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shook Sebastien’s hand and thanked him for everything. “Be safe Bwana,”
Sebastien said. “Madame and the children must stay safe, as well.”
As we pulled away, I turned around to look out the small back window of
the car.
Sebastien was standing there, watching us as we drove off.
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Four months later, my father risked going back to check on the house. There was no electricity, and he got there at night. He unlocked the front door and turned on his flashlight. He heard something in the living room, followed by footsteps. Someone was running towards him. He held up the flashlight. The beam of light broke the blackness in front of him. The footsteps stopped.
It was Sebastien. For four months, he’d slept on the couch in the house with a machete at his side.
I don’t know if the two men embraced each other, maybe even shed a few tears. But I like to think so.