In the town of Lome, trees shuddered, and winds blew hot air from the white sun above. Deep greens from the forest surrounding the village, sang a song. It got cut off by none other than Mawuse Amedeka, who dashed down the roads and almost crashed into a coconut seller’s stall.

The owner yelled when her coconut pyramid collapsed. “Watch where you’re going! I worked on this for four hours.”

“I’m sorry, Fatimah!” Mawuse shouted. “This is more important!”

Mawuse didn’t know how her feet moved so fast, but she ran until she stopped hearing Fatimah’s whining. She needed to be at the docks on time. She could not mess up her only chance in proving she would be the best mediator in the kingdom. Damn it. Ngozi was going to kill her if she was late again.

The tops of the ocean shores greeted her. The Gomashie harbor screamed busy, filled with civilians from all corners of the kingdom. Mawuse knew it to be the only place were only the battle over money stood above all.

She slowed herself down when she started running down the sandy slopes past the coconut trees. The stench of fresh fish, ripe produce, roaring seas, and sweaty customers told her she made it near the docks. Ngozi could be in any chop bar or standing near where slaves left the coast.

“Mawuse!”

The soft voice slithered through the crowd. Ngozi waved her hand up and gestured Mawuse over. The little girl braced herself for an onslaught of yelling, but the first thing she noticed about Ngozi was the far off gaze in her dark eyes. Her thinking look, and the “we’re in trouble” look.

When Mawuse wasn’t getting yelled at, it wasn’t a good sign. She walked in time to find a shorter man with one leg on a crate. He stood by a little boy with an opened buttoned shirt and a twisted mouth. His round face glinted tan under the sunlight. He inspected her as he would an insect. All good. She didn’t like him either.

“You are late,” Ngozi said, snatching a tiny piece of paper from the man and stuffing it in her pocket. The man walked off, covering his head with the top of his robe. The little boy scurried after him. Mawuse caught the exchange. She kept her mouth shut. Ngozi caught her.

“We are going up north to Adajoku. A band of raiders took over the village and killed the chief. We need to talk to them. Are you ready?”

Mawuse held her breath. Did she hear right? Meet real criminals and not run errands?

She straightened up. “Yes, I am!”

Ngozi had her by ten years, so she was not too old. Still old enough to marry, according to Mawuse’s grandmother. Ngozi’s work demanded no entertaining suitors. A mediator’s term lasted four years before the next would take over, and so on.

Mediators get chosen by the king. But the king did not pick Mawuse, Ngozi did. Mawuse never once remembered Ngozi walking around in the village and ever crossing her path. Ngozi appeared one day on her grandmother’s compound and asked Mawuse to join her. Mawuse never passed up such an opportunity, even though her grandmother forced her to accept.

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“His name is Dayo Ojo,” Ngozi said. The guide in front of them could not hear them, and Mawuse noticed the younger boy at his side. “He’s called the Beast of Dahomey because he’s run down three villages on his way to Adajoku. He did more damage this time. The king wants us to calm him down.”

“Do you think he wants money?” Mawuse asked.

Ngozi sent her a bored look. “A thief only does damage if it gets in the way of money. Not the other way around.”

Mawuse kept Ngozi’s pace. Their colorful attire snatched stares. Mawuse wore blue and red colored cloth with bright coral beads on her wrists and ankles. Ngozi had on a yellow and black print that reached her mid-thigh, with four buns perched on her head. Their sandals mirrored their color, and Mawuse clutched a light bag close. Young, well-dressed girls, who walked like politicians, brought attention. The strange guide and the little boy stopped by a boat. The boat was long enough to fit more than ten people. It had the mark of Adajoku on its side. Hand-drawn fishes among deep green painted algae told her it once belonged to a fisherman.

“One day, civil war may be the last thing on your mind,” Ngozi said as they waited for the short man and boy to prep the boat. “But for now, try to pay attention to what I’m doing. You never know if you need it one day.”

Mawuse blinked at the message. The last time Ngozi said this was on the day Mawuse decided to be Ngozi's mediator. And this time, Ngozi said this while staring at the guide ahead of them.

Ngozi stepped onto the boat first. Mawuse took her hand. Mawuse stared back at the fat-faced man watching her when she found a seat. 

“Stay close,” Ngozi said. Mawuse listened to the water dance as the boat moved, and the boy started rowing. “This leader isn’t like any of the troublemakers I know. I’m going to have to try a little harder to get him to surrender.”

Mawuse nodded, then gestured at the short man watching them. “Is he a part of them?”

Ngozi said nothing. The smell of the busy market faded and paved the way to the salty waters. Mawuse watched the blue seas, and a dozen slave ships turned west. Too many slave ships have been coming to the market lately. She had a feeling the king did not mandate this.

A slight drop pulled her away from the slave ships. Noises from the market faded as if the boat moved far away already. But she could see the docks behind her. She heard no sound - not even that of the waters below them.

She wanted to say something until she turned to catch Ngozi watching her. 

Ngozi pointed at her right.

"Look there," 

Mawuse turned to look up.

Huh?

"Do you see it?"

Mawuse waited before nodding. "Yes."

Was she seeing right? Two skies, not one. One light blue against pink-orange.

She looked down until she watched the waters me to see what the boat crossed. Another divide. The murky grayish blue by the docks she just left, against a deep cerulean blue mirroring the pink skies. Two seas meeting, but not mixing. 

Ngozi tapped her shoulder, "Adajoku is different from other villages. Remain calm."

Mawuse nodded even though she tried to stop the thumping in her chest. 

She will be calm. She will succeed. This was the first opportunity to prove that she could be as good as Ngozi. 

She had no choice but to do her best.