Oware Mosaic Read online

  “I’m IGP Bete Sibaya’s housekeeper,” Auntie Yajna said.

  The woman’s face showed surprise. “You’ve actually seen him? In person?”

  Auntie Yajna laughed. “Of course. He’s not a ghost, just extremely private.”

  “I don’t understand why you still have to get in line for rations? I would think he’d have your apartment full of whatever your heart desired.”

  “No, girl,” Auntie said. “I wish that were true, but I’ve got to stand in this line twice a day to feed my family, same as you.”

  The woman shook her head. “Hmph. Who would’ve guessed?”

  With that, nothing else was said between them. I got the feeling that Auntie working for the IGP made everyone else in the line pipe up. It was no secret that people were afraid of Bete Sibaya. He’d been known in the past to display a bad temper in public, even arresting some people on the spot for saying anything he found hostile and in opposition to his message.

  Auntie had a good heart, and I don’t think she realized that the people saw her more as an outsider rather than one of them. The moment they knew where she worked, they saw her as a spy. No, they wouldn’t dare complain, bitch or moan in her presence for fear that it would get back to the IGP. Auntie Yajna was oblivious to that. Either that, or she chose not to acknowledge their ignorance.

  After a couple of minutes, the children took turns, scrambling back and forth between us, until Auntie Yajna caught both of the twins in her grasp, their short arms doing their best to wrap around her for a big hug.

  Auntie Yajna hugged them both. “Oh, I love those hugs, so much!”

  She tickled them and they both laughed and slid down to the ground.

  “Guess what day it is?” Linga said. “Hump day,” she said, jumped up, and started thrusting her hips. “It’s Wednesday! Wednesday, everyone!”

  “Oh, child, stop being devilish,” Auntie Yajna said. “Where did you learn how to move your hips like that?”

  “From watching Feeni twerk while she worked!” Yoni said.

  I didn’t deny it, just shook my head while the others laughed. Auntie Yajna, and the woman with all those children, kept her eyes on their little brats, both shared faces of pride as the musicians allowed the twins and the other kids to play on their drums. As always, my mind drifted back to the House of Oware game. I couldn’t wait to get back in and do an autopsy on the girl and find out exactly what did kill her.

  A girl, maybe my age, maybe a bit younger, bumped into me, and I turned and met her eyes. They were green. She had albino skin and very short cropped hair. It was so short and the way she carried herself, made me think twice about whether she was female or not.

  The green-eyed girl said, “Look where you’re going.”

  I didn’t respond but she was with two other girls and they all laughed. They were all riding on skateboards and dressed in black hooded sweat suits, carrying bright orange backpacks over one shoulder. Up close, her features were soft, but other than that, the way she wore her clothes, and the tough raspy voice made me think she could pass for otherwise.

  What did Kweku say in the interview? That the boy or girl was albino and wore a bright orange backpack. Could that be the witness?

  I started off after, knowing that I had to ask her what she saw, but after one step, Auntie Yajna grabbed me.

  “Where are you going, young lady?” she asked.

  “I was just—”

  She held her hand up. “Uhn-uhn! You see we are near the front of the line and I need you to carry the children’s rations.”

  I bit my bottom lip and sighed. Auntie Yajna heard me and opened her mouth to say something but Yoni ran up to her and crashed into her hips.

  “Breaker, breaker, 1-9,” Yoni said. “Code blue, code blue. My sister just toot.”

  “Did not,” Linga said, stumbling into my legs. “That was my stomach growling!”

  He started giggling. “Sure it was.”

  Linga folded her arms and pouted. “Stop laughing. Fee-Fee make him stop laughing at me!”

  “Stop teasing your sister, Yoni,” I said. “Or someone may get a smack to their bottom.”

  Linga erupted in an obnoxious overdone laugh. That made everyone in earshot chuckle, and gaze at her.

  “Not funny!” Yoni said.

  “Is too!” Linga said. “Just like your dirty earlobes!”

  “My ears aren’t dirty!” he said. “I took a bath last night—but you didn’t.”

  “Did, too!” Linga said, protesting. “I took a super-duper dry bath!”

  That made the entire line of people laugh. We inched forward, and the couple in front of us received their rations and moved on through the busy streets, putting us at the front of the line. There was a heavyset woman standing behind a table stacked with plastic packages. On her left were packages filled with apple slices, milk, rice porridge, and utensils. On her right were the same, except instead of a carton of milk, there was a carton of processed blood. That’s the food rations that we’d get since we were ennies.

  We saw that woman every day, and of course, had become quite friendly with her. She never went anywhere without her parrot, Snoopy, on her shoulder. The woman’s skin was freckled with moles and she wore a hairnet. Her tee shirt was red and had an image of white wings on the front.

  “Hey Yajna,” she said, and held out the scanner gun.

  “Kyoma,” Auntie Yajna said, and extended her arm and turned her wrist up, displaying her identification number. The scanner issued a long beep and N/A flashed red in a small LED window on the gun.

  “You still haven’t taken care of that?” Kyoma asked. “You said you were going to fix it, yesterday, and the day before that.”

  “I’m sorry,” Auntie Yajna said. “I was at the SSNIT, for three unbearable hours after work, yesterday. I swear it was working when I got here.”

  Kyoma said, “I don’t have time for this. You want to start a riot with all these hungry people?” She glanced over to me. “I’ll just scan Feeni’s ID.”

  “Okay,” I said, and held out my wrist.

  Kyoma waved the gun over my wrist. My number, 01010100, blinked green in the LED reader.

  “Hello Snoopy,” Linga said.

  Snoopy looked down at her, and then at Yoni, who was dancing in place.

  “Hello!” he said, and squawked.

  The children waved, and that made Snoopy flap his wings.

  “Are we done, yet?” Snoopy asked.

  “Not by a long shot, honey,” Kyoma said, making the onlookers chuckle in amazement.

  Kyoma passed me five packages of food rations, stacking them on top of each other.

  “Why do we have to get one for Kofi,” Linga asked.

  “Because he likes a good snack when he comes home after work,” I said.

  Auntie Yajna was about to leave, and Kyoma grabbed her hand and whispered. “You work with the IGP. Get that fixed or next time we may just have a riot. We’re almost out of food, and we just started.”

  “What happened?” Auntie Yajna whispered back.

  Kyoma shrugged. “Problems with a shipment. Won’t get the next one until tomorrow.”

  “Ay?” Auntie said. “Well, what about all these hungry people?”

  The woman behind us, said, “There’s someone behind you, you know?”

  “All right, all right,” Major Grunt said. “Move along.”

  Auntie Yajna said, “I’m going, Major Grunt, dear. Sorry.”

  “See you, tomorrow,” Kyoma said, to Auntie.

  We went about our way and the woman that waited behind us, placed her large basket down to fill it with food rations and called out to her children to join her. The twins skipped around Auntie Yajna and me, in their ritual hunger dance, begging to open up their ration package, and like every single day, Auntie told them they would eat as soon as we got home.

  6

  01010100 01100001 01110100 01110101

  “Ooh, child, I have to use the bathroom like som
ething awful,” Auntie Yajna said.

  “Good thing your ID number works, Fee-Fee,” Linga said.

  “I know it by hard,” Yoni said. It’s zero-ten-ten-one hundred!”

  I giggled and poked him in the stomach. “Look at that!”

  “I know it, too,” Linga said. “Zero-ten-ten-one hundred!”

  “You two are such brilliant children!”

  “Feeni, baby,” Auntie Yajna said. “Make sure the twins wash their hands before they eat.”

  “Sure thing,” I said, and chuckled, watching Auntie Yajna rush to the bathroom, huffing and hissing like it was the end of the world.

  I placed the food packages on the kitchen counter and hadn’t been in the kitchen ten seconds before Linga ran into my bottom and collapsed at my feet, sobbing. “Fee-Fee, Fee-Fee, Yoni said earlier that he’s going to feed my mind to the boogeyclone!”

  “Did not,” he said, ripped his shoes off, and ran into the living room.

  “No coloring books until you wash your hands, first, and eat!” I yelled.

  “Auntie Yajna’s in the bathroom,” he said, whining. “Aw, come on. I just want to color for a few minutes.”

  “Go upstairs!” I said.

  He went stomping upstairs in as dramatic a fashion as he could.

  Looking down at his twin sister, who was sobbing at my feet, I stooped down to her, and said, “Do you think it’s even possible for him to get your mind? It’s in your head, and it’s invisible. You don’t really think he can, do you?”

  “Yes,” Linga said. “If he downloads it into a wet-cum.”

  Wet-cum?

  I almost lost it. Omigod, had she known what went across my mind when she said that, I’d have been embarrassed. “You mean retcon?” I asked, stifling a laugh.

  “Yes,” she said. “Wet-cum. That’s what I said. Yoni said that it’s judition for the boy twin to have the girl’s twin’s mind to do what he wanted.”

  “Oh, did he?” I grinned and picked her up in my arms. “Ooh, you’re getting heavy. Are you trying to say the word tradition?”

  The corners of Linga’s mouth nearly touched the bottom of her ear lobes, her smile was so wide. “Yes, yes, Fee-Fee. That’s it. I was close, though, huh?”

  “Yes, you were, Linga! And that’s such a big word to remember, too. Great vocabulary! You have a great mind!”

  “Thank you,” she said, grinning. “I’m a wordsmith!”

  “That you are! Now go wash your hands.”

  On cue, we both smelled something, looked at each other and laughed.

  “Auntie Yajna’s stinking up the bathroom,” she said, holding her nose, pinkie up.

  “I think you better go upstairs like your brother and wash your hands,” I said.

  “Uh-huh,” Linga said, making over-exaggerated nods. “Because downstairs is a danger zone to my nose. Auntie Yajna may be dead of self-fixiation.”

  Yoni ran down the stairs, falling to his knees when he hit the bottom and sliding across the floor.

  “Hey, daredevil. Easy!” I said.

  “You mean asphyxiation, Linga, and don’t say that,” I said, and placed her down. “It’s not nice to speak about someone dying.”

  “Eew, what’s that smell,” Yoni yelled out.

  “If I hear another word about it,” Auntie Yajna yelled from the bathroom. “No blood snacks for either of you!”

  The twins looked at each other, giggled, and covered their mouths. I went over to the kitchen counter to unwrap the food rations. One-by-one I placed them on our old wooden kitchen table.

  “Don’t think I haven’t realized that you didn’t wash your hands, yet, Linga.”

  “I washed my hands,” she said.

  “The same way you had a super-duper dry bath?”

  “That’s not funny,” she said. “You’re teasing me.”

  “Aw girl, don’t be so sensitive,” I said. “Now git!”

  Yoni skipped around Linga, saying, “Duck, duck, goose!” and then pushed her in the head.

  “Stop!” Linga cried out.

  “Yoni, no!” I said. “It’s not ever nice to hit girls.”

  “She’s not a girl, she’s my sister,” he said.

  Linga chased him around the table, them both laughing.

  “Guys, stop!”

  Auntie Yajna yelled from the bathroom. “Go wash your hands now, Linga!”

  And off she went upstairs, like a frightened rabbit.

  Yoni skipped over to the kitchen table and climbed up into a chair. “Feeding our tummies is serious business!”

  I chuckled, pure joy sweeping over me. I loved my family, and I loved the twins. By the time I placed Yoni’s blood snack on the table and placed a spoon for his rice porridge on the table, Linga ran down the stairs.

  “You did not wash your hands that quickly, young lady,” I said.

  “Did, too,” she said, and ran over to me so that I could smell her hands.

  They smelled fresh of soap. “I stand corrected.”

  “Yes, you do,” she said, and climbed up into a chair at the table.

  Outside the kitchen window, the drumming by the market stopped, and I guess the musicians had finally taken a break. There was a house in back of ours. Their yard was mostly weeds. A rusted swing set sat in front of a two-car garage that never opened. Toward the side of the house was a colorful kid’s cooking stove under by a large African mahogany timber tree. Scattered toys and dolls littered the ground. A little red plastic table stood in the middle of the yard with puzzle pieces on top of it. Dozens of puzzle boxes sat underneath the table. None of that stuff seemed like it had been played with, in years. I remembered seeing a cute little girl solving jigsaw puzzles on numerous occasions, many years ago. The parents were always going away on vacations and there was a girl around my age who used to live there, but I assumed she moved away right around the time I moved in with Auntie Yajna and the family.

  Some laughter came from around the corner of the house. I waited to see what was happening. The husband chased his wife into the back yard, the two of them laughing. He grabbed her from behind and kissed her cheek. It made me smile, seeing how happy and in love they were. They suddenly stopped laughing and it looked like the husband had received a call.

  Auntie Yajna came into the kitchen. “Is your rice water still warm, Yoni? Your porridge?”

  “Uh, huh,” he said, and put a spoonful in his mouth. “Delicious!”

  I’m glad someone likes the food, I thought.

  Linga asked, “Can we watch cartoons?”

  “I guess so,” Auntie said. “Feeni dear, I’ll eat on the way to the IGP’s mansion. I’m going upstairs to change.”

  I nodded, and then put my hands on my hips, and spoke to the twins. “Watch cartoons on your corneal streamers.”

  “We want to watch it on the TV,” Linga said, whining.

  Our flat screen TV sat on the wall behind the kitchen table. I kept the remote in the kitchen drawer filled with old crap, cereal toys, and papers. I found it buried in the pile of junk mail and turned on the TV.

  “Okay,” I said. “All right, guys. Which cartoon do you want to watch?”

  “What time is it?” Yoni asked. His little eyebrows furrowed.

  I glanced back at the digital clock above the stove. “Almost seven.”

  Yoni fidgeted in his seat and pointed at the television. “Uncle Grandpa is about to come on. It’s on the Cartoon Network.”

  I pointed the remote at the screen. “Do you know what chan—”

  “Thirty-six!” they both yelled out.

  With the remote, I turned on the TV. A local cable news broadcast showed two scientists in heavy debate. The conversation between them was heated. The chyron at the bottom of the screen said that one man was from Ethiopia. He was slim with a large salt and pepper afro, about sixty. The other man was South African, lean like a cricket player, wore thick-rimmed glasses and seemed to be much older than his counterpart. They were sitting at a round table, separ
ated by a very haggardly-faced brunette woman.

  “That is preposterous,” the Ethiopian said. “You are suggesting that all those natural disasters in the United States—right before the Final Event—Texas, Florida, Puerto Rico, and even in other countries like Mexico and Japan, was caused by CERN experimenting with the Higgs boson, and it becoming unstable, not an effect of some computer hackers over-riding satellites and monkeying around with the American government’s weather modification weapon as in the High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program?”

  The South African man’s face wrinkled. “That—that—that’s exactly what I’m saying if you let me finish!”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” the hard-faced brunette woman said. “CERN is in Switzerland. How could it affect that many different regions? The entire planet is dying because of the nuclear cataclysmic event, a decade ago.”

  The Ethiopian waved a dismissive hand and said, “Next, he’ll be saying there’s a fold in the universe and aliens will control all electronics over on Maple Street.”

  “I don’t even know where Maple Street is!” the South African said. “Professor Stephen Hawking once told me that man will one day spread out into space, and to other stars, so a disaster on Earth would not mean the end of the human race.”

  The Ethiopian man said, “Yes, yes. I’ve heard you say it many times before on interviews, that Hawking, may he rest in peace, said that nuclear war, global warming, and genetically-engineered viruses are among the scenarios he believes are the ways that things have gone wrong for humanity, and that we will not establish self-sustaining colonies in space for at least the next hundred years. What’s your point, since we have another eighty-something years to go?”

  “That consciousness transferring,” the South African man said, “in a way, is us going not outer space but into inner space. That’s how we’re going to self-sustain against punk kids with a high IQ and a fetish for developing the next killer virus that could wipe out humanity.”

  Linga pouted and started kicking her feet against the table.

  “Linga, stop!” I said.

  “Can I watch Uncle Grandpa? I’m missing it,” she said, whining.

  “Just a moment, darling,” I said, and turned up the sound. “I want to hear this, real quick.”