by Nzondi
“Said the pot to the kettle,” Kofi said.
I shook my head. “That doesn’t even make any sense.”
“Hah!” Dad said. “Look at that drunk couple playing quarters. My bit-credits are on the girl. I say she drinks her boyfriend under the table.”
“I’ll be right back,” Kofi said, and shouldered through the crowd, eyeing a girl who I caught staring at him, several times.
“What’s the matter with you, two?” Dad asked. “I know you guys were talking about me behind my back?”
“Of course not, Dad,” I said.
“Here,” he said, and handed me a drink.
I took a sip. “Thanks,” I said, grinning.
“Look at my Otsoo’s pretty smile,” Dad said. He looked over to Kofi and with hands signals gestured for him to come back our way. “It’s time we discussed something.”
“What?” I asked.
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“And you met Kofi as soon as Auntie Yajna took me in?” I asked.
“That’s right, Otsoo,” he said. “He was very reluctant, at first. And God, after you were there for nearly a year, he fought with me tooth-and-nail, said he felt like he was betraying you by spying on you, and for a whole six months, he wouldn’t answer or return my calls.”
I looked at Kofi. “For real?”
He nodded.
“I had to try a different tactic,” Dad said. “I knew he wanted to get into the GAF, but he’d had a hard time passing the psychological part of the tests, so, I got some dirt on one of his senior officers.”
“Grunt!” I said.
“You got it. Seems like Grunt had his own little racket going on the dark web.”
“He was buying and selling bio-weapon software called Z3,” Kofi said.
“Z3?” I asked. “I’ve heard of that, before. What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know all of the specifics,” Dad said. “But from the gist of it, it’s a mind-controlling software that turns off neural pathways in your brain responsible for fear and amps up emotions that create rage.”
“Yeah,” Kofi said. “Z standing for how zombie-like the host becomes and three being the third prototype.”
“You see,” Dad said. “When defense contractors pitched it to President Mbutu, he flat out threw the designers out of the base right on their asses.”
“Why?” I asked.
“The side effects were too harmful,” Dad said. “Memory loss, suicidal tendencies, unstable mood swings, strokes, and the list goes on. But enough of that, it’s time we discuss something very important.”
“What?”
“You and your team.”
“Team?” I said, chuckling with disbelief in his confidence.
“See there,” he said, pointing at a couple of girls, both around my age, sitting at a table not far from the bar counter.
“Those two,” he said, “are of the Sahelian tribe from Nigeria.”
One had fiery red long hair that fell in waves over her shoulders. Her eyebrows were thick and furrowed over droopy eyelids. Tribal marks covered her neck. The other girl had reddish-brown skin. She looked middle-eastern, no, better yet, her heritage looked to be borne of India.
Why do they look so familiar?
Dad continued, “They are short-tempered war-mongers who seek out battle and destruction in every essence of their being. It’s always best to ignore them as the fight is never worth it with them because they’re so relentless. Those two, in particular, are perhaps the most brilliant in all of Ala.”
“Above their ears,” Kofi said.
They both had hummingbird-sized brown wings, just above their ears. Each of them had three-inch claws for nails, painted black.
“That’s due to the radiation poisoning, huh?” I asked.
“Yes,” Dad said, and took a sip of his drink. “They were born that way and instead of wallowing in self-pity of their defects, they united in solidarity and developed a sub-culture.”
“You mean there’s a whole, I don’t know, race of bat wing-eared people?”
“Obviously,” Kofi said, nodding. “The Sahelian tribe.”
“Affirmative,” Dad said.
Kofi took a sip of his blut and smacked his lips. “They wear their emotions in their ears.”
“Huh?”
“If the wings caress over their earlobes, they’re calm,” Kofi said. “If it stands erect, they’re offended, if the wings hide behind the ear, they’re cautious—not fearful because I don’t believe they know what fear is, but cautious, which means that they’re suspicious—and that is usually not a good thing.”
“Hmph,” I sounded, looking at the swords protruding from their backs.
They both caught me looking at them, and their eyes sparkled with the kind of recognition one had experiencing a déjà vu. They nodded hello and raised their beer mugs to me. I looked behind me to see if that was meant for someone else. When I turned back around, they were knocking giant mugs of drink together in a toast, laughing heartily spilling suds onto the floor from their blut like children splashing water on the bathroom floor, playing in a bubble bath.
“Why do they look so familiar?” Lamp asked.
“Because you’ve played with them in the House of Oware game,” Dad said.
“Wait,” I said. “I thought I knew them! That’s—that’s Shaw with the red hair and her assistant. What was her name?”
“Durga,” Dad said. “They look very similar to their avatars in the game.
Kofi said, “I mean, Shaw appears like a seventeen-year-old version of her but, that’s them all right.”
“You’ve played the House of Oware game, too?” I asked Kofi.
“No,” he said. “But I, you know, have profiles on everyone, even their avatars.”
Dad sounded out a humming grunt of approval after he took another sip of his blut. “I swear they serve the best blood beer in all of Ghana, here. Now, where was I. Oh, yes. When you speak to them, never look at their ears, at least not right on.”
“Besides the fact that it is rude in any culture to stare at a birth defect,” I said. “I wouldn’t do that anyway.”
“Be aware of their emotions,” Kofi said, continuing after a sip of his drink, “but never let their wings telegraph your own emotions. That could mean your death, or at the very least, the most pain you’ve ever felt in your life.”
“I don’t think killing your teammate is proper etiquette in any game,” a voice said, behind us.
Her face was geisha white beneath a red satin Minang headdress. The headdress sat atop her head; two cones protruded from it that resembled ram horns. She wore a rose gold ankh around her neck, and a red dragon-printed robe over what looked like a black top and matching yoga pants.
My father turned around, spoke to her in Japanese, to which she replied, and bowed. He returned the gesture.
“She’s wearing Versace black palazzo Jordan sneakers,” Kofi said, in an almost inaudible tone. “Who wears that with a kimono?”
“So you’ve been preparing us to do what?” she asked in English. “Fight for your cause?”
“Not my cause,” Dad said, “but rather for the welfare of our planet. It’s not just rebels we want to train. This is not a revolution or a coup.”
“Then what is it?” I asked.
“Survival,” Kofi said.
The geisha girl stepped forward and extended her hand. “My name is Reiki. Reiki Tanaka.”
“Tanaka?” I asked.
“You know me as Lt. Tanaka,” she said.
“The big dude I met at the virtual version of this bar?” I asked. “You look nothing like your avatar.”
“For good reason,” she said. “Who would be intimidated by a petite female whose skills sets include singing, playing classical flute and well, I guess knowing anything that has to do with computers and statistical probability.”
“That sounds badass to me,” I said.
“This
is why you all met at the bar in the game,” Dad said.
“I’m beginning to think that everything in the game was real,” I said.
“It is,” Dad said. “The virtual construct is actually an augmented reality.”
“So a bunch of teenagers is doing the police work for you?” Tanaka asked.
“Teenagers in no danger of being corrupted by the vices we adults cling on to,” Kofi said.
“Boy, you barely know how to wash your coconuts,” I said.
“Do I sense a tinge of jealousy?” he asked.
“Not one bit,” I said.
“The things a man would do to keep his daughter safe, or his family together have no price tag on them,” Dad said. “But they are the kinds of things that a powerful man can use against him to do the most deplorable things.”
“That sounds like a deeply personal confession,” Kofi said.
“It is just an observation, or more so, a philosophy,” Dad said. He started walking toward the table that Shaw and Durga sat. “Come! It’s time you all officially meet each other.”
We shouldered through the crowd toward them. I kept my eye on them the whole time. Shaw and Durga each wore a harness and back scabbard holding dual swords; crossed blades of death. They wore lime green baju melayu outfits, silk long-sleeve shirts, and trousers. On Shaw’s head sat a pine-tree green songkok hat, and a kain sarung wrapped around her waist full of tiny razor-sharp shuriken. Like in the game, Durga’s head and neck were covered with a black snood.
“Look at them,” Kofi said. “They are always ready for a fight.”
“They encourage it,” Dad said.
“Sounds like my kind of people,” I said. “They’re like ninjas.”
Kofi nodded. “Yes, and believe me, there’s not a ninja in any tribe or from any land that would want to face a female Sahelian with purpose in her eyes.”
“Their nails have a toxin in them,” Dad said. “Which can paralyze an elephant in seconds, so never let them scratch you.”
“Ironically, it seems to have become quite a fetish in the bedroom,” Kofi said.
I shook my head and sighed. “Do you have any filter?”
Kofi chuckled. “None.”
“Why did you recruit them?” I asked. “They don’t seem like they play well with others.”
Dad took a swig of his drink and said, “Because a Sahelian as an ally is the most honorable and unconditionally loyal friend any warrior could dare hope to have in their wildest dreams.”
“Honor is not just a word to them but a lifestyle,” Tanaka said. “Like my people.”
“Just don’t have them for enemies,” Kofi said.
I finished my blut, stifled a burp with the back of my hand, and shot a glance at Tanaka. “Like my people.”
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“Where's your homegirl, Lamp?” Durga asked.
I inhaled deeply, glanced at my father and then said to her, “She'll catch up with us, soon. She had a family thing.”
“Before we get started,” Dad said, holding up his large mug of blut, “I’d like to make a toast!”
Seated around the square table, the seven of us raised our drinks in the air. The table was stained with spilled beer, wet napkins and soggy pretzels sitting in a damp basket.
I was still on my second blood beer, Kofi was on his third, and the others, who knows how many they had, but I was sure by their slurred speech and insatiable laughter, it was more than a few.
Dad cleared his throat and said, “Paying honor, glory, thanksgiving, praise, and homage to our ancestors, we ask that they guide us to finding a source of the virus so that we can cut its head like a snake that crawled into the wrong garden.”
“Damn straight!” Shaw said.
“I watched each one of you grow up.” Dad said, his eyes welling up, “I’ve seen all the horrors that you’ve all endured—my God, some of you have gone through so much and yet, you managed to keep a level head on your shoulders. And, well, I—I believe that you ladies are the key to our future.”
Seeing him get emotional made us all get teary eyed. This meant a lot to him, and as we all looked at each other around the table, there was no doubt that each one of us felt compelled to recognize that we were all in this together. I knew then that these girls were my tribal sisters.
Dad bellowed, “To our future!”
We all responded, “To our future!”
Tanaka began singing a song I’d learned through the House of Oware game. If one of us lost a life, upon restart, our avatars attended the Funeral of the Fallen before continuing our case at whatever level we last played.
Tanaka sang in a beautiful operatic tone, “So lift your voice,”
Shaw and Durga replied, “Ghana!”
I grinned and sung the next line. “It’s the year of jubilee.”
We all replied in unison, “Ghana!”
Lamp chuckled and sung, “Out of Tonga Hills, Ghana!”
And together in harmony, we all said, “Salvation comes to those who bleed.”
Dad began beating a rhythm on the table with his massive hands, and I complimented his beat with a more percussive beat. It was wonderful being with my father, again. I don’t remember the last time I had so much fun before that. Looking at his bloodshot eyes, and the wrinkles in his face, I knew that he, too, had probably not had this much fun in a while. His work always came first, and he never took breaks. That night, he took time to celebrate life with me, and I enjoyed every moment of it.
Tanaka led a song we all knew well from childhood, “Kaafo, Kaafo!”
“I was just thinking about that song,” I said, and joined in, singing, “Kaafo ni moko!”
Dad repeated the lyric in English, “Don’t cry, don’t cry!”
We echoed him, and while still drumming Dad sung, “Ghana will survive!”
“Ghana will survive!” we all said, almost in perfect synchronization, commanding small applause from the tables around us.
Dad lifted his blut to his mouth and guzzled and we all followed suit, laughing and spilling blood beer all over ourselves.
“You’re going to make them all too wasted to do anything but stumble around like buffoons,” Kofi said, standing in exasperation. “Look at you all!”
“We are enhumans,” Dad said. “There is no challenge that we cannot overcome. Even inebriation! Nor hunger!”
“No more hunger!” I said.
“Nor oppression!” Durga said, holding her glass high.
“We will regain the Ghanaian life!” Shaw said, clinking her glass against Durga’s. Kofi sat back down. “All right, already. You’re all giving me a big fat headache.”
I stood and gestured my blut toward Kofi. “To the greatest eco-warrior! Kofi!”
Everyone cheered. Dad gave him a loving shove. Kofi reluctantly laughed, turned to the side, and crossed his bony legs, placing his elbow on his thigh and his chin in his palm. He reached for a pretzel, recoiling when he realized they were all soggy.
“Now, children,” Dad said. “Kofi is right. It’s time.”
Dad and Kofi pushed back from the table and stood.
“I want all of you to come along with me,” Dad said. “There is something that I need to show you.”
Dad did a beeline through the club, toward the back.
“Where in the world are we going, now?” Shaw asked.
My father said, “To the spa.”
“Spa?” I said, snickering. “Dad, this is so not a spa!”
“Wait for it,” Kofi said, holding up his finger. “Wait for it.”
Tanaka threw a shrug my way, and I tossed one back. Shaw and Durga brought up the rear, their faces, written in determination. We continued behind Dad and Kofi toward the back of the room. A bald caramel-skinned behemoth of a man stood in front of a closed door that was covered in purple velvet.
“Good to see you,” Mr. Xo,” he said, grinning.
“Baba Lemur,” Dad said. �
�They’re with me.”
He looked us over like if we’d moved wrong in any way, he’d snap our necks without losing a single night of sleep. After eyeing Kofi with an even stronger gaze of suspicion, he nodded.
“Sure, Xo,” he said. “Keep a low profile. You know what happened the last time you were here?”
Dad narrowed his eyes at Kofi. “I assure you nothing like that will happen, again, Baba Lemur, will it, Kofi?”
“I only had a few drinks, so you can rest assure that I will not upset the bar staff, tonight,” Kofi said.
“Hope not,” Baba said. “I have two unruly teenage girls to feed at home and need this job. It’s just me, you know, to take care of them?”
“Ah, Akua and Afusa,” Dad said. “They’re both fifteen, now, eh?”
“Fifteen going on forty,” he said, shaking his head. “They think they know everything, and they question every word that comes out of my mouth.”
“I know the feeling,” Dad said, and looked down at me.
“What?” I said.
He gently shoved me forward, and Baba Lemur knocked two hard times on the door. It opened and we were showered with neon pink light.
I glanced up at Baba Lemur, one more time before walking through the door. His face bore tribal marks that looked like a tiger clawed him precisely from the top of his cheekbone to the fore of his ear lobe.
“Move along,” Shaw said, poking me in the back with her long nails.
“Hey!” I said. “Be careful where you stick that deadly manicure. I heard about you two.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Durga and I have been living with these nails longer than you. I know very well how to use them. Now, chop-chop!”
“She’s a little pushy,” Tanaka said.
While passing Baba Lemur, I smiled. He wore humongous gauges in his ears and looked like his muscles were about to burst through his black suit with the slightest over-extension of movement. I was seventeen, and in my mind, an adult, but when I touched his arm to say thanks, he recoiled like I was jail bait.
When the door closed behind us, we were met with soft relaxing Benga music. The scent of peppermint sat in the air and smelled so good; hunger pangs jumped around in my stomach. I thought about Lamp and wondered if she was okay. God, she had just turned into an enhanced human.