Kuto had always been different. As a child, he was never quite like the other kids his age. He was always more serious, more mature. His parents had died when he was young and he’d been forced to fend for himself from an early age. This hardscrabble existence had made him tough and streetwise beyond his years.
Now, at twenty-five, nothing much had changed. He still looked out of place amongst most people his age. He preferred the company of older folks, those who’d seen enough of life to not take anything for granted. Maybe that’s why he felt so drawn to Liberia – it was a country full of hardships and struggle, but also one full of hope and opportunity. It wasn’t an easy place to live, but it was real and honest in a way that few other places were anymore.
He arrived in Monrovia with little fanfare or expectation – just another foreigner hoping to make his mark on this war-torn nation. And yet, from the moment he set foot on Liberian soil, he knew this was where he belonged. There was something about the land that called out to him, something that spoke to his soul. He could feel it in the air around him – there was magic here if you knew where to look for it…
