Oware Mosaic Read online

  “Shut up your noise, fool!” Kweku said, and coughed. “It’s like that, everywhere! The nukes didn’t just end the war, it killed the spirit of man and ennie, alike.” He looked to see where Major Grunt was and when he saw that the officer was in a conversation with another GAF patrol man way down the line, he said, “No resistance, no change,” and shook his fist in the air.

  Kweku sneezed, and when I said, “Bless you,” he sniffed and looked at me.

  “And you know something, young lady?” he asked. “Even if the mainstream businesses were still open, our bit-credit means nothing anymore. Your bits mean nothing. How can you make a difference in the world if you don’t have money? Money is power. How can anyone make a difference in the world without currency?”

  I shrugged.

  He stared at me for a moment, and then took another puff of his jot.

  “Those damned hackers monopolized the bitcoin market,” he continued. “Messed it up for everyone. I used to own a lot in bitcoins until I got bamboozled.”

  Nana’s jot went out, so he lit it again, cupping his hands around the cigarette. “I know. I know.” He shook the match out and flung it to the side. “It’s now led by a bunch of gangster nerds—boy does that sound like a conundrum—gangster nerds of the internet, thug hackers, so bitcoins are losing value in a wasteland where the rich hide in their invisible kingdoms. What are we to do?”

  “Find a way to properly download consciousness onto the retcons,” Kweku said. “Those little data orbs that can be surgically implanted right in the back of the neck of those clones just like they are in us. That is the way man and ennies can live forever.”

  Nana inhaled a puff of the jot and blew out circle smokes. “What you’re saying, brother, we should defy the Lord our Father’s purpose? We should cheat death?”

  “Damn, right!” he said and bellowed a deep laugh. “Sentient beings will be able to live forever!” He gestured to us in line. “Wouldn’t you people want to be immortal?”

  Auntie Yajna said. “Honey, I’d be lying like a no-legged dog if I said I wanted to look in the mirror and see these big old sagging breasts frowning at me for the next umpteen eternities.”

  Nana cackled out a laugh and stood. His plaid shirt flapped open revealing his potbelly. He tossed his cigarette down and extinguished it with his large ashen foot. There were now only about ten people ahead of us, in line.

  There was a woman behind us. She had her hair tied in two pigtail braids that cascaded down her back and almost touched the ground. On top of her head, the woman balanced a large basket. I supposed it was meant to hold the rations for her many children. It seemed like she had a herd of about six or seven children from the ages of four up to eight. They were the children that Linga and Yoni had befriended and drove all the other folks in the line mental.

  “Maybe our scientists are playing God,” the woman said, “and maybe that’s a moral and theological issue. But food, on the other hand, is a different story. It doesn’t matter if you have opinions on science or religion, we all need to eat to live. And I’m here to tell you that there’s plenty of food, but the government is trying to control us, keep us sickly. Us begging for their help keeps us distracted on resisting their oppressive ways and keeps them in power.”

  They both looked over to her, and then at each other, and nodded. Nana was on his feet. Kweku remained seated but shielded his eyes because Nana stood in the line of sight of the sun.

  “Damn, man,” Kweku said. “Get out of the sun, will you? You want to blind me?”

  “You’re my wife, now?” Nana said, his face painted with anger. “Cause you’re fussing at me like an old noisy generator that can’t be fixed.” He stepped to the side and placed his hands on his hips. “Better?” He turned, and scratched his chin, and spoke to the woman in front of us. “Now, what say you, Pigtails?”

  “Food, man, food,” the woman with the pigtails said. “Why do we have food rations? Huh? There should be no food rations because there’s enough food to feed the world twenty times over every day.”

  Nana said. “You’re talking foolish woman. The crops suffered from radioactive nuclides. Decontamination of the soil proved more difficult to overcome than anticipated.”

  Major Grunt joined in, saying, “I’d have to agree with the old man, there. Too many people are toxic from radiation and aren’t allowed to handle, or manufacture food.”

  “Gloves don’t stop radiation,” Kweku said. “There is no way to manufacture food, properly without putting on a ridiculous HAZMAT suit?”

  The woman said, “I don’t mean no disrespect, Major Grunt, but…”

  She waited for his response.

  Major Grunt nodded, and said, “Go ahead. I won’t take offense.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “All I’m saying is that the government is lying to all of us when they say the machines are non-functional since the war. How is that even possible? A bomb that can destroy factories?”

  “There is such a weapon,” Major Grunt said.

  The woman shook her head. “Yeah, but I don’t know. Kill all of our computers and machines, though? All of them? I don’t think so. I know there are viruses and EMP’s but a thing that can destroy all of them? Some kind of computer virus? They’re not telling us the truth.”

  Auntie Yajna joined in on the conversation. “What, sister? Kwame Gyekye the philosopher, you’re not.”

  The woman faced Auntie Yajna and said, “What say? You don’t know me to talk to me like that.”

  “Excuse me to say,” Auntie said. “but these men got me riled up like a fat boy alone in a plantain chip factory. Now, forget about the machines being non-functional. That’s not what we should be concerned with. Everyone knows that the vegetation, animals and plant life have been affected for the worst—that’s why most of the wildlife is rabid, and have deformities, the poor creatures.”

  “And you know what?” the woman said. “The government has no solution, no solution at all to make things better!”

  “Once all the proper operatives are in place,” Major Grunt said. “I assure you the government will have solutions for the betterment of its citizens.”

  Auntie Yajna shook her head. “How? By harnessing our consciousness, like that’s even possible, and put it in a dormant-clone of us?”

  “Believe me,” Major Grunt said. “It’s possible.”

  I was surprised that he allowed himself to get sucked into the conversation. He was by far, the only GAF that tolerated talk against the government in his presence. I guess the topic was something that he was passionate about.

  “That ain’t no way to live!” Kweku said. “They don’t even know how to make it work, yet. Look at President Mbutu. Three times they’ve tried over the past decade, and they’ve yet to successfully place his consciousness in one of the orbs and then put it a clone. They say there’s too many complications, and already they had tragedies where a leader or two had their consciousness wiped clean, thrown into an abyss of nothingness.”

  “On the light,” Nana said, which is a common Ghanaian phrase, “them hackers keep putting viruses in the system.”

  “We’re being led by a bunch of bureaucratic idiots,” Auntie said.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Major Grunt said. “That kind of talk will get you into trouble.”

  Kweku said, “Now you know, people will complain about anything and everything they can, Major. Let the woman talk.”

  “Your funeral,” Major Grunt said and put his hands in the air. He shook his head and took another stroll down the line away from our conversation.

  “You think it’s self-sabotage, woman?” Kweku asked my Auntie.

  Auntie Yajna gave an adamant nod. “Yes, we voted for the IGP to be in charge of Ghana, but the truth is, he’s there only because his predecessor, and other global leaders, are on life support due to radiation poisoning!”

  Nana scratched his head, and said, “And because we have the most advancements in technology on the subject of
consciousness transference, most of the countries of the world came running to us, making the Inspector General Bete Sibaya the most powerful man in the world.”

  “Do you really think he’s still alive?” Kweku asked.

  “Why? Because no one has seen him in public in several months?” Auntie Yajna said. “The man is a recluse. He can do his job from anywhere in the world.”

  “All we see of him are these tele-speeches on our corneal stream,” Nana said. “Or street corner holograms of his National Address.”

  Kweku laughed. “It’s not even him, it’s an avatar of him. Some bigger than life recreation of him claiming how Ghana is the most powerful nation in the world.”

  Nana shook his head. “Yet, Ghana is a third world country, now?”

  “The nuclear devastation made us a third-world planet,” Kweku said.

  Auntie Yajna said, “Since we’ve been manufacturing dormant-clones the last decade and developed consciousness vaults that truly keep the minds from corrupting, we are the country, and continent, I dare say, that holds the royal flush of humanity’s future.”

  “Just because the body has been beaten, bruised and scarred,” Nana said, “doesn’t mean the heart, soul, and spirit can’t still reign supreme.”

  Auntie nodded. “Yes! Believe me when I say, this land may look like it’s dying, but our resources dictate that we’re thriving! The government just doesn’t want us to know that so they don’t do anything to rebuild, for fear of losing their grip around our thirsty throats.”

  Kweku said, “Now listen to this sweet bosomy lady!”

  “Boy shush,” Auntie Yajna said, waving in a dismissive gesture.

  Kweku tapped Nana on his shoulder. “She knows what she’s talking about!”

  The woman with pigtails said, “And I don’t? So what? Just because Ghanaian scientists had a few snags transferring consciousness to the dormant-clones, it’s a total fail?”

  “Clones, scones! What in the world does that have to do with our food?” Nana asked.

  “I’ll tell you, Mr. Got something to say about everything,” Auntie Yajna said. “What monies our country does have, is spent on a flawed technology. While the smartest scientists in the world, our people, are ignoring the fact that focusing on agriculture is going to save the world. Many of the plants that provided sustenance are dying out by the second? And advancements in fixing our broken system of feeding our people? Well, that’s moving at a snail’s pace?”

  Kweku leaped to his feet and pointed at Auntie Yajna. “At best!”

  “Boy, what’s gotten into you?” Nana asked. “You done hopped up like you shat in your pants.”

  “I reckon you would know,” Kweku said. “Ain’t been a day, I’ve seen you that you don’t smell like a walking sewer.”

  “You two are a mess!” Auntie Yajna said, laughing. “At the end of the day, it’s not just our nation but many countries all over the world that are starving. Look around. We don’t need television, iPhones, or computers to show us that the world is dying, we can feel it. We can feel it! Our souls can taste it, and you can breathe in hope all you want, you can’t deny that the propaganda our government is giving us about a new life in a new body that can adapt to this toxic environment, smells rotten to the core.”

  “Preach on, priestess!” Nana said, and raised his fist in a gesture to honor Auntie.

  She continued, “Forget about Ghana, never mind Mother Africa! If we don’t rectify this global problem, or huh, find a magical doorway to a better world, we’re all going to our graves and there won’t be anyone after us to grieve!”

  How could you follow that? There were no words spoken between the village philosophers for a few minutes. The sound of children laughing and screaming became welcomed fodder beneath the tribal drumming from the musicians. I kept my eyes on Kweku. The man was a caricature of intrigue. He seemed to be eating up everything that was said by Auntie Yajna and the others.

  He finished his cigarette and flicked it away. “You say we’re a third world country, but really we’re not. Ghana will figure it out. It will. But did you know that it took the generous act of third world countries to show us how to survive during disastrous times?”

  “It did. It did,” Nana said, and walked over to the cigarette still lit, and twisted his barefoot over it. “Countries like India have become valuable resources to the world, even if the lady says we’re really a first-world country. Come on, fool. Let’s go! We were first in line to get our rations. I think I have some more tobacco back in my place.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Kweku said, and nodded. “All right, fool. I’ll just say one more thing to these intelligent women over here. Look here! That’s why the leaders of this world founded the Global Consulate, to create a check and balances system for all heads of state. It was them that instituted the protocol of rationing our supplies. Say what you want, but we’d really be in trouble if there were no food rations.”

  Auntie Yajna and the women traded glances and nodded.

  “Kwe,” Nana said, “Your nose is bleeding.” He reached in his shorts and produced a handkerchief.

  “Boy, I don’t know where that’s been.”

  “Take the thing, before you bleed all over yourself. I haven’t used it. Here, now!”

  Kweku took it and wiped his nose. More blood came out of his nostrils.

  “Just tilt your head back and leave it there for a bit, Nana said.

  “I know what to do!” Kweku said. “Now stop pestering me,” he said, and the two men disappeared in the crowd of people.

  One of the musicians that was drumming stood up and started dancing while his friends continued beating a tribal tune.

  “Fee-Fee,” a voice said, behind me. “We’re hungry!”

  I turned around to see Linga, one of the twins, tugging on my shirt.

  Pointing to the front of the line, I said, “Well, it won’t be too much longer now.”

  “Stop pestering your sister,” Auntie said, tickling her. “Run along. You’ll be fed soon enough.”

  Linga’s adorable dimples, her young wise eyes, and that infectious laugh brought me joy. The twins were six years old. Auntie Yajna adopted them when they were infants. Their parents died from radiation exposure. Most people died from that. If the ion radiation hadn’t killed them, yet, they were affected with deformities and massive tumors.

  When Auntie Yajna took them in, it was well after she had gotten a job with the Inspector General. After her time working as a nurse at the infirmary.

  She got fired when they found out she was a blood addict and had been stealing bags and bags of blood from the infirmary’s blood bank. They caught her red-handed when she was trapped after the building mysteriously caught fire. Auntie told me she was proud when the day came that she stood up at her addiction anonymous meetings and told everyone she went cold turkey and hadn’t touched the evil stuff in almost a decade.

  Since the GAF didn’t charge or suspect her in the alleged larceny, when the entire wing of that building burned down, Inspector General Bete Sibaya gave her a second chance. Auntie Yajna was no longer an infirmary nurse. She had once treated his wife when she fell ill at a cricket event we were all attending. Soon after that, he’d hired Auntie Yajna to be the family’s housekeeper, and she was just fine with that.

  Although, she still talks about the IG like a dog for cheating on his wife. Auntie Yajna claims that his act of infidelity birthed a child that he does his damnedest to keep secret, but one day, she overheard him arguing with his former mistress about sending more money to take care of his child, and Auntie Yajna said, he stormed around his mansion the entire rest of the day, chewing out anyone who crossed his path.

  I hadn’t had proof, yet, but I knew he had something to do with the rise in human trafficking. It was the creepy way he looked at young children whenever I saw him speak at a public event. Soon as he was appointed Head of State when President Mbutu was put on ice, children started disapp
earing. If only scientists found a way to safely transfer the President’s consciousness into a dormant clone, true order would be restored to Ghana. If that were true, maybe the girl I hit would still be alive. All we’d had needed was her consciousness to transfer to a dormant clone and she’d be as good as new, alive and breathing.

  “Fee-Fee?” Yoni said. “Linga won’t let me be the Tag Chief!”

  I turned around toward Yoni. His big smile, and clumpy afro that seemed like a gopher had made a home there, made me want to kiss his cheeks until he squirmed out of my grasp. Linga’s pale blue sundress crumpled against Yoni’s already dirt-stained shorts, and they pushed into the lady in the line behind us, backward a little.

  She just smiled at me.

  “Where are your manners, Yoni?” I asked. “Say excuse me to the nice lady.”

  The lady wore a dress made of Kente cloth material, bright with the colors of green, black, yellow and orange. “Trust me, I have eight children in all. I don’t get flustered easily,” she said.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” he said, just as one of her children pushed him and ran off.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” he said, and ran after her.

  Auntie Yajna laughed. “Oh, dear. I sure wish my old bones could still run around like that, but even if I could, honey, my bunions would have none of that.”

  “Girl, you’re telling the truth,” the woman said, laughing. “Well, seems like the line is moving faster today than usual. We’ll be in front in a few minutes.”

  “I hope so,” Auntie Yajna said. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  “Me, too, girl,” the woman said.

  “That so?” Auntie said. “Mind if I ask where?”

  “Not at all,” she said. “I work at the C-Tech.”

  “The consciousness vault?”

  “Uh-huh. And you?”

  Major Grunt walked by us, toward the front of the line, this time, ignoring me.