News from the Squares

by Robert Llewellyn

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Her husband has produced two male children, the pressure on the family has been intolerable, a man like that is now much sought after.’

  I continued to eat as I was being told all this. As I dipped the last of my fufu into a particularly delicious sauce bowl, I asked, ‘And you can’t artificially recreate sperm, can’t you just print some?’

  Nkoyo stopped eating and sat with her hands clasped on the table in front of her. ‘Yes, we can, we have done and we have paid the price. Although we can create male babies very successfully using cellular printing techniques and the resulting males are handsome, healthy and perfectly charming, they are all infertile.’

  ‘Surely with all this technology you must be able to solve something so basic.’

  Nkoyo was silent for a moment. Then she looked up at me. ‘Well, indeed there may be a way to, as you say, solve something so basic. This is where you come in Gavin, it is unfortunate for you in some ways, your testicular health is of great interest to us.’

  ‘My testicular health?’

  ‘Yes, you see, Gavin, for the last hundred years or so, due to the cultural choices many women have made, the number of men able to produce male babies through natural insemination has been on a steady decline. Not only that, due to the numbers of women who don’t have children, I myself am an example of such women, the entire population of the world is now dropping very rapidly, both men and women, but the male population is reaching critically low levels. You will notice that in Africa in particular there are very, very few men. The ratio over the whole continent is more like three hundred to one.’

  ‘Wow, I can’t imagine what that’s like.’

  ‘You won’t need to imagine, you will see. The conference has been called to address this problem. It is one of many we have had over the last few years. In some ways there are resonances akin to the international conferences from your own era that Professor Etheridge has told me about, the big meetings between nations that took place when the first signs of climate change became apparent. We are currently going through a similar period of reaction to the news. Have you heard of the five stages?’

  ‘The five stages, um, no, is that to do with addiction, like alcohol?’

  ‘It is something we all learned at school, every schoolgirl, sorry, child learned about the historic struggle to remove the need for fossil fuel. We learned about the five stages in the process, denial, anger, depression, bargaining and acceptance. Starting with denial, the long-held belief that there was no real problem, then anger as people blamed either the governing bodies or the big fossil fuel corporations for lying to them, then depression as the true and devastating impact started to affect more and more people, that was around the time the centre of the old London was under constant deluge from the rising sea and many coastal cities were lost. This was followed by bargaining as people tried to mitigate the effects of burning fuel by trying to capture and store the resulting toxicity but continued to use the fuel. And finally acceptance, which was about a hundred and twenty years ago when we finally stopped burning fuel to do what we needed to do.’

  ‘Blimey, that’s quite a litany,’ I said, trying to take all this in. I had noticed that list of words floating above some of the exhibits in the twenty-first-century section of the London Museum of Human History but they didn’t mean anything to me.

  ‘So, just like then, there is now much dissent about the demise of the man, some people, it has to be said the more conservative elements of the female population, claim this catastrophic imbalance is not a problem. There are many women who think the world would benefit from an exclusively female population, there is still much anger at men for what took place in the dark times. The advances we have made in the last one hundred years are, so it is claimed, entirely due to the demise of male dominance on the world stage. Not everyone agrees with this notion.’

  ‘I take it you do not agree.’

  ‘You would be right in that assumption; however, you will meet some women at the conference who will see you as a direct threat. A man from the past, from the dark times when, particularly in what was once Africa, the Middle East and parts of Asia, women were cruelly oppressed by the male population. On the surface this is all in the past, but not far beneath there is still long-held resentment.’

  ‘Righty ho then,’ was all I could say in response. This trip sounded like it was going to be a right old romp.

  20

  Jungle Tracks

  Africa, well, of course it wasn’t called Africa anymore, the part I landed in was called Lagos, but as with London, it wasn’t the Lagos I could have visited back in 2011.

  This Lagos covered an area about the size of France, a vast, sprawling but clearly incredibly prosperous mega city. Poverty in Africa? In the twenty-third century? Don’t make me laugh.

  Lagos made London look positively scruffy and run down. It was so much more advanced, that much was obvious with even the most cursory of glances out of the large windows at the front of the Yin Qui as we approached the vast docking area. If the huge crowds standing along the quayside were anything to go by, Lagos had an enormous population.

  Along the coast as far as I could see were vessels of a similar size and design as the Yin Qui, they went on for miles and miles. The buildings behind were gleaming white, massive in footprint but not high, maybe five or six storeys at the most. The style of these buildings was very different to the structures I had grown used to in London. They almost looked like giant loaves of white bread, their edges were not uniform, their windows were randomly spaced and deeply set back from the outer walls. I could make out deep balconies and large pointed structures on the otherwise flat roofs.

  As the Yin Qui slowly manoeuvred into position alongside the enormous pier I could see down one of the gaps between the buildings facing the docks, I couldn’t describe it as a street, more like a long strip of dense woodland, maybe jungle would be more appropriate. The same style of buildings stretched as far as the horizon, slowly working their way up a distant hill. The gaps between the buildings were completely obscured by dense deep green foliage so any surface transport was impossible to make out. The endless procession of similar white buildings was broken in the distance by a truly colossal structure that must have been many thousands of meters high. To call it a tower is a little misleading, it looked more like an oddly shaped mountain with many bizarre exterior projections coming out of each side. Even as I was staring at this distant man-made monster I couldn’t understand what my eyes were taking in.

  ‘It’s the main power station for Western Lagos,’ said Nkoyo. I was slowly getting used to her insightful explanations, she always answered any question I might have asked just before I knew I was going to ask them.

  Nkoyo and I spent an hour making our slow way back to our cabin through throngs of excited passengers who milled around the central mall.

  Once we arrived back in our sleeping quarters I found a piece of clothing neatly folded on my bed, it hadn’t been there when I left. I picked it up and understood it to be a kind of floor length garment called a Kanzu I’d seen Arabian men wear back in the old days. It was a bright lime green with delicate embroidery around the collar. There was a tapping sound on the partition that separated my half of the sleeping quarters from Nkoyo’s, I said ‘come in’ and the partition folded away silently revealing Nkoyo looking utterly stunning, wearing a similar garment in bright orange.

  ‘You will feel more comfortable wearing the Kanzu,’ she said. ‘The temperature outside is a little warmer than in London.’

  The partition rose again and I quickly changed, packed everything easily in the small belt arrangement and was ready to explore. I had spent a very comfortable night on-board the Yin Qui and had barely thought about the beautiful African woman sleeping the other side of the partition.

  Okay, I had thought
about her a bit, but not enough to cause concern. There was something about the containment of a ships bunk I found very reassuring, especially one that can fire you out of the side of the ship in the event of a mishap. There was no mishap so I don’t know what that experience would have been like, but I kept imagining it, which helped me stop imagining anything in the realm of intimacy with Nkoyo.

  After a wait in the crush of people leaving the ship, we finally experienced the incredible heat of a tropical mega city. Just before we left the spacious confines of the ship, Nkoyo handed me a small plastic item.

  ‘You might find it very bright outside, these will help.’

  I watched as she put her beautiful hand across her forehead, when she removed her hand her eyes were covered with a face-fitting pair of dark glasses. I put the device in my palm and pressed it gently over my eyes. It immediately fitted itself to me, no supporting bars over my ears, they just stayed where I’d put them and other than the fact that they shaded my eyes very effectively, I was unaware of their presence.

  Then it hit me, as soon as we left the shade of the exit corridor and stepped onto the crowded dock, the unspeakable heat and almost choking humidity engulfed me. I had experienced similar temperatures in the deserts of the Middle East back in the twenty-first century, but then I was cushioned by endless air-conditioned cars and buildings, all cooled by burning fuel. As I almost struggled for breath under the sudden onslaught of a hundred per cent humidity and a temperature around 53°C I was a little hesitant at the prospect of surviving such an experience for any length of time.

  I then understood that I been well-protected from the heat by whatever system of ventilation the Yin Qui used, but walking along the enormous pier I found some shade under a gently arcing structure that covered the central walkway. The direct sun felt as if it was cooking me in an oven but I noticed many people walking happily in the bright light. Even with the gentle warnings Nkoyo had given me I had no notion of just how hot Lagos would be, my Kanzu was the best thing to wear, that much was obvious, this was a very harsh environment.

  As we moved slowly forward with the many thousands of people around us, all busy chattering and laughing, full of excitement, I was prepared to be inspected by some kind of authoritarian figure in some kind of customs building.

  As we continued to move towards what appeared to be the edge of this city nothing happened, there was no border, no checkpoint, customs office or goods inspection.

  ‘So you don’t have passports or customs any more?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Nkoyo.

  ‘Like, security, a border, you know, like police checking to see who’s arriving.’

  ‘Everybody knows who’s arriving,’ said Nkoyo, as we eventually made it to the blessed shade of the nearest tree. Standing in direct sun was nothing short of brutal. ‘The local authorities know you are here,’ she continued, ‘and the authorities in London know you are here, in fact anyone in the world who wants to know, knows you are here.’

  She gestured toward the even bigger gathering of people standing in the shade of the trees that fringed the quayside. I don’t know how to judge the size of such a multitude, it had to be many thousands.

  ‘They certainly know you are here, it might be polite to wave,’ said Nkoyo, she had a strange look on her face. I might almost suggest it was pride.

  I waved in the direction of the crowd and the cheer that went up was staggering, like a crowd at a stadium rock concert when the scrawny lead singer makes an appearance.

  ‘Is that for me?’ I asked Nkoyo.

  ‘Yes, they all want to see the man who fell from the cloud.’

  ‘Amazing, do I have to do anything?’ I asked, half dreading that I would be expected to make a speech.

  ‘No, they just wanted to see if you are real, there has been much speculation about your arrival.’

  I waved again, saw the many thousands of people waving back at me and had no idea what to do. Then suddenly above the din I heard a high-pitched cry, a kind of musical wail quickly followed by the explosive sound of mass drumming. It was so loud and had such impact it made me jump.

  A group of people emerged from the crowd with massive long drums balanced on their heads, they were beating the skins above their heads with long drum sticks but the intensity of the sound I was hearing was clearly not coming from the drums alone. As they moved forward two things became clear: one, they were all women, and two, they were incredibly tall. I don’t mean very tall by the standards I’d grown used to, maybe two meters tall. No, these women were like another species. I didn’t get that close to them, but they made everyone else around them look like little squibs. Their drumming was spectacular and extremely energetic, they all appeared to be grinning wildly and even though they had enormous drums balanced on their heads they danced around, performing impressive leg kicks, even more impressive because their legs were giraffe-scale long.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I said to Nkoyo, ‘they are so bloody tall!’

  ‘The average height of the Burundi drummers is two meters forty,’ Nkoyo shouted above the din. ‘They are usually the tallest people in Africa, they have come to drum just for you, the man from the cloud.’

  We watched the entire performance and I was happily mesmerised by the spectacle and noise. When they finally stopped I clapped wildly and cheered, it was totally uplifting, I’d never seen anything like it and I wanted them to know I appreciated it.

  There was a load more cheering and waving before Nkoyo leant near to me and said ‘We need to move on now, Gavin, there are people waiting to see us.’

  I nodded, waved one last time at the vast crowd and followed Nkoyo into the darkness of the jungle path.

  We carried on walking a bit and some of the crowd fell in behind us but it seemed the majority had got what they wanted. They saw the man from the cloud get off the big ship and that was enough for them.

  The mass communication system used in 2211 was still utterly beyond me, but clearly this lot all knew I was coming. I hadn’t seen any sign of television, newspapers or any kind of printed material other than kinky drawing books in the Erotic Museum. I supposed they just knew in the same way that I was discovering I just knew things. The Yin Qui’s propulsion system, the sleeping pods being lifeboats, the fact that the streets of Lagos were in truth carefully managed jungle paths.

  I shrugged, if everyone knew where everyone was at all times, there really wasn’t anything anyone could do to upset the system, as long as everyone played along and there weren’t elements knocking around who didn’t join in. But then I realised they’d stick out like a sore thumb. If I met someone and relaxed and their name didn’t pop into my head instantly, I’d be very alarmed which in some way explained why people reacted to me as they did when I first arrived in this utterly transparent society. They wouldn’t have known who I was, it must have been disconcerting.

  As we progressed up the wide, tree-covered path between the massive white buildings the crowds pouring out of the Yin Qui started to thin out, many entered a building to my right which I somehow knew was a subterranean transport system, not cars like they have in London, but high speed trains called Nyumbu.

  ‘Firstly we will call upon someone who has specifically asked to meet you,’ said Nkoyo. ‘I would ask that you make yourself as calm and quiet as possible before meeting this person.’

  ‘Wow, is he some sort of religious figure?’ I asked.

  ‘No, he is very old and frail; however, he is much loved and revered for his wisdom and experience. I think you will learn a great deal from him.’

  ‘Sounds very intriguing,’ I said. I let myself relax a bit to see if I could garner from Nkoyo who this mysterious person might be, but as I did so I became aware that my whole body was so hot I was sweating like a stuck pig over a roaring blaze.

  I glanced down at my Kanz
u but could see no sighs of sweat patches. I’d always been embarrassed about sweating through my clothes, I was just a sweaty type of guy in this sort of humidity. I’d sweated bucketloads when I’d been in hot countries in the past, and left massive stains on my polo shirts. Whatever material my Kanzu was made from, it didn’t seem to stain, but believe me, it was sweat monsoon season underneath.

  Nkoyo turned a corner and I followed, we were walking along a path surrounded by thick African jungle but either side of us I could catch glimpses of the ubiquitous white buildings through the dense and dripping foliage. I had to remind myself I was in a huge city, I could hear no traffic, aircraft or air conditioning humming away, just the sounds of the jungle. Above us the trees were alive with birds, their unusual song was enchanting and loud, I walked along looking up into the branches and saw movement. It was a monkey of some sort darting along a high branch. The trees were so dense and enormous there was clearly a lot of wildlife hanging around up there, right in the middle of a massive city. I saw a few people walking about as we made our way along this sun dappled path, but not that many. True, they were mostly African women but I noticed a few were European and Asian looking. However, all of them were wearing beautiful floor length robes covered in intense coloured patterns.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Nkoyo. ‘We will bathe before we enter the inner courtyard.’

  I followed Nkoyo through a wide entrance into one of the buildings; the air was instantly cooler, not a massive air conditioning fan blowing down from above us, just the shade and a cool breeze coming from within. I removed my dark glasses and tucked them easily inside my belt and then followed Nkoyo further into the building. We were met by an enormously tall woman sporting a huge headdress. Her ancestry could not be doubted, she was very African. She gently embraced Nkoyo and they spoke momentarily in a language I couldn’t begin to understand at first. I let myself relax and started to comprehend what they were saying.