Oware Mosaic

by Nzondi

  An old lady in a Kente cloth dress whizzed by me on a ten-speed bicycle. There were no cars nor trucks driving on the streets but instead, young and old alike rode by on pedal-bikes, scooters, and skateboards. The underground city pieced together a jigsaw puzzle of errant sounds: murmur and laughter from an array of conversations, the shuffling of wandering feet, and the stereophonic sounds of voice-overs delivering sales pitches for their commercial products on larger-than-life billboards and holograms.

  Neon signs flashed and popped with vibrant color. One sign boasted BEHIND ON YOUR LIFE TAX? DON’T BE EXILED BACK TO THE UPPERLAND, CALL ZABARI AND SONS AND LIVE DEBT FREE! Another sign proclaimed DONATE TO THE SIBAYA FUND TO CONTINUE A RADIOACTIVE-FREE LIFE.

  “How is this possible?” I asked. “The sights, the sounds. Why doesn’t everyone live down here? At least we’d be safe from the dholes. People wouldn’t be exposed to nuclear fallout that’s still strong in many regions.”

  Dad sighed. “I believe that it was something President Mbutu wanted, but after the Final Event happened and he, like so many global leaders, transferred their consciousness onto a retcon because their health was failing due to radiation poisoning, it got lost in the planning.”

  “And that allowed Sibaya to run Ghana any way he wanted,” I said.

  “Don’t you find it strange that every global leader downloaded their consciousness onto retcons and stored them in C-Vaults—those who didn’t die of radiation poison—that is?” Dad asked.

  “I don’t think it was a coincidence, at all,” Kofi said. “Politicians and billionaires are the most dangerous people in the world. Killing for power is a way of life for them.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I said.

  Kofi chuckled. “Yeah? Well, did you know that billionaire families hand down a thousand-year trust fund from offspring-to-offspring?”

  “A thousand years?” I said.

  “Yeah, imagine that?” Kofi said. “They make sure that the wealth stays in their families, forever. Also, they make sure that the family’s ideologies stay intact. You disobey your great-great grandfather’s rules, whether they be racist, or conservative, or whatever, and you forfeit living a posh life.”

  “So what if you have your ideas, your own mind, and disagree with a way of thinking that may be prejudiced against others?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s no problem,” Kofi said. “You just live in poverty. Because even if you become successful on your own, the patriarchs will find a way for making you pay for going against family tradition.”

  “That sounds a bit far-fetched to me,” Dad said.

  “You were down here, at a club partying with your fellow officers, and didn’t bring me?” I asked Kofi.

  He turned to me, confused. “What? What are you talking about, Feenie?”

  “That mark on your hand. It’s a club stamp, right?”

  “My what?” He looked at his hand. “Oh,” he said, chuckling. “This?”

  “Yeah. why haven’t you ever brought me down here? It looks like a lot of fun.”

  “It’s not a hand stamp, stupid. I used to have a tattoo, there. When I first started hacking and joined this dumb hacker’s group online.”

  “Oh,” I said. “A tattoo of what?”

  “It was a pyramid. That was the group’s logo. When I quit the group, I had the tat removed.”

  “When was that?” I asked.

  “When I got the tat or had it removed?”

  “When you inked it.”

  “About four years, ago,” he said, and sucked his teeth. “Eh? What’s with all the questions?”

  Dad said, “If you haven’t noticed, you’ll soon discover that your brother, Kofi, is one of the best hackers in Ghana.”

  “Excuse me?” Kofi said. “You mean in Africa.”

  “The world,” Dad said.

  Kofi nodded. “I do like the sound of that.”

  A woman walked by holding the hand of a young girl; a girl who looked so similar to Lamp’s sister, I’d thought I saw a ghost. It wasn’t, of course. My face must have shone a deep sadness because my father placed his large hand on the back of my neck, squeezing it gently.

  “What’s wrong, Otsoo?”

  The question caught me off guard, and I shook my head like a mosquito pestered me.

  “Nothing,” I said, and summoned up a fake smile. It was a genuine effort.

  “Wait,” I said to Kofi. “You can hack our brains?”

  “Yup,” he said.

  “You created the virus?” I said.

  “No,” Kofi said, “But I expect to find out who did, and put an end to them once and for all.”

  “Fascinating,” I said.

  “You sound like Mr. Spock,” my father said.

  I shrugged. “Who?”

  My father blew out a long sigh and shook his head. “Never mind.”

  “He was an American icon, an actor, silly girl,” Kofi said. “You can’t be serious. You’ve never watched him on the old hologram archive TV in your neural library?”

  I smirked, shaking my head. “Nope.”

  “Fascinating,” Dad said, and laughed, Kofi joining him on the private joke.

  I glanced up, catching a glimpse of another orbital drone zipping by overhead. “Why do I feel like my every move is being recorded?”

  “They’re not though,” Kofi said. “No one can see us, I made sure of that when I hacked into the close-captioned security headquarters, down here.”

  “You can’t do that?” I asked.

  “Sure I can,” Kofi said. “I used the infrared technology in our neural implants and sent out a LED signal.”

  “That’s genius,” I said. “Dad, what’s this underground city called?”

  “This is Ala,” Dad said, and placed his hand on Lamp’s shoulder. “A secret underground city for the rich but famously unfortunate people of Ghana. Sibaya contracted Lamp’s father to build this when the war started a few decades, ago, Samora. His architectural firm was one of the most innovative companies in the world.”

  “That’s why he could travel so often,” I said.

  “Yep,” Kofi said. The light from the street lamp post made his face look spectral.

  Kofi said, “Sir, I believe this is the spot.”

  “Yes,” my father said, and gazing up at the flashing purple neon sign. Kings’ Shelter Bar & Spa.

  “Wait,” I said. “This is Kings’ Shelter?”

  “Yes, why so surprised?” Dad asked.

  “This is where we’ll find the killer.”

  20

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  The place seemed like it was ripped off from a design of the Mos Eisley Cantina. There were men and women sitting at tables, drinking and laughing like they’d all heard the funniest thing in their lives, but each and every one of them had a deformity of some kind in their faces, their necks or some part of their body. Many of the women wore dreads or had their braids flowing over their shoulders, but over a dozen girls had colored their hair in bright colors of pink, green and even white.

  There were men and women in various colors of complete facial makeup: blue, red and many women wore white face paint like geisha entertainers. Waitresses in tight purple yoga pants, white hi-top sneakers, and matching midriff tees, serviced the patrons. In fancy purple letters, KINGS’ SHELTER, ran across their chests.

  “FYI, this is not a spa, Dad!” I said, speaking over Apala music blasting from speakers throughout the bar.

  Yoruban talking drums, a sekere, and thumb piano played while the sweet voice of a Nigerian singer crooned over the percussive rhythms.

  “When I think of a spa,” I said, continuing, “I think of a place to spoil myself in the luxuries of self-indulgence and relaxation.”

  “Wait for it,” Kofi said, in a playful cadence, and moved on ahead of us.

  We walked through the crowded room. People were drinking, dancing and carrying on like they spent their whole existence in that bar. Maybe
they did, considering that the world above ground was, for the most part, a wasteland.

  “So what do you have in mind?” I asked Dad.

  He pointed to the bartender. Kofi dug into a bowl of roasted peanuts and went down to the other end of the bar counter to order, flirting with a waitress who walked by him.

  “What do I have in mind?” Dad said. “We feed our palates and then we save the world!” He erupted in laughter and squeezed his large frame in between two patrons.

  Kofi came back down our way with a quarter of his blut already gone and burped. It was a pinkish concoction of gin and blood.

  “You couldn’t wait one second more to come and have a drink of blut with us?” Dad asked.

  Kofi balked. “Why would I do a thing like that?” He laughed. “Just joshing. Of course, I ordered blood beer for everyone,” Kofi said.

  A waitress came over to us, and handed Dad and me, a tall sudsy glass of blut.”

  Kofi held up his near-empty glass of blut to us. “Cheers to the bratty teens and their potbellied leader!” he said, and swallowed the last bit, slamming his glass on the bar counter.

  “I told you I don’t have a potbelly. I’m just bloated, right now,” Dad said.

  “For like, three months in a row?” Kofi asked. “Anyway, children. It’s time for you to meet the others. I wanted to have more time to hone and develop your potential, but after tonight’s attack, we have to act now.”

  “Dad, what if the killer of Lamp’s sister and the person who created the retcon virus that struck Liati Wote are the same?” I asked.

  “Little by little, as we drink, we make plans,” Kofi said, quoting an old Twi proverb.

  “And we will start soon enough,” Dad said.

  “Watch me hold my breath,” Kofi said, and took a deep breath, only to spray out hundreds of tiny chewed pretzel bits a second later. “Not.”

  “Douche bag!” I said, stepping back and bumping a person behind her. “Sorry,” I said, to the woman I nearly toppled.

  It’s Frankie!

  “Hey!” I said, and started to go after her, but Kofi grabbed my arm.

  “Where are you going?” he asked. “I’m about to make a toast!”

  “You’re such a jerk,” I said, wiping a speck of pretzel from my cheek. “That was Frankie.”

  “You’re mistaken,” he said. “Don’t you think I would’ve noticed her, being that I interviewed the weirdo, earlier today.”

  I took a step into the crowd, craning my neck. “I’m telling you that was her.”

  Dad laughed. “Seems like all it took was a sip of blut and you’re already hallucinating.”

  The two of them laughed, but I didn’t protest. Especially after what happened the other night when I drank too much. There was nothing to be proud about in regard to a contest of seeing who could last longer before becoming inebriated. I scanned the crowd, searching for Frankie.

  Great. She’s gone. Did I scare her off and blow my chance of catching her tonight?

  I had no proof that she was the terrorist, and with only her tirades of accusations, that was hardly concrete evidence. All I hoped to do was speak to her. It wasn’t a coincidence that she was in the city of Ala. I didn’t think she was following us, but I sure as hell didn’t think she was there for a girl’s night out.

  Where were her friends, anyway?

  A tall gray-haired white man with a ratty beard, dressed in a green apron said to my father, “You’re done there? What’s your pleasure, mate?”

  “Three shots of Tembo, Aussie,” Dad said, pounding his fist on the bar counter. “The good stuff, dear sir!”

  Kofi swallowed the last of his blut. “You’re giving your green-behind-the-ears daughter Yoruban elephant blood?” Kofi asked.

  “Damn, straight,” Dad said, tapping Kofi on his arm. “I had my first drink of blut when I was seventeen.”

  Kofi said, “You told me your father was an alcoholic.”

  “And your father was a blood addict,” Dad said, “But they were both brilliant. We would not have been the men we are had it not been for them.”

  “Yeah, scarred for life for being on the receiving end of his fists, each time he got high off blood smack.”

  Dad shoved him in the shoulder. “Let bygones be bygones. Him acting like an ass drove you to stay inside and tinker with computers. Now, look at you. No one can touch you.” Dad spoke over his shoulder to the bartender. “Top shelf, my good man. Top shelf for children who are about to change our future!”

  “ID?” the bartender asked, not amused by my father’s joyful blabbering.

  “Sending you a neural ID, as we speak,” Kofi said.

  “You can do that?” the bartender asked. “So you’re one of those government guys. A scanner.”

  “That I am,” Kofi said.

  Really? I thought. My brother’s connections were getting more and more impressive. It just goes to show that you can live with someone for years and still not know everything about that person.

  Kofi continued, “What? You’ve never seen any government personnel in this dive with confidential level clearance?”

  “Actually, no,” the bartender said. “I haven’t. Only low-level guys who always complain about their pay grade.” He blinked his eyes and nodded. “Hey! You sent that straight to my corneal streamer. Running their credentials…And, um, okay. There you have it. The kid checks out. She sure doesn’t look twenty-one, though.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Kofi said. “For example, that Australian accent you try so hard to use is a cover for your real dialect.”

  “Which is?”

  “American.”

  The bartender’s face told us all that Kofi was right. You’d think a bartender would have mastered the art of the poker face, being the solicitous listener to everyone’s problems. He just turned toward a patron seeking to order and went to him, saying nothing more to us.

  Dad laughed. “What’d you go and embarrass the guy like that for? I might not ever get the good stuff, again because of you.”

  “You will always get the good stuff because of me,” Kofi said. “There is nothing I can’t hack into and manipulate.”

  “Hey Dad,” I said. “I’m going to the ladies’ room, be right back.”

  “Okay, Otsoo,” he said. “Hurry back. I want you to meet the others and then there’s a matter of utmost importance I must discuss with you all.”

  I spotted the sign designating the bathrooms, and headed in that direction, looking for a waitress there with Cadence on her name tag.

  How many girls do you think work in this joint? No more than a dozen. At least, not on this shift.

  I frowned.

  If she’s working, tonight.

  The first waitress that came my way, I stopped. She was cute, short hair, purple lips, and glitter makeup.

  I said, “Hey, sorry to bother you.”

  She said, “No, what’s up, hon?”

  “I was wondering if a girl named Cadence worked here? She was a good friend of my boyfriend, and I wanted to tell her that he recently passed away.”

  Her face showed empathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Um, Cadence? No, there’s no girl that works here by that name.”

  The bartender barked, “Hey Toots! Don’t you see that table in your area waiting to order?”

  “Okay, Ham,” she said. “He’s such a penis. But, like I said, No Cadence works here. I would know.”

  “Okay,” I said, and placed my hand on her arm. “Thanks so much for your time.”

  “Sure thing.” She looked over to the bartender. “I’m going, Ham! You can stop staring, now!”

  I was about to ask the bouncer I saw, walking around the club, pointing his flashlight at people blocking access to the bar when Kofi came up behind me.

  “I thought you had to go to the bathroom,” he said.

  He caught me off guard. “Oh my God!” I said. “I thought you were a perv about to whisper in my ear.” I placed my hand to my heart and exhale
d. “No, I thought I did. It was a false alarm. I was just checking out the bar.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said. “Sure.”

  “You know how much I like to people watch.”

  “Yeah, it’s one of the few things we share in common.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Damn! Why did he have to follow me? He gets on my nerves.

  “You know,” he said. “What each person wears, combined with their facial expressions and their gestures, tell a story.”

  “I know, I know, Kofi,” I said. “Shouldn’t you be with Dad?”

  “He’s a big boy. He can handle himself. I bet you were surprised, huh? Your father coming back from the grave and all.”

  “Yeah, he let me think all these years that he was dead. I could’ve saved a fortune on flowers at his and Mom’s gravesite.”

  “Damn, that’s kind of cold, even for you.”

  I forced a laugh. “I’m just playing. Actually, I’m not. Seriously. All I’m saying is that he’s kept me in the dark for so long. What kind of father doesn’t want to see his daughter after she’s gone through such a tragedy?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t safe for you to know he was alive.”

  “You don’t really believe that load of bull, do you? Maybe he’s been lying to us the whole time. That’s a better scenario.”

  “I can’t believe you’re calling your father a liar. Everything he’s sacrificed was for you.”

  “I’m just worried that you hanging with my dad is clouding your judgment. How long have you known him, anyway? You two look like you’ve been chums, forever.”

  Kofi cleared his throat and said, “He contacted me the first day you came to live with us.”

  “I’ve known you practically all of my life, and I thought we’ve always been straight with each other, and now I hear it’s all been a lie?”

  “Aw, come on. It’s not like—”

  I didn’t have the patience to stand there and talk to him any longer. Bubbling out a heavy sigh, I walked away.

  “Feeni?” Kofi called out.

  I headed back to where I’d last seen Dad. Of course, Kofi followed me back to Dad.

  My father looked at me, and then Kofi. “Uh-oh, sibling fight. You guys stop that, right now?”

  “I’m cool,” I said. “He’s just annoying.”