It's my turn. I kneel down on my knees; they've been shaking ever since Kaka died. Maybe it's because I've watched him, alone in his Hut, breathe his last.

I am second to last to talk to him before he'll finally be laid to rest. And before everybody's eyes, it is customary that Kaka must show a sign to whoever will be custodian of his fortunes. Jama, Dodo, Kwa and the other sons have received only silence so cold as the corpse they've spoken to.

I hold Kaka's hands; wrinkled and cold. His face is glowing so brightly it could scare away darkness. Still kneeling and quaking, I haven't yet said a word, but the dead man looked at me and laughed.