurgents refuse to negotiate? What if they see our willingness to talk as a sign of weakness?"
Suleiman felt the question like a blow, but he was ready for it. "If they refuse to negotiate, then we must defend ourselves. But we should not let the possibility of failure prevent us from trying. If we go into this with clear terms, with the strength of our community behind us, we have a chance. And even if we fail, we will have shown that we are a people who believe in peace, in a future beyond violence."
There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd, and Suleiman saw a few heads nodding. He felt a surge of hope.
Elder Musa raised his hand, and the crowd fell silent again. "Thank you, Suleiman. Your words have given us much to consider."
He turned to the other elders, and they began to discuss in hushed tones. The villagers waited, their faces tense with anticipation.
After what felt like an eternity, Elder Musa stood again and addressed the crowd. "We have heard the voices of our people, and we have come to a decision. We will seek peace. We will open negotiations with the insurgency, but we will do so from a position of strength. We will make it clear that we are willing to defend ourselves if necessary, but that we seek a future of peace for our children, and their children."
The crowd erupted in a mix of relief and cautious optimism. Suleiman felt a weight lift off his shoulders. It was not a guarantee of peace, but it was a chance. And for the first time in a long time, it felt like hope was within reach.
As the villagers began to disperse, Aisha came over to him, a small smile on her lips. "You did well, Suleiman. I think you might have just changed the course of this village's future."
Suleiman shook his head, still processing the moment. "I just hope it's the right course."
Aisha laughed softly. "It’s the only course that gives us a chance at peace. And that's worth fighting for."
Suleiman nodded, looking out over the village, now bathed in the soft glow of the afternoon sun. The school was nearly finished, the crops were growing again, and the village was slowly coming back to life. It wasn't perfect, and there were still many challenges ahead. But for the first time in years, Suleiman allowed himself to believe that they could build something lasting, something better.
As the last of the villagers returned to their homes, Suleiman stood alone for a moment longer, feeling the quiet peace settle over him. It was a fragile peace, but it was real. And in that peace, he saw the future—a future of hope, of rebuilding, of whispers carried on the wind, telling the story of a nation that refused to be broken.
End of Chapter Nineteen.