Five incredibly painful minutes passed.
I didn’t get anything.
Not a single e-mail.
With only nine minutes and forty-two seconds remaining before the States were done and the invitations began popping up in Europe, the nagging voice was booming and it said only one thing over and over: You aren’t invited.
There was no way.
Not that I was the best coder in the world, not that I was expecting to be championed and cheered, but there was no way they wouldn’t invite me.
They couldn’t.
More people posted pictures, many of them from California, all over the state. As the clock hit 11:50, it was clear: Game over for Rex Huerta.
I would not be going to the Boston Collective.
I would not be running WALKABOUT.
I would not help Tunde.
I would not meet Painted Wolf.
I would not find Teo.
I wanted to vomit. I wanted to tear my room apart. I wanted to run out into the night and scream at the moon. I wanted to curl up in a ball in a corner and not move for forty-eight hours. I wanted to eat my way through every tub of ice cream I could find. I wanted to quit school, delete my online presence, and become a monk.
But, of course, I couldn’t.
That’s not me.
When I get depressed, I code.
When I get angry, I code.
Call it hate-coding. Call it rage-coding. Call it binge-coding.
Whatever it is, I code hard.
Complex code example
Before I knew it, I’d hacked my way into OndScan. I’m not a hacker. It’s not my thing. But I was in quite a state. I needed to see if there was a mistake. If maybe my name had accidentally been deleted.
It had to have been.
So I digitally slashed my way past their pretty hard-core security and barreled over their walls and into their servers with a vengeance. I was a rogue solider in a digital war, weaving and ducking, crawling and jumping. My fingers hit the keyboard so fast they were hot and slick with sweat.
It worked. I was in.
I had three minutes and ten seconds to go.
It was like being kicked in the teeth when I discovered that, sure enough, my name wasn’t on the West Coast list.
GRAYSMITH
JACKSON
13
ENGINEERING
HINTON
GABRIELLE
16
C++
HODGES
JOHN
15
OPTICS
KLEIN
OSCAR
13
CHEMISTRY
LANGERON
CLIFF
15
ENGINEERING
MANTLO
STEVEN
12
COMPOSITION
MCMEEL
ROBERT
17
COMP. SCI.
I went through it five times, back to front, front to back, and alphabetical.
Nope. Not there.
What was unbelievable was they had invited Jackson Graysmith and Robert McMeel! Not to be mean, but those two posers couldn’t code their way out of a Geocities site.
It was unacceptable.
I had to be in the Game.
And I wasn’t taking no for an answer.
With two minutes and twenty-two seconds to go, I was frantically pondering all my options—Do I just add my name to the list? Do I delete someone else? Can I even change it?—when I caught a lucky break.
Cliff Langeron was one of the last few people on the list. Cliff was a coder from San Diego who created a pretty cool satellite-tracking program, but it had been years since anyone had actually heard from him. The Net had been abuzz with stories of his going “off the grid.” There were rumors that his family moved into a yurt outside a national park in Alaska or Montana. At one point he’d posted fairly regularly in a telecommunication forum, but his last message was in 2012. Even if Cliff was still living in San Diego, I seriously doubted he’d attend the Game.
And if he wasn’t going to attend, I figured I should take his place.
I’m proud to say I’ve never hacked for profit or laughs.
I take my work seriously. I set my own moral and ethical rules.
And more than that, if I was caught my parents would surely be deported.
That’s why I couldn’t make a mistake. I couldn’t botch it.
That’s also why I felt so terrible, so sick, about what I did next: I got into the list (surprisingly not locked), erased Cliff Langeron’s name, and put in my own.
Cut. Type. Save. Done.
One minute and eighteen seconds.
That must have been something of a record.
Believe it or not, getting out of the OndScan site was actually harder than getting in. With the seconds literally counting down, I was rushed and made a few errors as I exited. Nothing major, but they were there. Clues. A scintilla of code here, half an ISP there. Still, I was convinced I’d covered up well enough, though.
I was out with thirty-two seconds to spare.
As soon as the last window closed, my in-box dinged and voilà, I had an invitation to the Game. Thing is, even though I didn’t have that thrill all the other contestants did, my subterfuge actually felt worth it.
I was going to find my brother. I was going to help Tunde.
Nothing much else mattered.
I was in.
5. TUNDE
05 DAYS, 08 HOURS, 06 MINUTES UNTIL ZERO HOUR
Chineke meeee!
I have to tell you my heart was dizzy with emotion.
While I was so excited for the Game and my travel to the United States, I would be leaving my family for the first time. And I would be leaving them at a moment of great difficulty and stress. I could not disappoint General Iyabo, for if I did, my parents and the entirety of Akika Village would surely suffer. This cold realization weighed very heavily on me and made sleep a burden.
After the general left, I spent many hours drawing detailed schematics of the GPS jammer. It was difficult work and many of these designs I threw out. I just could not get myself to focus properly enough to wire the device correctly. Though I worried that I was already losing my mental edge, I quickly realized that the block was not a cognitive one but an emotional one.
I was stopping myself because I was making a weapon.
I cannot express how difficult it was to put my skills, the skills that I love, to work on something that would surely mean destruction in the hands of an individual like the general. But what was I to do? I could not risk the safety and security of my family. The threats the general made were not idle. He did not suggest he would deprive Akika Village of supplies or steal our goats. His threat was very obvious: He was going to kill us all and wipe our village from the map.
The very survival of my people was in my hands. Knowing this and realizing that my own moral compass was defeating me, I redoubled my efforts to complete the schematic. I finished an outline of the jammer only hours before my departure.
It was near dawn and I was still awake, fueled by nothing but hot tea and plantains, when the banging commenced on the front door of our house.
I dey get me heart cut!
Have you ever awoken to the sound of someone smashing his or her fist as though it was a cudgel on your door? I thought it was a calamity, a fire, or a leopard attack. I raced to open the door and expected to find such chaos. But it was only a short courier in a dusty military uniform on a motorbike.
The courier asked my name and I told him.
“I come with word from the general. Put on your mofty. Meet me outside.”
He turned and left, and I jumped to get dressed.
As I gathered my clothing and my wits, my mother poked her head into my room. My father called out from their bedroom.
“What is happening?” my mother asked.
“A courier,” I said. “From General Iyabo. I need to pack!”
&n
bsp; She looked quite concerned. “He is early. Far too early. I will gather your clothing. You go outside and speak with him. Ask him for another twenty minutes.”
My mother kissed me on the forehead as I passed her. I waved to my father as he was pulling on his pants in a hurry. “I will speak to him, Father.”
Then I calmed my mother. “Abeg no worri yourself now, Mom. I will be fine.”
I stepped outside my home into the glare of the sunlight, where the courier handed me a creased envelope that he had clearly dragged over many miles.
“Please, sir,” I said. “Can you give me twenty more minutes?”
He shrugged as though he did not hear me. “It is from General Iyabo. He requests you open it by noon. Don chop my good will. You na village person oh.”
I did.
Inside were papers and a satellite phone. I had seen photos of them online but never imagined I would have the opportunity to use one. As I marveled over the bulky antenna that swiveled from the back of the phone, it rang in my hand. A very simple ringtone that sounded like those I had heard on pay phones.
I grew pale and immediately handed it back to the courier.
He shook his head. “That is for you, boy.”
I answered the satphone. “Hello?”
“Tunde.” It was the voice of General Iyabo. Loud as thunder.
“Yes, General.”
“Are you preparing for your adventure overseas?”
“I am.”
“Good. Remember, Tunde, just bicos I let you go does not mean I do not think you use me do skelewu abi.”
“I understand and would not think of deceiving you,” I told him. “I will use my time very wisely, and as I will have access to complicated, American tools, I will be able to complete the jammer to even greater specifications than if I were to work on it here. I will also have assistance from several associates.”
“Excellent. However, if you do not, then everyone here suffers. Understand? I dey run things for this village.”
“Yes, General.”
“You will answer this phone anytime I call,” General Iyabo said. “It is only to be used to call me or to answer my calls. Nothing else. Are we clear?”
“We are.”
“You dey oversee, man. I can smell it on you. It will get you into much trouble. As you work for me now, I need you to show me you are strong. Show me you are not some brainy child who is soft. You must fight. You must survive.”
“Of course, sir.”
The courier watched me closely with an expression of great concern as I spoke. Though he could not hear what the general was saying, he was surely familiar with the tone of the conversation. He knew my fear.
“Good,” said General Iyabo. “Then the challenges start now. You enjoy your time in the States, but do not enjoy yourself too much. You think on your family here. They are all counting on your success.”
The line went silent.
The courier nodded to me curtly and pointed to the papers from the envelope. I looked them over and discovered a passport, a ticket for a flight departing at midnight, and papers allowing me to travel to Lagos without threat of intervention.
Despite the threatening phone call, seeing these things made my heart leap with excitement! In my part of the country, having papers is a rarity. It takes months to get a passport and that is only when you have a birth certificate to show. Of the hundred and fifteen residents of Akika Village only ten have birth certificates. I certainly did not have one.
It was funny to see the photo on the inside of the passport. It was not me and not a boy who particularly resembled me but the name was mine and the birth date was very close to my own. Close enough to pass critical muster.
“The general wants me to reiterate that your challenges begin now,” the courier said, chuckling. “The airport in Lagos is three hundred kilometers distant. Good luck.”
Then he kick-started his bike and took off! I ran after him as fast as I could but even going full speed on my thin legs I was no match for a motorbike.
The courier was gone in a swirl of dust.
My parents and I went door to door to ask our friends and neighbors if they could help. Mr. Chukwu had an old car, but he would not take me. He said he was quite busy and there was simply no way. Even when my father offered to pay him, he refused.
Every door we knocked on the response was the same.
After six attempts, the message was quite clear: Akika Village was not happy that I had drawn the attention of General Iyabo. If I failed, General Iyabo would come down on our village like a force of nature. My failure would surely mean the death of my neighbors and Akika Village would suffer the same fate as Tanko, the ostrich-farming village that is now no more than dust.
I knew that I would receive no assistance in reaching the airport.
I would have to find a way myself.
5.1
I decided that I would walk!
I myself do not view a footslog as a bad thing.
In fact, for me, it is very much a test of strength. I come from a long line of trekkers. When times are bad or lean, one must do what one must do.
My grandfather told my father of the many times that he walked for days on end. Three times in his life, his home was burned to the ground. On those walks he saw the death of his people at the hands of thieves and the claws of lions. Regardless, he told my father that walking is movement and it is the gift of being alive. We are not like trees, my grandfather said, we are like the seedpods and we travel.
Despite my love of the mechanical and the thrill I received the very few times I have traveled by engine, my first true love is the feeling of my bare feet against the crust of this planet. If you have never traveled by foot a great distance, I cannot recommend it enough.
You must navigate by the stars. You must find your way by the course of the landscape and the energy in the lines that crisscross it. You must be alert at every moment, not just for the danger but the beauty, too. Trust me, omo, if you walk, you will learn more about your world and yourself than you ever thought possible.
I had not walked for a long distance in a few years, so though I was excited about the coming adventures, I made sure to go prepared.
My mother packed me a lunch and dinner of pomo, fried plantains, potato balls with poultry, and fermented locust beans. It was surely enough to last me, though I did not plan to stop and eat.
This was not a time for picnics!
I spent a few minutes with my mother in our garden, marveling over the new peppers she was growing and convincing her that I would be well. She held her tears, but as we made our way inside, she took my hand and squeezed it with tenderness.
“Tunde,” she said, “I know that you are aware of what this adventure means for yourself and your family. We are proud of you no matter how you do in the competition, but you must know the stakes. The villagers are afraid. They worry that if you do not succeed, General Iyabo will come here and destroy us. It is a very real fear, my son!”
I told my mother that I knew this, but it was only when she said it that the impact fully hit me. There were so many people depending on my success. My family and my entire village were held tight in the firm grip of the general. The weight of this left me nearly breathless with determination.
“I will not fail, Mother.”
With my bag packed, I bid my parents farewell and told them I would attempt to send a message as soon as I had made a safe arrival in the States. My mother cried but my father shook my hand very tightly.
They were proud to be sure but also worried about my safety.
From Akika Village it was a ten-hour walk to the bus.
The walk through the dry land was peaceful. The sun was very hot that day, but there are only a few days when it is not. This is why I invented a baseball cap with a solar-powered fan built into the top. It keeps my head cool for a period of time, and recharges some of my other small devices. As with everything I make at home, it was made with repurposed
materials.
A head-cooling cap by Tunde Oni
Along the way I noted the following wildlife:
Three snakebirds (Anhinga melanogaster), two dozen impala (Aepyceros melampus), seven hunters from a village near ours, two lorries, and, at a great distance, a white serval (Leptailurus serval). What a fantastic beast! And rare as anything, it was truly a sign of good things to come!
Finally, near noon, I reached the bus stop and the waiting bus.
These buses we call danfo and they are Volkswagen Kombi. Most have been through the worst that the world can throw at just such a vehicle. They have survived accidents, natural disasters, fires, incidents with livestock, and the unpredictable nature of rural roads. They look every inch the ugly survivors.
The bus ride to the city was another three hours.
It would likely have just been two had not the danfo broken down twice.
Such is life! It was a bit of luck, though, that I happened to be on this very danfo because I have some experience repairing diesel engines. The first stop was an issue with the accelerator cable, an easy enough fix, and the second stop involved the throttle arm on the carburetor, another relatively easy repair. This is the beauty of the danfo! Had the bus been a modern vehicle with advanced electronics, it would have taken much longer to repair.
Repairing a diesel engine by Tunde Oni
Another win for simple mechanics!
The bus arrived at the airport just after ten p.m.
I was thankful that I had arrived many hours early for my flight, as navigating the airport was a challenge I had not anticipated. I had no idea what I was expected to do or whom I was expected to find.
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