It was Amazu’s older brother, Bakari, who introduced him to rowing. At the age of twelve Bakari has been rowing for only one year and being three years younger, Amazu was simply too small to row properly, but Bakari let him join him in the Kayak when he would sneak at dawn to the Mtwapa creek to practice. Their parents knew, of course, as enough peering eyes saw them go back and forth and surely someone from their bolo watched over them while they were in the water. But in the young boy’s mind the shared secret made it even more special. It was just him and his big brother rowing through the morning mists up the creek and then let it flow back downstream to start the early day.
Fifteen years later, Amazu would still row almost every morning. Now in the much quieter Ologe lagoon and along with a seven-members team who shared the rowboat he captained. They would spend between an hour or so going around the lagoon, practicing various maneuvers and techniques or just finding their mindfulness. Amazu never bothered to check how long it actually took them, and never bothered asking his team members that had “the tyranny of time dominate their lives,” as he told them. In many aspects he has changed a lot since he left Mtwapa – He became more sound and resolved; He now laughed far less than he had as a child who walked after his mischievous brother everywhere; He tried to avoid electronics in his life as much as possible. For his work in the university he used an old black-and-white terminal that was too slow to play videos but was adequate enough for him to write his essays and exchange correspondences. He would mail his family frequently and call his mother at least twice a week – using a public terminal. It wasn’t unheard of – there was a growing majority of people, especially young academics, who felt liberated when no electronic devices captured their attention. It helped them feel more connected to the presence, to themselves and to the people around them.
This is why a note was waiting for Amazu attached to his quarter’s door when he got back from his morning rowing. It was sealed for privacy and had his name written on its cover – a telegram that someone from the communal office probably picked up for him. The message inside was unnecessarily brief but Amazu could recognise his mother’s precise styling. “BKR missing; CB”. His brother was missing and he should call back. Thoughts and speculations rushed in to fill his mind. He talked to his mother just a couple of days prior and she didn’t mention anything about his brother, whom he chatted with last week, when he mentioned he’s off to work at the Kaya Forests. Amazu assumed his brother didn’t return nor reported back but it could’ve been some time before any alarm was raised. He wondered if he should check his terminal as he guessed his mother would’ve tried to contact him directly first before using the public telegram service. He decided to go make the call before anything else.
Bakari loved rowing like his younger brother, but he often challenged himself further rowing turbulent waters and even white rafting, while timid Amazu didn’t feel the need for the adrenaline rushes. When Bakari was sixteen he had an accident while rafting at Kilfi County. The shattered elbow marked a sad ending to his rowing passion, but it was the knock on his head that set the course of Amazu’s life. Bakari argued that while under water he saw a spiritual entity. No one took it seriously, not even Bakari himself, but Amazu was fascinated about the idea. Spiritualism and religion were nearly forgotten ideas as humanity found other ways to understand and communicate with nature and the world around them. The experience has slingshot his life towards becoming a religious history researcher, all while his Bakari, with a slapped ego and a weather-sensitive elbow, has turned into hiking and horticulture.
The main study hall was a massive room with an open-space plan. Some workstations were communal and some were private and sound-proof. Amazu found a vacant workstation with a terminal capable of video calls and called home, knowing that his mother rarely took her mobile terminal with her. He wondered if this would deem an emergency enough in her mind to carry her terminal with her but figured she would probably redirect her communication to her mobile anyhow. Shortly she answered. “We haven’t heard from your brother since he left to the forests, his kana didn’t hear from him either” she said. At the age of twenty-seven Bakari was living with his own kana of two more adult partners and four children they raised together. “He went on his own,” explained Mother, “he was meant to be back a few days ago. The entire tega is looking for him”. Amazu imagined the thousand people of the Mtwapa tega scouring the fourteen kilometers stretched between their home and the Kaya forests. Most of it has been re-natured and it would be more difficult to plow through. “Have you contacted the MAF for support?” Amazu asked. “Yes, last night. They arrived this morning and sent heat-seeking drones to map the area” she answered. “How are you holding up?” he checked on her. She sighed and as she talked he could sense the exhausted tremble in her voice “We’re ok, everyone has been very supportive, I just wanted to let you know”. He thanked her and asked to keep him informed. They concluded the conversation with their normal greetings.
Shortly after his accident, Bakari argued that he saw a glowing person under the water that reached out their hand towards him. Whilst Amazu was bewildered at this unnatural incident, their parents just nodded and asked Bakari if he believed it held any meaning to him. Bakari contemplated it for a while and eventually dismissed it as hallucination caused by the accident. But Amazu couldn’t let it go. He tried to convince his brother it was a message from the “beyond”, whatever that may mean or that at least he’s special or gifted. However Bakari did not entertain that thought. He was still hurting from the now healing elbow and didn’t feel special at all. He didn’t feel the need to be “special”. If anything, the incident only reminded him of his mortality. Amazu began to read about paranormal activities and spiritualism and grew more passionate about it by the day.
Later that day, while sitting in the communal study area where he was meant to read an ancient manuscript he ended up just staring at the paper. He kept playing the last conversation he had with his brother in his mind; He tried to trace back the route to the forests Bakari took him on his last visit. He tried to think of the wild animals in the area, although most of them were tracked and monitored. Anxiety got the hold of him. It was his colleague Chioma who snapped him back to reality by asking “Where are you today?”. He replied, embarrassed, “My brother went missing for a couple days now”. She looked worried, “hmm, is his kana ok? Is there anything we can help?”. He thought about it for a bit and then replied “Yes, I believe they’re ok. The entire tega is looking for him”. She looked at him inquisitively, “Will you join them?” and sizing him up and down added jokingly “it’s not like you very useful here anyhow”. He looked down at the manuscript, embarrassed. He often told his colleagues that “Our research might be important to understand some big existential question but let’s face it, it’ll never be a life-or-death question,” and now he felt this statement is truer than before. “You’re right,” he said, standing up, “I’ll be more helpful there”. She hugged him and after a long embrace she asked, “should we come with you?”. He put his hand on her shoulder “I believe it’s ok, they got MAF involved in the search, I’m going there to provide emotional support to his kana and our parents”. She held his hand, “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it, and if you need us, we’re a telegram away”.
For about ten years, Amazu was fixated on the idea that Bakari was “chosen” by a cosmological entity, long after Bakari himself conceded that he was probably hallucinating. Amazu was fascinated by the notion of the paranormal and anything that science couldn’t fully explain. Later in life, he would attribute this “childish passion” as the coping mechanism he used to cope with the fear of losing his brother. But at thirteen, it was pretty much the only thing on his mind. He would spend hours on end in the study room reading and watching archived videos of anything remotely related; and talked about it to anyone who showed a shred of interest. Reflecting back on that time, Amazu recalls his bolo encouraging him to study further, but also harshly judging any attempt to bring the idea of religion to anything beyond a light discussion. They particularly detested rituals and politely excused themselves from any attempt he made to bring any spiritual element to their life. When he suggested praying before a meal his mother told him that “It’s very important to be grateful to have food on our table, the earth the provided it and the ibu that toil and prepared the meal, but no, there was no god or any other deity to took part in the process”. However, it was his mother who encouraged to pursue his passion by furthering his education at the nima’sadi in Lagos.
A vast network of high speed railway tracks, spanning thousands of kilometers, connects all major human population centers in the world. With trains that dart through at nearly two thousands kilometers an hour, commercial flights have become nearly obsolete. A direct train crossing six thousand kilometers from Lagos to Mombasa would’ve taken him little less than four hours, but as Amazu looked at the train schedule he realized the next fast train will head out only the next day. Transportation is essentially free, but it’s naturally limited due to availability and capacity. A yearly allowance allows most people to travel locally almost limitlessly, but long distance travel is considerably costly and when done in excess it’s frowned upon for environmental reasons. Taking this under consideration he decided to take twelve-hour-journey with the indirect night train, which will arrive roughly the same time as the direct train, but would cost only a fraction.
The nima’sadi in Lagos is one of the biggest academic research centers in the world and it’s free and welcoming for everyone. It wasn’t the archaic notion of a single teacher facing a class filled to the brim with bored students, as all learning materials are available freely via the archives anyhow. Instead, it was a place for cultural exchange or a sadi of ideas. Everyone contributes to research and exploration, with no particular hierarchy beyond ad-hoc work-groups (Kani) with their unavoidable internal power dynamics and family dramas. The nima’sadi was for those passionate to learn what’s not yet available in the archives and to contribute new materials into them. Amazu was just overwhelmed at the prospect. He couldn’t have been more grateful for having someone who volunteered to mentor him until he found his bearings. He was introduced to various topics so he could find the niche that suited him best and indeed shortly after he joined the kani who researched the evolution of religion.
It was six in the morning when the train made a stop at Kampala. Amazu was meditating when he heard the shuffling next to him. He opened his eyes and smiled towards the awkward shy young man who was preparing to sit in front of him. Amazu estimated the boy to be about fifteen. “Good morning” the boy mumbled towards him and he replied with “Blissful morning”. He noticed the big conscription bag the boy was carrying – a long tube, one meter in length and forty centimeters in diameter with the initial “M.A.F.” painted on its side. Growing up in Mombasa, Amazu has seen plenty of bags like this before. He asked “I take it you’ve just enlisted, eh?”. The boy, taken by surprise, confirmed it “Yes, or actually I’m traveling to enlist today, but is it that obvious? Am I that ‘green’?”. Amazu laughed and explained “Well, it’s the haircut that gave you away. You see, most Mafexi are quite zealot about their traditional haircut for some reason. It’s not mandatory, but an act of solidarity that whoever decides to break is usually already with ‘one foot outside the door’”. The boy nodded in understanding. Amazu introduced himself “I’m Amazu, I’m traveling from Lagos to see my family in Mombasa”. He was hoping the boy would introduce himself as well, and he did. The boy replied “I’m Kato, I’m traveling from Arua to the MAF base in Mombasa”. Amazu confessed “I’ve never been in Arua. What is it like?”. Kato wasn’t sure what to answer, and eventually mumbled “Yeah, it’s a good place… the people are friendly and we live in abundance”. From the little Amazu knew, Arua wasn’t particularly rich but he guessed that a modest lifestyle made it seem plentiful to the young person. Amazu smiled and asked “Do they have anything like MAF in Arua?”. Kato smiled back and confessed that, “No, we don’t. I probably wouldn’t have gone all the way to Mombasa if we had”. Amazu understood that Kato wasn’t running away, rather looking for something he couldn’t find elsewhere.
As part of their first week of acclimatization, young students are encouraged to provide a presentation about the topic of their passion, and much to their horror it’s often attended by prestigious researchers. At the end of Amazu’s inaugural presentation about the purposefulness of religion, an esteemed researcher asked him for the difference between religion and spiritualism. There was a chuckle from the audience and Amazu knew it was a simple question to help him gain confidence. He answered “Religion is a communal structured values and beliefs system that usually relies on some level of spiritualism”. The researcher looked satisfied, and the nodding from the rest of the audience eased Amazu to know he had found his place. The researcher then said “Personally, I see religions as a guideline to the world around us- how things work, why they work this way and how we should interact with them to get the best result. Can you think of an example of a religious act to demonstrate that?”. Amazu didn’t think too hard for an answer – ‘Washing your hand will prevent you from being sick”. The researcher was a bit surprised by this, “but that’s not religious – that’s science!” and Amazu replied “Yes, but people washed their hands for religious reasons long before they knew about germs”. Amazu still remembers the feeling when the audience applauded him. He felt at home.
Kato took out two oranges from his bag and offered one to Amazu who accepted it with gratitude. Kato asked “You mentioned your family in Mombasa, were you born there?” and Amazu explained “Well, Mtwapa would be more accurate, but yes”. Kato was curious “How is it like? Are there a lot of mafexi? Do they carry guns?”. Amazu smiled and looked at the passing view, a green savannah creeping through and reclaiming an abandoned town as people now built more densely to provide nature the space it needed to thrive. “No, mafexi barely carry arms. They only have it when it’s absolutely essential or for very specific practices,” he turned his head back to Kato and said, “The chances for an accidental misfire are nilled when there are no guns around, and they take safety, particularly of civilians, very seriously”. “Oh, is that so?” Kato asked, Amazu felt it gave the boy some reassurance. “I take it guns were not a part of your daily life, then? Have you seen a gun?” Kato asked. His persistence on the subject made Amazu wonder whether had doubts about his enlistment or perhaps he was overly-enthusiast about guns. He figured that if the latter was true, the boy should probably hide it, else he might be sent home. The MAF didn’t want people whose fingers can be too dangerously light on the trigger. He replied “I have seen paintball guns before in some exercises they did that were open to the viewing public. I can’t recall any situation where MAF were involved and the use of violence was the only means to resolve a crisis”. “Have you ever considered joining the MAF?” Kato asked and Amazu shrugged it off “No. I appreciate what they’re doing but I don’t think I’m cut out to deal with such stressful situations. I found my passion in studying religion”. It was more accurate that at the time he found faith in religion, but hindsight it was easier to explain to a stranger that he liked studying rather than admitting he was a silly zealot who was believing in mythical beings.
Amazu’s favorite dissertation was about the evolution of mythical beings, which he presented after five years in Lagos. He explored various themes and stories about ‘heroes’, often supernatural and referred to as “gods” that were used to explain particular natural phenomena, events or a group’s identity. Some gods were responsible for a particular aspect , such as rain or fertility, and people would address them for assistance, blessings, or intervention. Local and personal deities were eventually “subdued” to a single monotheistic god. Even after giving up faith as spiritual inspiration a few years later, Amazu still found it fascinating that often monotheistic gods managed to fight amongst themselves, thus admitting there was actually more than one god. Amazu explained that religious wars weren’t actually about which god to worship, rather which human authority represents this god, and the fact that this so-called god never intervened was the foretelling that led to his eventual denunciation of faith.
Kato admitted he didn’t know much about religion. It wasn’t surprising, as the concept ‘religion’ has long become a thing of the past. Many elements from it were carried over seamlessly, such as community and solidarity, while elements like its mythology have been reduced to fictional fables, not particularly popular as many of them promoted chauvinism and violence. “I think the most I know is that ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’ were some imaginary places with religious connotations, but that’s about it”. Amazu smiled, he appreciated the boy’s honesty and humility. “Yes, some religious people believe that after you die, you are judged for your deeds and then sent accordingly to either heaven or hell,” he answered. “Why would you send someone to hell? What horrible deed did someone do to justify that?” asked Kato, concerned. “Religious people believed that sinners would be sent to hell – those who refuse to abide by the ethics that their particular religion dictates”. “Would killing someone be considered a ‘sin’?” asked Kato, and Amazu replied “The Simple answer would be ‘yes’ but most religions were far more lenient about killing their enemies, or about self-defense”. “Oh, so it wasn’t about the actual act of taking a life,” pondered Kato. “Exactly,” said Amazu, “Most religions didn’t forbid killing, as long as it took place within the boundaries they permitted and even those weren’t set in stone”. Kato wrinkled his nose at this “I imagined it to be less flexible, I guess”.
Amazu once asked Bakara to hike with him to Kilfi to try and bargain with the mysterious underwater deity. “How exactly were you thinking to bargain with it?” ask Bakari, as he was recovering in bed from the accident. “I don’t know, talk to?” Amazu shrugged his shoulders. “Are you assuming this underwater person or thing speaks your language and wants something that you’re willing to give?” Bakari asked, further shaking Amazu’s confidence. Stories about supernatural entities weren’t very common but Amazu found old folktales in the archives about people who bargained with omnipotent beings. “How does the bargaining work exactly?” asked Bakari and Amazu, who was already doubting himself, explained “You do something for the deity, or at least promise you’ll do something, in exchange for the deity’s service. Another way to please or appease a deity would have been to commit a ‘Sacrifice’ – whether it was a crop percentage, an animal or even a human sacrifice. Another option is by doing something or abstaining from certain activities, even if temporarily. For example you can ask to make it rain in exchange for some of your produce”. Bakari wasn’t convinced but they went on their hike nonetheless. The mysterious creature was nowhere to be found. Maybe there are gods, he later thought, but in their absence, is it really worth doing anything different from trying to be the best and kindest person one can hope to be? That thought has led eventually to the realization he doesn’t need a god to meddle his life as he rather takes ownership for his own life. Now sitting on the train, that thought haunted him again.
“I would’ve thought,” said Kato, bringing Amazu back to the presence, “that religious people, who presumably adhere to an extrinsic set of values, would be less likely to commit immoral actions, such as killing?” asked Kato. Amazu thought about it for a moment and then replied “‘killing’ is immoral with or without religion. Many religious murderers simply find justification for their actions, for example by arguing that killing non-believers is permissible and sometimes even desired, hence the crusades and jihads”. “It’s a bit odd, isn’t it? That all-powerful gods sent their humans to fight, no? Have they ever wondered why those gods aren’t fighting one another directly?,” Kato asked. That was a good question, Amazu was impressed. “Well, it’s actually the same god in most aspects all parties agreed there’s only one god”. That made Kato laugh. Confused, he asked “Then why are they fighting?”. Amazu decided not to dwell deeper into the different sects and branches of the same religion that fought mercilessly against one another and instead answered “The dogma, or the world’s description and the worshiping instructions, were different and man fought those who held a different dogma”. He then continued “Imagine a group of people on a boat when one of them decides to drill a hole at its bottom,” Amazu said. “That sounds silly, why would they do that?” ask Kato, confused. “It doesn’t really matter why, they have their reason and they’re sure it’s the right thing to do. But that’s the thing – from a monotheist’s point-of-view, anyone who doesn’t conform to their dogma are just like that person drilling the hole – they’re ‘messing it up’ for everyone”. Kato sighed, “It seemed like it was dangerously very important for these men to be right”.
The train made a stop at Nairobi. Looking out the window, Amazu witnessed a person walking with the goats following him. The person asked the train operator something Amazu couldn’t hear but guess they asked for the direction of the animal-friendly train-cart. The train-operator pointed at one of the carts, petted one of the goats and headed off. The person gave each goat a small treat and headed towards the cart, the goats merrily following him. The train took off again, the rhythmic clatter of the tracks providing a steady backdrop to Amazu’s thoughts. As the landscape blurred past, he felt a growing sense of anticipation and unease.
Kato, noticing Amazu’s silence, asked softly, “Do you think your brother is alright?”. Amazu took a deep breath, then replied, “I hope so. Bakari is strong and resourceful, but sometimes the world has its own plans, doesn’t it?”. Kato nodded, understanding the uncertainty in Amazu’s voice. The conversation drifted back to more mundane topics, but Amazu’s mind was elsewhere. He thought of the last time he and Bakari had rowed together, the sun rising over the misty creek, and how everything had seemed so simple back then. Now, he was heading back into a world filled with complexities, where even the most advanced technology might not be able to find a single missing person in the vast expanse of nature.
Kato looked out the window and Amazu could feel the boy was anxious as well. He tried to give him one more piece of advice – “Religion and morale code often goes hand-in-hand. This is most certainly true if you ask a religious person. On the other hand, many zealots felt entitled because of their self-proclaimed high morale code”. It seems Kato understood the point he was trying to make – “So it’s not about religion, rather the moral code it binds you to, or that you bind yourself and whether this code is a guide for good or a justification for malice?”. Amazu smiled, “exactly. You believe that all living things deserve respect and that is your morale code. If you ever feel that being in MAF contradicts this belief I trust that you’d know to do what’s right. And for what it’s worth, respect for all living things is part of the MAF’s creed, at least officially, so I think you should be safe”. Kato smiled at him in gratitude.
As the train came closer to Mombasa it aligned to the shoreline and the green floating rectangles in the ocean caught Kato’s attention. Hundreds of squares, many of them had a mobile wind-turbine kite and a water-regulator attached. Slow boats floated between the different plots. Kato looked at them with interest. “The first time I heard of the de-acidification project, I envisioned something quite different,” said Amazu but Kato couldn’t draw his eyes away. Amazu made erupting gestures with his hands – “Something like massive pillars of water shooting outwards from the ocean with great engines that will process the water somehow.” Kato smiled and Amazu continued – “it feels almost like magic to me, that the processes that destroyed the planet were not reversed with the same full-blown careless energy, rather than with gentler, more natural approach, working together with nature to heal it rather than forcing it again into something that is not.” Kato nodded – “what’s the green in the water?” and Amazu replied – “algae and kelp.” He explained – “besides absorbing the carbon from the water they’re also used for various products so it’s quite beneficial in every aspect”.
They boarded off the train and Amazu looked at the station and how little it changed since he last visited his family. “Good luck finding your brother,” said Kato and Amazu nodded in gratitude. The man with the goats walked passed him, having an overly lively conversation with one of the goats that seemed to be hungry. Kato and Amazu chuckled at the scene. “Would you find your way to the MAF base?” Amazu asked and Kato assured him he received detailed instructions, but he’s hoping to visit the sadi and have something to eat first. “That is a good idea,” said Amazu and they hugged before parting ways. Seeing the boy walk away carrying the bag that was half his size, Amazu quietly wished him a safe journey home, whichever home might be. He then went on to look for a ride that could take him to Mtwapa.
MAF recovered the body a day later, the cause of death was still unknown. Amazu was sitting near the water bank at Kilfi, looking at underwater weeds swaying with the flow of the water. He knew dozens of cautionary tales warning against trying to cheat death and despite the part of him refusing to accept his brother’s fate, he knew it was the inevitable, non negotiable truth. The rumbling sound of the gushing water helped streamlining his racing mind to the countless religious explanations why people die unexpectedly and what happens after death. But he knew it was just his way to grief. His brother was dead, no religion is going to change that fact. He didn’t believe in the afterlife, but if there was any he had no doubt his brother would be somewhere peaceful. He didn’t believe his brother crossed paths with anything sinister, be it human, natural or supernatural. He stood up and had one last look at the water. Perhaps he was giving the imaginary underwater person one last chance to come and barter for Bakari’s life. Perhaps he came to tell it that his brother was gone. Perhaps he needed to close the chapter in Bakari’s life that began fifteen years earlier when he nearly died and every day since was a privilege that he tried to make the most of. Amazu left, the water kept on flowing.
Utopian Tales 