The Moment Two Torches Crossed

The moment two torches crossed, setting fire to a vision that would one day become MRNTU.
The café hummed with quiet energy, the kind of place where revolutionaries came to scribble on napkins while sipping bitter coffee. Menelik Nehusi Falasha sat at a corner table, a steaming cup untouched before him. His fingers traced the edge of a tattered manifesto draft, the corners worn from weeks of rewriting, revising, and doubting.

Outside, a goat bleated. He looked up as the door chimed. A woman entered, her presence filling the room like a sudden shift in gravity. Sankara Zulu. She moved with the deliberate confidence of someone who had survived more than most could imagine. Her sharp gaze scanned the room until it landed on him.

Without hesitation, she walked to his table. “May I?” she asked, her voice low but commanding.
Menelik gestured to the empty chair. “I didn’t expect you to come.”

“Neither did I,” she said, sitting down. Her eyes flicked to the manifesto. “This is what they are all talking about?”

He folded the paper and leaned back, studying her. “Depends on what they’re saying.”
Before the City of the Sun and Moon rose from vision to reality, two revolutionaries had to find common ground. 

Continue the journey to Marantu with me…