Wednesday Morning October 18th, 2025. South-Central Empire City, Illinois. GoldDome/LuckBricks Gang Territory.

  They followed the music. Everyone did, it seemed like. Children in cut up and stitched together coats came flying out of the apartments with snotty noses, people sleeping in tents in the alleys partied and sang among themselves while others spilled into the street, uncaring of the honking cars until the drivers stepped out.

  The graffiti was different. Different art style and colors. Long faces with lion manes watched him from the sides of stores, diagonal bright colored linework and sharp edges accented buildings. Flags of African countries and the Caribbean hung from windows and doors.

  “If you couldn’t tell, this is Afro-Town.” Ceecee said, “I grew up here.”

  Birds flew from their nests under the railways as bullet trains blew through the celebratory ambiance below.

  “It’s nice…..” Andre told her as they walked.

  “It used to be bigger.” Ceecee said, “Then the Lionhardt’s convinced Tariq to let them buy up a few of the complexes and turn them into narcotics production spots. Helps keep the mostly human cops up north off their tail if they can do their dirt down here. Now we’re gentrified. Kind of.”

  “Does anything good happen here?” Andre asked.

  “Keep listening.” Ceecee said. As she walked ahead of him, she danced slightly, popping her shoulders and shaking her hips, every now and then, she’d walk past an older woman or man and they’d recognize her and dance with her in passing.

  Eventually, they reached a foyer of concrete between two complexes next to the main street. Men and women in clothes that didn’t look American worked their instruments with a lax professionalism that looked simple but impossible to replicate. It was personal. Grown over time and unique to them. Like spots on a leopard.

  The music was even better up close. It didn’t hurt his ears, if anything it soothed them as the Afro-beats mash-up engulfed them in their presence and shut out the rest of the world.

  Nearby, people closer to his age had cameras and rapped, laying down rhyme schemes over the beat and music to make something of their own.

  Kids played hopscotch and jump rope using old shoelaces knotted together.

  It should’ve been depressing. Everyone was making do with things they shouldn’t have had to.

  But it wasn’t.

  “This is…. amazing.”

  Ceecee sat on the garden bordering atop a three-stair leading up to a second level beside him. “Yea, you gotta cut that out.”

  “What?” Andre looked at her.

  “You talk like you’re seeing the world for the first time.”

  “I am.” Andre said.

  Ceecee nodded, “Right….. but we don’t want anyone else to know that because then—”

  “Oh… yea. But how can I act like I’ve been somewhere I haven’t?” Andre asked.

  Before Ceecee could say anything one of the drummers slapped his stick together, gathering the attention of much of the crowd playing and dancing.

  “This one for you, Claudette!”

  Ceecee looked around nervously but forced a smile, “Finally!” She called back.

  The man whistled playfully back to her and the music changed. It gained a spanish edge. Less drums and more guitar strings, the flutes faded and were switched out for congas and brass instruments. Like jazz if it picked up the pace and incorporated bass-heavy electric guitar riffs.

  Andre felt himself sink into his coat further. The music almost felt sexually charged at times. Couples grinded against eachother and yelled in celebration of the music as if they’d been waiting for it.

  Ceecee watched him with a half smirk, “You know Konpa?”

  Andre side eyed her knowingly.

  She shook her head, “It don’t get no better than this, Dre’.”

  He warmed, hearing his nickname. Even if it was unintentional.

  Ceecee stood up then and dusted herself off, “Now, we gotta blend in. We gotta teach you how to walk it like the people. You’re in Afrotown you can’t post-up while it’s music playing.”

  “What— why not?” Andre asked.

  Ceecee side eyed him, “Boy, please. You can’t act like you don’t hear it. Let’s move.”

  She grabbed Andre’s hand and led him to the crowd of dancing couples.

  “Wait— I don’t—“

  “Don’t freeze up. Come on, just follow my lead. This is your culture, I know you feel it.” Ceecee put his hands around her low back and laid her arms around his shoulders.

  “I’m Nigerian and Greek.” Andre said.

  “Everybody here is African. Black, Haitian, Nigerian, Jamaican. We all come from the same place. We all call to it. You just gotta move. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? If you can fight, you can dance.” Ceecee joked.

  Andre felt his cheeks warm as older spectators watched and whistled.

  Then Ceecee started to move her hips and step to the beat.

  Tingles fell down his back from where her fingers touched.

  He let his hands hold her back as he followed along.

  It didn’t become second nature, but it became easier. He listened to the other dancers around him and used his enhanced senses to read their movements. The ones human eyes couldn’t see beneath the crinkle of clothes and ruffle of coats.

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  “There you go, Dre’! Show me somethin’!” Ceecee said into his ear. Her breath was warm.

  The cold stood no chance.

  They continued dancing, across genres and cultures until Andre had an unending list of artists and styles of music to further delve into with a hunger akin to his Ailuran starvation stages.

  Eventually, the people tired and others had to catch buses to get to work.

  The remainder of them broke off as a large food truck arrived caked in rust as much as it was covered in snow.

  Smells of meats and spices wafted from the truckbed.

  The car horn honked, playing music from the horn as it came to a stop and people crowded.

  “Ok, Dre’, what do we do now?” Ceecee tested.

  Andre looked at her knowingly, “Come on now.”

  Ceecee smiled, “That’s good. Let’s go.”

  The two of them fell into step with the crowd and headed towards the food truck. The back swung open, revealing a janky set up with stoves, sinks and preparation stations with serving plates and such.

  “Fufu and Egusi for the free!!!” The woman in the back cooking yelled over the music.

  Someone at the back of the crowd near Ceecee and Andre smacked their lips, “Omooooo…. We had that last week!”

  “So I can have your plate orrr…?” Ceecee asked the man beside her.

  “You can have whatever you want off me, Ceecee.” The man smiled and winked playfully.

  “Oh— boy, bye.” Ceecee waved him off.

  “Who’s your friend?” He asked, referring to Andre.

  “This is Dre. He from the West side.” Ceecee said before turning to Andre, “Andre this is Emeka. We went to school together.”

  Emeka was tall and dark skinned with a wide nose and even wider head. He had his long hair in cornrows and pierced ears.

  He reached out and dapped up Andre. “Abeg, call me Emmy like the award…. I’m the prize, you know?”

  Ceecee rolled her eyes.

  Andre smiled.

  “You know, I was about to take Ceecee from you on that dance floor, Dre’. The way you came in, I thought you na dancing-man. But you picked it up fast-like. E be like film.” Emmy said. His voice was high for his size.

  “You’d cross yo’ brother like that?” Ceecee asked as they waited.

  “Eh!? Brother where?” Emmy looked Andre up and down.

  “Dre’s Nigerian.” Ceecee said.

  Emmy looked from Ceecee to Andre and smacked his lips, “Tch!….. everyone is Nigerian now.”

  “My dad is from there.” Andre said.

  Emmy raised an eyebrow, “Where?”

  Andre froze.

  Emmy pointed at him and smiled, “Ahhhhahah! You go prank me? Nice try—“

  “Emmy! You show up late to work one more time and you’re fired, boy!” Someone yelled from the apartments.

  Emmy’s eyes went wide, “I thought I had off today…… AHH!”

  Ceecee and Andre watched Emmy run off towards the apartments sharing a faint laugh.

  “Work in progress on that last bit.” Ceecee said.

  Andre nodded. “Didn’t know everything was a test.” Inside he felt his anger and confusion rise at not knowing his own history well enough to defend himself.

  Ceecee shrugged, “Think about it like this, everyone in this city that ain’t rich had to get it out the mud. Some still in the mud. They exploit us up north, sometimes they turn us against eachother. Enemies on every corner and block. Then someone says they’re from your homeland. You can’t take it at face value. You can’t trust just anyone anymore, right? You gotta check the credentials.”

  Andre nodded, “Yea. Yea….. your right.”

  “Been that.” Ceecee said as much with her neck as she did with her mouth and glossed lips.

  They continued waiting among the crowd for a free meal, meeting more people along the way and hearing more stories.

  Like Grannie Beyo, who was part of the founding group of West African immigrants who fought to form Afro-Town during the civil rights era after the first Black-Land was burned down in a race riot.

  Then they met Jean, the guitarist that played lead during the Konpa music play session. He was missing two fingers and somehow still played better than anything Andre heard previously. As a guitar player himself. They talked strings and instruments until Ceecee had to pull them apart and meet more people.

  It blurred. But not in a way that made anyone lose their individual defintion.

  They couldn’t if they tried. They were the first people Andre met aside from casual run ins with workers with his mom.

  Even more so, they were the connective tissue to the ideas of his father’s origin. He wondered if his dad met similar people and saw similar artistry. He wondered if all this is what drew him to America to begin with….

  Eventually, they got their food. The whole block smelled like spiced-lamb, beans, palm oil and pounded yam.

  Ceecee and Andre walked as the crowd dispersed and returned to their homes, danced fed and freed of worries for a while. It was nice. The whole block felt like it exhaled collectively.

  Andre did the same.

  Then he saw the skyscrapers up north and thought of his mother.

  “So…. We can’t eat this.” Andre said.

  “Most of it.” Ceecee corrected as she picked out the bits of meat with her spoon. The oils died the plastic white spoon deeper with every scoop.

  Andre copied her, picking out the bits of lamb to eat.

  “Man, I remember how mad I was when I found out I couldn’t eat anything but meat and mushrooms anymore.” Ceecee said. “Almost broke me honestly….”

  Andre noted the severity in her tone— flinching as a car honked in passing and Ceecee waved. “When were you uhh….. you know.”

  “Bitten?” Ceecee asked. “Two years ago. My older brother, Pierre— they got him first. They usually stick to families that way.”

  She didn’t say anything else.

  Andre didn’t push. He didn’t want to talk about his family either.

  They continued walking the city and Ceecee stayed quiet until she saw a kid on the steps leading up to a large brick apartment complex. He hugged his knees and had a black eye.

  “Nico?!” She took off for him further down the block.

  Andre chased after her until they both stood at the steps.

  “Hey, Ceecee.” Nico said in a quiet voice. His dark hair was wavy and standing up like he had braids just taken out.

  Upon closer inspection, Andre saw that his coat was covered in dirt and snow. And he was missing a shoe.

  “Who?” Ceecee asked.

  “That’s a trap and you know that.” Nico said.

  “What’s a trap?” Ceecee asked.

  “You, fighting my battles.”

  “Boy— watch out. It’s not a trap, it’s karma.” Ceecee hissed.

  “For who?!” Nico’s voice cracked. Which seemed right for how old he looked. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen. He had that long awkward body his babyish face didn’t match. Like he was at the tail end of a wicked growth spurt.

  Ceecee clenched her jaw.

  “My bad….. I know you’re looking out for me. I appreciate it. But…..they’re going at me because I’m different in their space. I just gotta stay out the way.” Nico said.

  “Their space is my space, and I been here longer, so my word is law. You’re not different.” Ceecee said.

  Nico dropped his head and sniffled between heavy sighs.

  Ceecee sat down next to him and hugged him.

  Andre watched silently.

  After a while, Nico sat up and wiped his eyes. He looked at Andre and scowled, “Don’t go telling folks I be crying all the time, though.”

  “I saw nothing.” Andre said.

  Ceecee smirked.

  Nico’s stomach growled

  Andre looked down at his plate-bowl of fufu and egusi. He handed it over to Nico.

  “You not hungry?” Nico asked.

  Andre shook his head. “Had a big breakfast.”

  Nico took the food, “How big?”

  “Steak and oxtails big.” Andre replied.

  Nico began eating the food, freezing to spoon through the contents, “I guess that’s where all the meat for this went, damn.”

  Ceecee flicked him, “Be grateful.”

  Nico swallowed the food in his mouth. “‘Preciate it.”

  Andre nodded.

  “Dre’, this is Nico. He goes to school with my younger brother and sister.

  “You new here?” Nico asked.

  “Sort of.” Andre replied.

  Nico raised an eyebrow, “Ok….”

  “Now, I’d say you need to get back to school, but a day off would be nice.” Ceecee said, “For their sake.” Her voice lowered.

  Nico shivered. “Got ya.”

  Quickly, she stood up and headed back to the entry door into the apartment complex. She did something with the lock and door and popped it open.

  Nico got up and headed in.

  “Get some ice on that eye. I’ll see you later.” Ceecee said.

  Nico nodded and headed inside.

  Ceecee and Andre were back on the sidewalk.

  “Nico gets bullied because he isn’t African.” Andre surmised.

  Ceecee nodded, “He was adopted by a Nigerian family here. He’s as much apart of the culture here as anyone. But you know how it is when you’re young. Well, old too sometimes.”

  Andre nodded, “Y—“

  “Woahhhhhh CEE?!”

  Andre and Ceecee both stopped before reaching the alley. Due to the person calling out to her and the smell.

  “Ailouran’s.” Andre noted. He assumed Ceecee did the same but she didn’t speak.

  “Come on, Cee. I know that’s you. I’m glad you still use that perfume I told you I like. Come get at me. We got shit to discuss.”