Local Government
Cap-Lamò’s government feels less like a polished machine and more like a forge that hasn’t cooled yet.
Jaragua as a nation is ruled by the Provisional Oligarchy: General Taiyewo commanding the military, Kehinde overseeing domestic affairs, and Chief Casiguaya handling maritime power. But Cap-Lamò does not wait for distant signatures to solve daily problems. The revolution taught the city to govern itself long before it was legal to do so.
The City Council of Wards
Cap-Lamò is divided into wards that grew naturally out of necessity: the Harbor Wards, Candlecourt, the Merchant March, the Heights, and the Mangrove Reach. Each ward selects a representative, not through rigid ballots yet, but through community assemblies that feel more like town gatherings than formal elections. Drums call people together. Names are proposed aloud. Arguments happen in the open.
Some representatives are former Mawon officers. Others are respected merchants, boatwrights, or nganga. Legitimacy comes less from pedigree and more from who stood firm during the revolt.
These ward delegates meet weekly in what used to be the Company’s customs hall. The iron insignia has been removed, but the stone remembers. Decisions are debated publicly whenever possible. When private deliberation is required, it is noted openly afterward. Transparency is not perfect, but it is fiercely valued.
The Balance of Authority
Military authority remains visible but restrained. Captain Ikenna of Fort Corail answers to General Taiyewo, not to the city council, yet he attends council sessions when harbor security or coastal patrols are discussed. The army’s presence is protective, not dominant. That balance is deliberate.
Domestic matters such as food distribution, repurposing plantations, and the management of shell currency fall under Kehinde’s broader authority, but Cap-Lamò handles implementation locally. If a shipment of grain fails to arrive, the ward delegates solve it first and report upward later.
The Role of Faith and Custom
Kap Sèvi practitioners and nganga do not hold official seats in the council, but their influence is undeniable. Before major decisions, kola may be thrown. When tensions rise between former house and field workers, respected spiritual leaders are asked to mediate.
Religion is not codified into law, yet it shapes tone and conscience. The city believes governance must answer not only to living citizens, but to ancestors who bled for its freedom.
Law and Justice
There is no elaborate court hierarchy yet. Minor disputes are settled within wards. Theft, assault, and fraud are brought before a rotating panel of council delegates and respected community members. Public accountability matters. Punishments tend toward restitution rather than spectacle.
For crimes tied to slavery or Company collaboration, emotions still run hot. The council works carefully to prevent vengeance from becoming policy. Some collaborators were coerced. Others were not. Sorting that truth is one of Cap-Lamò’s hardest ongoing labors.
Tensions Beneath the Optimism
Cap-Lamò’s government is hopeful, but fragile.
The northern Mariana territory complicates matters. News of renewed slave labor there reaches the city in murmurs and clenched jaws. Diplomacy is ongoing, but trust is thin.
Foreign merchants push for clearer tariffs and fixed currency policy. The Brotherhood of the Coast offers protection at a price. Théah largely pretends Jaragua does not exist.
And in the background, the Atabean Trading Company would love to see this young system fracture under the weight of inexperience.
Still, when council meetings adjourn and the drums begin in Candlecourt, there is a sense of something rare. A people who have only ever been ruled are learning how to rule themselves.
The city does not yet have polished institutions. What it has is memory, stubbornness, and the unshakable conviction that no foreign governor will ever again dictate its future.
Harbor Wards Delegate
Cap-Lamò’s ward delegates are not polished politicians. They are survivors who were handed responsibility before they were handed peace. Some are beloved. Some are tolerated. A few are watched carefully.
Bamidele “Stonewake” Okoro
A former dock foreman who coordinated sabotage during the revolt, Bamidele is broad, quiet, and built like the harbor breakwater he helped defend. During the final assault on Cap-Carrefour, he led the team that seized the inner quay gun turrets.
He speaks little in council, but when he does, it lands heavy.
Dockworkers adore him. Sailors trust him. He is seen as incorruptible because he once refused extra rations during a famine so injured fighters could eat.
However, merchants find him inflexible. He distrusts foreign shipping interests deeply and has blocked several favorable trade proposals simply because he smelled Company influence.
He is well liked by the people. Less liked by those who prefer smoother negotiations.
Candlecourt Delegate
Simisola Ayo
Simisola was born into slavery as a house servant and learned bookkeeping before she learned to read fully. During the revolution, she quietly siphoned funds, falsified supply ledgers, and fed intelligence to Mawon cells.
Now she represents Candlecourt.
She dresses sharply in colorful Ifrian cotton and carries herself with poised precision. She speaks Patwa quickly and Montaigne flawlessly.
She is efficient. She is practical. She is sometimes accused of being too pragmatic.
Former field workers occasionally mutter that she thinks like a house slave, too willing to compromise with merchants and foreign captains. She counters that governance requires compromise.
Simisola is respected, but not universally loved. The old divisions between house and field linger in subtle glances.
She is not an outsider by birth. But to some, she feels like one.
Merchant March Delegate
Hogan de la Cruz
Yes. That de la Cruz.
Hogan is the nephew of Chief Pablo de la Cruz of the Mariana territory. Unlike his uncle, he stayed in Cap-Lamò after the war and sided openly with the Provisional Oligarchy.
He is half Rahuri, half Castillian, educated, articulate, and politically savvy. He manages several repurposed plantations now focused on food production rather than sugar export.
Some see him as proof that integration is possible. Others see him as a reminder that Mariana territory is drifting back toward Théan influence.
Hogan is calm, charming, and deeply aware that he is watched from all sides. He advocates trade normalization and diplomatic outreach.
He is viewed by some as an outsider because of his uncle’s northern politics, but he bleeds Jaraguan red. That counts for something.
Heights Delegate
Akosua Dubaku
Akosua is a former nganga apprentice who never completed full priestly training because the war interrupted everything. During the revolution, she coordinated supply networks in the highlands and oversaw herbal field hospitals.
She is thoughtful, deliberate, and slow to anger. When debates grow heated, she does not raise her voice. She simply waits. People tend to quiet themselves in response.
The Heights are home to the city’s administrative buildings and better-kept estates. Akosua works constantly to prevent the reemergence of elitism. She pushes for transparency in council decisions and insists that meeting records be publicly announced in Candlecourt.
She is widely respected, even if some of the younger radicals believe her to be too cautious.
Mangrove Reach Delegate
Zinsa “Mangrove-Runner” Temitope
Yes, the same Zinsa who builds boats.
The Reach does not trust paper governance easily. They chose one of their own.
Zinsa is fiery, blunt, and spiritually anchored. She openly invokes Kap Sèvi wisdom in council sessions and is unafraid to challenge economic policies that feel too Company-shaped.
Some merchants find her superstitious. Some elders find her too confrontational. The people of the Reach adore her. She is not an outsider to her ward, but in the formal council chamber, with ledgers and tariffs on the table, she sometimes feels like one.