Mila’s heart pounded as she put her hand against the door of the hut. She wanted to be out there first, barely able to contain the excitement that had been building since Perry mentioned the Venice of Africa. She had grown up in a London tower-block, a mixed-race foster kid with little knowledge of her birth parents except that her father had been a student from war-torn Sierra Leone. It was further west in Africa than Benin but this was much closer than she had ever been to her possible ancestors.
Waterwalkers, those who could become one with the waterways, were born rarely and many of them disappeared without trace, choosing to remain beneath the waves rather than return to the air. Mila understood that choice. Even now as she looked down between the slats of the hut, she wanted to be i
