Rain needles zinc roofs; a radio hisses to life . Agu returns—older, watchful—to a seaside school patched with bullet holes, now working as a mediator for a truth registry. Mothers lift photographs; boys practice football in sandals; rumors say militias are buying silence as elections near.

The trailer moves like a held breath: a night ferry through mangroves , a generator dying mid‑testimony then candles flaring , a chalk‑dust classroom turning into a refuge . Attah carries quiet fire—apologies that cost, choices that hurt. Old names knock; one former “brother” wears a suit now. Drums and kora thread the score; sun‑bleached frames soften into dawn. Final image: a trembling rifle lowers, Agu’s hand doesn’t. “Come home.”