Karibu Nyumbani

The world seemed to contract, then slow to an almost unbearable crawl, the moment Amani's feet, clad in the simple trainers he'd worn on the long journey, touched the reddish-brown earth outside the Land Cruiser.

The familiar ambient sounds of the Kenyan coast – the distant, rhythmic rumble of the vehicle's cooling engine, Malik's cheerful, ongoing commentary to a beaming Coach Juma, the gentle, almost whispering rustle of palm fronds in the warm, salt-tinged coastal breeze – all of it seemed to recede, fading into an indistinct, distant hum.

His entire being, every nerve ending, every heightened sense, was laser-focused, irrevocably drawn to the solitary figure standing on the veranda of the new house.