Tag: short-story

  • A Nautical Adventure

    Chioma pressed ‘enter’, leaning back in her chair. Her boat was gently rocking as it cruised over the waves. 

    “Perhaps you’re looking at this wrong,” offered Gaia in her Chirpy foreign accented tone. “Capitalism has many shapes and forms, but you assume that its most important value is ‘innovation’. You are wrong,” her tone remained as light-hearted as before. Chioma clenched her fists as she often does when she’s irritated. “The most important value in any version of capitalism, the be-all and end-all, is power.”

    Chioma’s heart sank.

    *

    Three weeks earlier and seven thousand kilometers away, Chioma had a very good day. She had been sitting for the better part of the day in the library’s archival hall in Lagos. The afternoon sun painted soft amber squares on the table. At first she thought that her discovery was akin to finding a needle in a haystack, but as she wrote her report she realized it was more like a treasure trove, or better yet — a treasure map!

    As a historian, she thought her life was full of excitement. Excitement like finding an old book about her favorite topic – late-stage capitalism, or gaining a deeper understanding, or a new perspective. But that day was different. That day she found a relic.

    “I’ve been looking at old twenty-first century receipts for my research,” she told her colleagues during their tea break. The communal lounge was humming with voices and the gentle clatter of pots. Soft lamplight gave the room a cozy feeling, contrasting with the pleasant breeze coming from the open evening window. They all gathered around their usually low table—Amazu already halfway through a bowl of spicy yam, Sade leaning in with her whole, eager body, fully attentive to Chioma.

    All her kana members were researchers but they had different fields of study, which was a bit unusual. Nevertheless, they enjoyed each other’s company and loved their shared passion for studying.

    “Those receipts have a wealth of information about what people choose to purchase and how much they’re willing to pay. The whole idea of money exchange is mind-blowing,” she explained. This was very different from her personal experience. If she ever needed something, she could simply borrow it from the library or have it made for her. In her mind, people produce goods because they want to, and not for the sake of “money”.

    “Wasn’t it said that money was used to prioritize values?” asked Amazu curiously, while stuffing a biscuit in his mouth.

    “Yes, it was said, but it’s a fallacy. Look at the Irish banks’ strike in 1970 that lasted for six months, while the New York garbage strike in 1968 that lasted a mere nine days. Bankers were paid much more although their service to society was far less critical than that of waste disposal…” Sade explained with her usual charm. She was an economics researcher. Although the word “economics” has evolved over time to focus on values-comparison and preferences, rather than monetary values.

    “I spent a soul-draining day comparing two receipts. They looked identical, except that one was dated a week later. Finally, I figured out why someone bought the same industrial vacuum cleaner twice. I realized there’s an unaccounted-for data center in Mauritius!” Chioma announced. It took a moment for the news to settle, as the ramifications sank in.

    “The records show that only eleven data centers were dismantled when the island was deserted. Was one of them left out?” Sade asked. Chioma nodded in excitement. She felt as if there was electricity in the air.

    “There’s probably a good chance it was flooded if it was too close to the shoreline,” speculated Amazu. He didn’t mean to be negative but couldn’t help it when he spoke his mind.

    “I couldn’t find much information about it,” explained Chioma. “It feels to me that most of the information about it was scrubbed, so it was probably from a considerable time before the ACPA. Based on satellite imagery, I’m guessing it’s a building next to its twin data center, a few hours’ walk from the shore. From what I could tell from two email references, it was a side project that never went live. The emails referred to it as a cautionary tale about over-ambitious and delusional goals…”

    For future historians, ACPA was a dream come true. But its impact went far beyond it. The Anti-Corporate Privacy Act forced any bankrupt corporation to disclose all its documents. The act was detrimental to the reign of private equity as it exposed malpractices and caused a domino effect, ultimately ushering in the end of capitalism.

    “That’s incredible,” said Amazu. “Surely the hardware can be useful as well, but the data itself can be invaluable.” They were all thrilled for the prospects.

    “So when are we leaving?” Sade asked excitedly with a mischievous smile.

    “Huh? I’m not sure if we should go at all,” Chioma said, surprised.

    “Excuse me?” Sade pressed a palm to her chest in mock offense. “A lost data center isn’t something you research from a cozy kitchen while eating fried plantains.”

    Amazu swallowed the last bite of yam thoughtfully.
“She has a point.”

    “But we don’t even know if it’s still intact,” Chioma protested.

    “Which,” Sade said triumphantly, “is why we go look.”

    Sade’s excitement was infectious and Chioma felt the persuasion taking over her. Sade’s hand slipped quietly over hers, and she told her quietly, encouragingly, “You found a thread, let’s see where it leads.”

    Chioma looked down at their joined hands and realized that part of her had already agreed.

    After some debate, it was decided that just the two of them would go. Despite having no limitations on money or budget to consider, more people would require a bigger boat or more boats, thus making the project more complicated as it would rely on more people. They agreed to Amazu’s advice to keep the team as small as safely possible.

    “You don’t want to get stuck after losing your only seafarer,” he pointed out. They concluded they would need a tech person, a medic, and someone who knows the island. Amazu himself decided not to join as his expertise in religious studies would be of no use. He promised he would contact someone he knows in Mombasa to help them find their way around the city.

    It took two more days to prepare. Chioma felt she mostly needed to get mentally ready, while the excited Sade acted like a spring toy ready to set off at any moment. They talked about what gear they would need to take with them and realized that most stuff would be available to borrow from Mombasa’s sadi. Packing their personal items in their backpacks took less than an hour.

    *

    “Humans have to work to survive, so they’ll always accept lower wages than a robot, no matter how cheaply it can be produced. It’s the Čapek paradox.” Gaia said in a matter-of-fact tone. Chioma was shocked.

    “The Čapek paradox was resolved by human basic rights for food and shelter. If anything, the paradox proved the flaw of capitalism by showing how easily people can be coerced into exploitative work in order to survive”, Chioma answered angrily

    *

    “Are you nervous? Are you excited?” Sade asked, as giddy as a puppy being told it’s playtime. They were sitting on their comfortable train cushions for several hours now. Chioma thought that Sade’s excitement would subside by now but clearly it hasn’t. It was endearing and contagious, but Chioma worried that her social and mental battery might be depleted before reaching Mombasa. Sade had always been like that, and it was great – it’s better than being stuck with Amazu’s “pragmatic realism”, but Chioma often thought it’s best to have Sade in “smaller doses”.

    “I’m trying not to build my hopes up,” answered Chioma, “in all likelihood the data center was probably destroyed when the island was deserted”. It was true, but Chioma felt bad to be the negative one. She imagined herself being a hopeful person, but as Sade was always so positively optimistic, any kind of realism felt like negativity by comparison. Mauritius was abandoned ages ago, when the sea levels began to rise. It hasn’t completely sunk but hurricanes destroyed most of the infrastructure that remained. The satellite image showed that the data center should still be ok but the island looked inhospitable, with barren rocks and shattered rotting trees.

    “Perhaps, but we’re going on an adventure! We don’t do that often,” exclaimed Sade. And she was right. Tourism was a thing of the past, despite people having far more free time and liberty to travel anywhere they like, and especially as money was no longer an issue. As people stopped working in jobs they don’t like, there was an equal decline in the need to “get away” or break routine. The culture has changed and “tick-box tourism” that has often manifested in taking pictures of, or next to, famous monuments or buying souvenirs, has also become incredibly far less popular. Most people were content with their local, yet rich, lives. Some travelled and often spent lengthy time living in foreign countries, but the idea of a week-long tourist excursion sounded as ridiculous as tasting a teaspoon to judge a six-course meal.

    Stepping off the train at Mombasa, Sade inhaled loudly the smell of fresh sea water and tamarind. Chioma chuckled as Sade’s excitement made her happy. The train station was buzzing with activities as carts of wooden boxes of fruits were offloaded and taken to the waterfront markets. A facilitator waited for them at the train station, just as Amazu promised. She wore a flowing, coral-colored dress. Her seashell necklace clinked as she walked toward them, smiling warmly. 

    “You must be Chioma and Sade. Welcome,” she said. “I am Abuya, I’m a  facilitator. Shall we find somewhere comfortable to talk?”

    Her presence was calming in a way Chioma could not fully explain—like someone who had seen thousands of travellers before and knew exactly how to ease their anxieties. She guided them to a shaded solar to talk while they sipped coconut water from a jug that someone brought to their table. Abuya listened with bright, intent eyes, nodding occasionally but never interrupting.

    “We’re going to get to Mauritius and look for a lost data center,” Sade jumped in before Chioma could gather her thoughts. She was a bit surprised but she wasn’t offended. She wouldn’t have said anything different as she didn’t feel any need to be anything less than honest with this ibu who was there to help them.

    “Oh, that sounds exciting!” said Abuya. She took out a palm-size slate and started jotting down the requirements. “Have you figured out whom you would want on your team?”. They gave her the list of roles they came up with, and she talked them through it, making suggestions and asking what professional level was needed. Chioma was incredibly grateful to have someone, a stranger for that matter, taking her crazy idea seriously and making it feel real by the minute.

    “All right, leave this with me and I’ll get it sorted. What time do you wish to leave? Shall we find you a place to rest for the night?” Abuya kindly offered.

    “This is incredible,” Chioma thought to herself. Her chest warmed. She felt relieved she needed not worry about any of this. “Where’s the challenge? Where’s the excitement?” she heard Sade’s voice in her head. “Oh, shut up, we have enough on our plate,” she dismissed that thought away.

    Abuya suggested they would set sail in two days’ time, after gathering the crew and provisions they’ll need for the journey. They agreed to meet again for dinner and meet their new team. She then led them to an apartment building with vacant rooms they could use while they’re in Mombasa. The room, Chioma noticed, was fully functional with a small kitchen, a toilet and shower. It was meant for foreigners who might not feel comfortable sharing these amenities with anyone yet.

    “Continuous growth is vital to the economy. The alternative is stagnation, decay and ultimately economic collapse. It is a misconception to believe that steady income is sufficient as inflation erodes the revenues,” Gaia said nonchalantly.

    “The opposite of ‘growth’ isn’t necessarily ‘decline’ or ‘stagnation’. It can very easily be ‘stability’” Chioma answered, annoyed at Gaia’s confident expert-like tone.

    As planned, they met at the Sadi’s dining area. The sun had dipped low and sparkled the water with shimmering gold. Tonight’s meal was an aromatic Pilau dish. As Chioma and Sade arrived, refreshed from their rest, Abuya invited them to a table already packed with people chatting away.

    “Let me introduce you to your team,” Abuya hushed everyone as Chioma and Sade sat down. It didn’t occur to Chioma that the autonomy in the decision was taken from her, but even if she had realized it, she wouldn’t have been able to make better choices that will challenge Abuya’s experience. If she felt uncomfortable with any member of the team, she didn’t see any issue raise it with sincerity and candour, without a fear of unpleasantry or embarrassment.

    “Keeping a small crew will allow you to move fast and avoid the need for additional provisions. As we agreed, you’ll go with two fast boats. Our seafarers, Otesha and Zuri, estimated the round trip will take you about two weeks”. She hand-gestured towards a young man and woman sitting at the table.

    “You’ll have Naomi and Kato, both pathfinders from MAF who will keep you safe; Atieno, a fellow researcher, who looks after the island; Eliud will be responsible for engineering and tech and finally Jabari and Aisha who’ll be responsible for the logistics. Jabari and Aisha both looked like they were in their late-teens, both shirtless and quite casual about it. It wasn’t an unusual scene.

    As society stopped treating women’s breasts as either shameful or magical and all nipples were treated fairly, women gradually stopped wearing bras for anything other than convenience. Some would still find them sexually attractive, but it would be just as attractive as a man’s chest, and both would be a common sight for topless people enjoying the day’s breeze. It would be considered inappropriate to comment on someone else’s body and when it happened, usually the commenter would get ridiculed, and not the victim of the comment.

    “So, what we know so far is that we’re going on a trip to Mauritius to find a lost data center, can you please elaborate on that,” Abuya asked Chioma to explain the team the background to their mission.

    “Right, thank you Abuya,” Chioma was gathering her thoughts, “We believe there’s a data center in Mauritius that hasn’t been disassembled when the island was evacuated. These data centers have been used during the high-tech bubble for centralized computation and data storage so we’re hoping it’ll have valuable information we can excavate”.

    “For the most part the island can look after itself,” Atieno later mentioned. ”I just go there once a year or so to check on the fauna, primarily birds and lizards. They’re thriving now that no humans live on the island despite the erratic weather conditions, but in case it gets any worse, we’ll try to help at least some of them migrate,” Atieno explained.

    The debate between reservation versus preservation is quite contested as some people believe that extinction is a natural process while others think that it is an ethical duty to prevent extinctions, if possible, as the general premise of “biodiversity is a positive thing”. Chioma hasn’t really chosen a camp but always thought it’s ok to let nature run its course. She was curious and made a mental note to ask Atieno about his opinion when time allowed.

    “What do you mean by ‘erratic’?” asked Kato. Later on Chioma learned that despite Kato having the superior role, Naomi was actually his senior. It was the way MAF operated, where roles were assigned by mission and juniors MAFexi were often given commanding roles as a way to gain experience.

    “Temperatures can easily climb to more than 50°C in the summer, it can get very windy very fast, or hail in fist-sized chunks. You don’t want to get caught outside when the sky flips” Atieno warned.

    Entrepreneurship has evolved significantly since the dissolution of money. It’s probably easier to initiate a new project as people are more available, freed from coerced work and far more trusting and supportive, especially if they can see how the project can be beneficial for the entire community or society. Once people chip in on a project, they expect to have a certain ownership, thus the project’s success is for their own gain. The idea of “self-made success” is literally impossible as every person who contributed to the project or even benefitted from it can claim some credit to its success. The team was invested in Chioma’s mission as if it was their own.

    “We’ll borrow two sailing cruisers with Solar auxiliary power, each cruiser can take 5 people so they should be a perfect fit,” said Zuri. “As we said, the journey should take two weeks but we’ll carry four weeks of supplies and batteries should be enough to make the entire journey if we’re so unlucky as to have neither wind nor sun for the entire trip”.

    “Oh!  I thought I would be paddling! I thought that those mornings I got up to erg with Amazu would finally pay off,” joked Sade and they all laughed as she muscled up.

    As the conversation continued, Chioma watched them interact—laughing over the shared meals and  offering to teach one another skills on the voyage. A warm feeling settled in her chest.

    Sade elbowed her lightly. “We’re really doing this.”

    Chioma nodded. “We are.”

    Early morning the next day, the team met at sunrise by the docks for final preparations and checks. The cruisers, rocking gently in their berths, were a relatively new model of solar-sail catamarans, seven meters in length and five in width. The wooden mast had two shiny-silver sails that also functioned as solar panels for the auxiliary engine. Dinghies were attached to each of them to serve the landing party and as an emergency raft. The boats belonged to the Mombasa flotilla, and the seafarers would book them according to their needs. The admin office had a log of reservations and usage and the level of maintenance the boat received when it was returned. It was a common courtesy to return boats fixed and ready for their next use. Some people are lazy, of course. Some people are less experienced, but the community always managed to support everyone and keep things in check.

    A pod of dolphins circled the cruisers excitedly as they were about to set sail. Otesha explained they often follow the boats around and might even join them on their journey.  Out of all the wild animals, the relationship with dolphins had transformed the most significantly as humanity started putting an active effort to restore nature and some argued that dolphins have grown to compete with dogs for the title of “most loyal friend”.

    As they pushed away from the dock and the warm wind filled the sails, Mombasa drifted slowly from view. The city shrank to a picturesque watercolor postcard and eventually was swallowed by the horizon.

    “It’s beautiful,” Sade said.

    “It is,” Chioma agreed. “And frightening.”

    “That’s how you know it’s worth doing.”

    *

    “It’s naive to think that disposing of an ever-growing amount of waste everywhere is effective by any measure,” Chioma said angrily.

    “The business is measured by the levels of output compared to input, both are measured monetarily – costs and revenues. Once considering waste as an external cost it’s no longer required to be taken into account in the business financial scope. Therefore, it’s the most efficient way” Gaia answered, completely oblivious to the heightened tension in the room.

    “Surely protecting the environment is the most profitable, let alone sustainable, strategy in the long run,” Chioma protested.

    “Environmental considerations are important, but we should evaluate them from a monetary perspective.” Gaia reiterated. “They can be passed as externalities and it is often more profitable to simply pay the fines than changing work processes or recalling products,” Gaia chirped, making Chioma scoff. “Alternatively, the company can invest money to lobby the government to excuse it from handling the damages and would still be a financially preferred solution. Should the fines still seem too critical, the company will simply declare bankruptcy, force liquidation and sell the assets to the next iteration, without the burden of taking responsibility for the previous company’s misdeed. In the long run, environmental degradation is the next generation’s problem. Not ours. It’s always the next generation’s problem”.

    *

    “Land Ahoy!” yelled Jabari excitedly pointing at the small dot peeking over the horizon. The journey took them seven days as expected. They reported back to Mombasa and started preparing their gear. Two hours later they arrived at Port Louis. Once a thriving tourist attraction, the city was mostly underwater. They could see Fort Adelaide towering over the old bay, which has now become a massive bay, only ruins of skyscrapers peeking out of the water. The cloudy skies only contributed to the grim sight that lay ahead of them. Chioma felt a flutter of apprehension, and Sade squeezed her hand.

    “Those drones can surely look like a treat to a kestrel” Atieno mentioned to Eliud, as they hauled out a small chest filled with a dozen tennis ball-sized automated drones. 

    “Yes, we considered that. The drones will fly higher than the kestrel and it will mimic the bird’s distress call to signal them to avoid the area. In the worst case, a touch on the outer shell will cause the rotor to stop so at least it wouldn’t injure the bird. The material is mostly digestible so it would be a shame to lose the drone, but at least we wouldn’t lose the bird…”

    He then sent them out to survey the island. They circled around the island and mapped it. As they were all looking at the monitors, Atieno took a screenshot of a screen filled with red birds. 

    “These birds are Mauritius fody and from the number of them, they seem to be thriving,” he explained. This was great news about the once-endangered bird. When he revisits the island in a few months, he’ll try to tag as many of them as possible. Having no other humans on the island allowed the curious bird to become friendlier with him and his job easier. It would take him about a month to survey the entire island fauna, usually with the help of one or more friends. “This is the best time of my life,” he said, smiling.

    Despite the eagerness for solid ground, they decided to stay on the boat for the night and head inland in the morning. To their surprise they woke up to clear blue skies. This was great news as they could spread the sails and recharge the batteries. It was a calculated risk they had to take, as sudden fast winds can easily tear the sails, but relying on the weather-forecast system, they hoped they’ll have enough time to pull them down if necessary.

    After having a hearty breakfast of porridge and fruit, the team used the dinghy to get to the island, carefully navigating between the roofs of the sunken buildings. They left behind Otesha, Zuri and Jabari to look after the boats. Despite the sunny skies, they all wore bright orange suits with tracking and flotation devices. Like mountaineers, they all connected themselves to a long rope. Chioma felt it was unnecessary but Kato and Naomi took Atieno’s warning of sudden wind gusts in earnest and deemed it sensible. They also agreed to check in via radio with the boats every fifteen minutes.

    The island was barely half of the size it was when it was evacuated centuries ago, and it looked devastated. Most of the soil was swampy mud with broken rocks and shattered building pieces scattered everywhere. Rotten wood stumps were solemn remains of what used to be the forest that covered most of the island. Younger trees were growing and according to Atieno, they looked better than before – an indication that weather isn’t as catastrophic as it used to be, but it’ll take another century for the island to recover its former glory.

    Atieno led the way, with Kato by his side and Naomi as the rear guard. Often he would stop to admire a lizard or a plant. At first he stopped to admire and explain to them about the Round-island day gecko and Chioma was grateful that after ten minutes Kato kindly reminded him that they want to make the most use of the daylight. Naomi eventually suggested she would go with him and record his sighting once they found the data center.

    It still took them four hours of walking through debris, mud and sweltering humid heat but eventually they arrived at the battered building. It was in poor shape but mostly intact. The glasses were all broken and rusty metal mesh covered them. The door was locked which took them by surprise. They couldn’t understand why people didn’t respect one another without the need for physical barriers. 

    “May I have a look?” Eliud asked. After examining the door, he found the keyhole just below the handle. It wasn’t obvious for any of them as they never seen a locked door in their lives. He then pulled a drone out of his rucksack and pointed its camera towards the keyhole. The drone chirped and in a moment an x-ray view of the lock appeared on the portable display controller. They managed to analyze the lock mechanism and using Naomi’s laser cutter they shaped a small metal scrap into a key.

    “Locks help protect one’s wellbeing, privacy and their possessions” explained Gaia.

    “Locks also prevent others from reaching out and helping the locked person. ‘Privacy’ is a matter of respect and trust, so having a lock is like putting a patch on a much bigger problem. And the same goes with ownership – if I took something that belongs to you by mistake then we communicate and I return it if I can…”

    “Click!” the key turned as they all cheered. Kato slowly opened the door, ready to respond to whatever lurked inside. A dark hall sprawled beyond the door, the only thing visible with the light coming from the outside was the metallic rail leading to downward stairs. The air smelled damp. The power switch was next to the door, but they knew it wouldn’t be smart to turn it on, not knowing what side effects it might cause. Eliud unleashed a dozen drones once again and once they surveyed the corridors between the servers, they automatically positioned themselves spaced apart, high near the ceiling and emitted a soft red light that illuminated the entire room. The servers looked dry but the floor was hidden by an inch-high murky water.

    “Alright, the drones’ batteries will deplete in about three hours. By this time we either get whatever we came here for or figure out if the light switch will work,” instructed Eliud and they all went on with their tasks. While Naomi and Atieno secured and explored the perimeter, Kato checked inside for hazards, and Eliud checked whether they could restore power. Aisha wrote an inventory of everything that could be salvaged – maybe not with their small boats but there was no point to leave it on a deserted island to rot. Chioma and Sade were buzzing over every piece of old scrap paper they could find, documenting and cataloguing anything they could extract from it. It took Eliud an hour to come back with his findings.

    “We didn’t really expect the power source to last a century so it’s no surprise the system is out of juice”. Eliud said, and he could see Sade’s excitement crushed down. ”A lot of the infrastructure has deteriorated beyond recovery but I estimate there’s about a petabyte of information that we can manually copy at least part of it to a portable drive and examine it later in an isolated environment.”

    “Oh, we’re not turning it on now?” Sade asked, clearly disappointed. Chioma could relate. She was also hoping to get a glimpse of the data then and there, but she understood how unsafe it could be from any aspect imaginable.

    “No, not now,” she answered. “But we’ll do it as soon as we get back to the boat. We can do that, right?”. She asked Eliud, knowing how devastated Sade would be. It wasn’t urgent, but she knew that Sade’s anticipation will drive everyone crazy on their way back and it’s better to let her happily sieve through the data. Eliud reassured them they could analyze the data as soon as they’re back on the boat.

    After copying the data, they figured out what else had immediate value worth taking back with them in their small boats. The petrol, being rare and finite, was valuable. The electronics were old, Eliud pointed out that at the height of the “Growth Capitalism”, most electronics became obsolete less than five years after production. There was a strong drive to improve everything, he explained, mainly because it was a way to get more money from the consumer, often by adding meaningless features and sometimes with explicit design-for-obsolescence. The notion left Kato and Aisha stunned. It was completely incomprehensible. Eventually they decided to take a screwdriver kit and some manual gear that might be useful. Aisha would publish the inventory and someone else would come to scrap it and perhaps put it into some good use.

    “Short-lifespan products help the economy grow and businesses thrive with the help of returning consumers. Each iteration of the product is slightly modified, improved and most importantly – fits current fashion and trends.”

    “Perfectly good products that end up in the bin just because they’re old are a waste of resources. It might be good for the economy as a whole but if I need to keep buying the same only negligibly upgraded product then surely that’s wasteful for your own personal economic status”.

    The skies had already started turning orange when they came into sight of the boats. Standing on the deck, Jabari waved at them and probably yelled something, but they were too far to hear. They leisurely walked towards the boats when a sudden gust of wind carried Chioma off her feet and bashed her against a nearby wall. A jolt of pain seared from her wrist as she smashed the bone under the intense pressure. She lost consciousness for an instant, and fell to the floor. She could hear Aisha yelling Jabari’s name in a distant haze that was like someone shouting from the moon.

    “Chioma! Are you ok?” Sade’s voice calling her name grounded her back to reality. She blinked in confusion. The wind was still blowing intensely but Sade was cowering over her, giving her little shelter. Atieno was lying on the ground next to her with his hands protecting his head, while Eliud and Naomi were crouching next to a wall not far from her. Naomi had her back towards the wall and one of the hands on Eliud’s rucksack, making it and Eliud stay put. She could see Kato and Aisha a few hundred meters ahead, sprinting towards the boats that were now rocking like empty shells in the stormy waves. Jabari was nowhere to be seen. She couldn’t tell whether he managed to get below deck on time or fell into the treacherous waters. It was all blurry, but she later recalled how at the time she thought it was funny to see Aisha and Kato running in zigzags and diagonals trying to fight wind gusts, with a rope holding them both together.

    “I think my arm is broken” she shouted at Sade trying to overcome the howling wind. Naomi grabbed the rope that attached them together and leaned to Eliud. Chioma couldn’t hear what was said but she guessed Naomi instructed Eliud to secure the rucksack to his back. Then Naomi crawled to lay beside Atieno. She shouted something towards him and Atieno nodded in understanding. She helped him to his knees as the three of them continued to crawl towards Chioma and Sade. Finally, Naomi reached the wall next to Chioma and pulled her by the armpits to rest her back against the wall as she screamed in pain. In silent efficiency, Naomi took out a small syrette from her arm pocket and used it to stab Chioma’s throbbing wrist. Chioma, tears running down her cheeks from agony, was shocked how quickly the pain receded to a mere blurry memory. The arm was still broken, and the pain was there but it was now external to her – something to be aware of rather than something you can’t ignore. Naomi made a makeshift sling around Chioma’s neck and locked her broken arm inside of it, preventing it from moving. Chioma looked in amazement, thinking to herself that should’ve been extremely painful. She was still in a state of shock as she saw Naomi lock her to the rope using another carabiner and Sade locked herself as well.

    “We need to get into a shelter,” shouted Naomi. She reached into her bag and pulled a brick-sized pack and gun-like device. She wobbled as the wind pushed against her. Eliud crawled next to her and used his own body to weigh her down. She used the gun to nail a split-end spike into the ground. She then secured the pack into the spike and pressed it open. In an instant, it popped to a small tent. She continued to put three more spikes while the rest of them took cover inside. Chioma’s legs were too weak to stand but Sade helped her into the tent. It was safe in the confines of the tent’s polymer walls, albeit very crowded, but it sounded like the world was ending outside. Crazy weather events weren’t uncommon, but Chioma thought to herself that these intensive sudden wind gusts are probably one of the reasons Mauritius was abandoned to begin with.

    Naomi radioed the boats to check their status. Zuri replied in an anxious voice that one of the masts broke and hit Jabari who fell to the water, but Otesha managed to pull him back. They were all grateful he was wearing a life jacket and tied to the boat, making the rescue considerably easier.

    “I’m sorry I dragged you to this stupid adventure,” Sade murmured, squeezing her tight to her chest. She could feel her heartbeat thumping in anxiety.

    “Don’t be silly, we’re going to be ok.” she replied. It was an odd feeling to have their roles change and her encouraging Sade for once. Sade, who was an endless source of joy, was now petrified at the thought of losing her best friend. It was the one thing she wouldn’t be able to cope with. Chioma used her unbroken hand to gently caress Sade’s cheek until she heard her breathing steady itself once again.

    “What do I do with this?” Chioma asked Naomi after some time, dangling her slung arm. It didn’t hurt as much but she worried what would happen when the painkillers would wear off. She felt silly and useless.

    “Ah, right. Not a problem,” Naomi said. She took out a gel tube from her backpack and applied it on Chioma’s wrist. It was green and smelled like aloe vera. Pouring water on it made it harden as it clung to the skin. “This will act as an external support. It also numbs the nerves so it shouldn’t hurt at all. Over time it will start peeling off and by the time it’s gone your bone should heal itself, or you can wash it with alcohol to quickly dissolve it”.

    “Oh, wow” Chioma was impressed. She had seen similar casts before but never realized it was that easy to apply. Wriggling her fingers, she felt the cast solidifying, pulling the tiny hair on her arm, sending small, needle-like sensations through her arm.

    “It’s a breathable material, so you won’t feel that you’re roasting inside. If it’s itchy you can scratch it and it will give you relief,” Naomi reassured her with a kind smile. She felt grateful.

    The wind lasted for about an hour, and it was nighttime when they finally stepped out of their small tent. Chioma could finally stand up straight and stretch her arms as wide as possible. She looked at her new green-skinned wrist. It was growing on her. They helped Naomi pack the tent and spike back and finished their journey to the boat to assess the damage.

    “We managed to make good use of the sunshine while we had it,” informed Otesha when they got to the boats. “But I wouldn’t recommend sailing off at night with the broken mast. We’ll wait until the morning and try to fix it first”. They all agreed.

    That evening was the first time they were all happy to be below deck. Jabari had the same cast-gel spreading around his chest preventing him from taking any deep breath but also protecting him from puncturing his lung. Sade decided to let him rest tonight as she’ll oversee dinner. Chioma wanted to help but Sade insisted she should rest as well. She made them traditional Egusi soup that reminded Chioma of home so badly it brought tears to her eyes. She felt so grateful to have Sade with her on this journey. It may not have been as smooth sailing as one would’ve liked but all the planning and precautions they made have really paid off to make sure everyone will come back home safely and she really couldn’t have asked for more.

    “Money can set you free. With it, you can choose your community, your work, your values. Without money, you’re at the mercy of others.”

    “Your money isn’t worth anything if you don’t have other people who will accept it. In that sense, you’re at the mercy of others regardless. And if they are your family you don’t even need to pay them to look after you. You are a valued member of your family simply by ‘being’. Independence doesn’t equate to self-sufficiency, unless you’re willing to sacrifice your living standards considerably. ”

    Early morning the very next day, the team were already at work to fix the broken wooden mast. First, Otesha and Zuri went to look for the floating missing piece and with the help of the dolphins they managed to retrieve it quickly. Then, while Otesha, Zuri and Kato held the mast upright, Eliud applied a wood glue that revived the wood’s natural enzymes.

    “The glue actually has two stages,” he explained to the fascinated Jabari, but everyone tuned in. “It has mycelial threads that grow very quickly to keep the wood pieces together. That part takes about an hour, in which we need to keep the mast straight, so the threads won’t tear. After an hour it’ll be strong enough to support itself and then the long process begins, in which the ligninases and cellulases melt the top layer of the wood and allow it to regenerate as a single whole unit”. They were all in awe. “I heard that they have it in mass production in India to allow them to build furniture with it. We’re happy with our sashimono”. They took turns holding the mast for the next hour and then Eliud applied a gel similar to the cast-gel as an extra layer of protection before they were ready to set sail back to Mombasa.

    “Hello, I’m the Global Autonomous Infrastructure Administration, but you can call me Gaia. I’m afraid that my sensors are inaccessible and I can’t perform my assigned task. Awaiting further instructions,” The computer spoke in English with a strong foreign accent. Chioma thought the name was somewhat blasphemous, as something so unnatural as an artificial intelligence would be named after earth’s personification. She figured that whoever named this system was very presumptuous, or just thought it was a joke.

    It was their second day on their journey back to Mombasa. So far, the sailing was smooth with the wind blowing strongly at their patched sail and batteries quickly recharging. As he had promised to Sade, Eliud connected the data drive to a laptop, making sure it was physically disconnected from any means that might allow any malicious code to escape.

    “Gaia, can you tell me what your task is?” Chioma typed it in. They decided against giving Gaia microphone access to avoid the risk of it eavesdropping on them. Precautions felt like a safe choice dealing with an unknown entity.

    “Of course! I autonomously manage infrastructure, including but not limited to gas, electricity, water, sewage, telecommunications and transportation. I’m responsible for distributing and balancing loads by analyzing and predicting demands and responding by allocating resources and/or setting prices to achieve the primary objective”.

    Chioma took that all in. Essentially this system controlled every aspect of the lives of the people in the area that it was entrusted with.

    “Gaia, what area were you entrusted with?”

    “I’m not limited to a specific area. In fact, I’m capable of assessing any infrastructure utility I can contact and deploy either a soft merger or hostile takeover if needed”.

    “It’s very greedy…” Sade noted, frowning.

    “It’s a machine, how can it be greedy…” wondered Chioma, and then typed “Gaia, what is the primary objective?”

    “Maximum profit for the shareholders.”

    The conversation left Chioma disheartened as Sade finally unplugged the power from the terminal and put a hand on Chioma’s shoulder and squeezed gently as before. Their roles switched back and Sade returned to be the positive comforting person she always has been, only now Chioma felt it had a profound depth to it. She knew that Sade truly and utterly cared for her.

    Whether it was just Gaia, or the company that owned it, or that entire era — they simply couldn’t own up to their mistake and make reparations. The problem will always be pushed to the next generation. Chioma was grateful that at some point down the line people came to their senses that the longer things are left broken, the more difficult it becomes to fix for whoever will eventually have to face the problem.

    They were all quiet for the rest of the afternoon until Aisha announced dinner was ready and the motley boat crew resumed their jolly life for the rest of the ride home.

    The Gaia drive was kept in the Lagos library with a strict warning prohibiting connecting it to anything remotely useful. Whether Gaia was conscious or not became an irrelevant question as it was clear that she followed her instructions to the letter and those were set by greedy, selfish people.

    Lying in her bed and struggling to fall asleep as Sade quietly snored next to her, Chioma thought about the adventure they had together. People nearly died and despite finding what they were looking for, the conversation with Gaia left a sour taste in her mouth as she was disillusioned with capitalism prioritizing efficiency or innovation over greed. It was quite disappointing to her. She learned a lot, and she met amazing, funny and brave new friends. They endured, and it felt great. She also recalled that ultimately Gaia was never turned on and for her, that was a glimmer of hope – knowing that someone had the common sense to decide not to turn on a machine that valued profits over human lives. Humans lived with capitalism for several centuries until one day they woke up and collectively decided to choose something better. She closed her eyes and drifted to a calm, restful sleep.

  • The Seashell by the Window

    The sadi has opened, at a limited capacity. Long before sunrise, it yawned as people started preparing for the day and as the first light hit the mud-covered streets, its heart gave its first jolt and the central kitchen opened to serve the workers with a hot drink and a meal before setting off to clear the mud and debris, assess the wreckage and start rebuilding the shattered city. Some people sang or hummed to themselves. Not joyful songs, but songs of perseverance and solidarity. “It’s time to move on”, they sang. “Move on together”. Songs that gave them strength to face their wrecked homes and build a new future instead.

    Angavu stood at the center of the heart, orchestrating the cooks and the chefs and making sure it all flows in harmony. She wouldn’t yell but her loud authoritative voice thundered in the kitchen as the chefs answered her questions and orders in army-like precision. Sandwiches and pastries wrapped in banana leaves tied with a cotton string, porridges and soups in coconut husks turned into clay pots, fruits and vegetables. One can imagine her as having dozens tentacles, all working in unison in a beautiful dance to create mouth-watering meals. Nothing is eluded from her, especially not Wanjiru standing at the entrance to the kitchen. Their gaze locked with understanding. She asked her colleague to come take her place as she stepped away from the conductor’s podium and walked to the younger woman. She wiped her own hands on her apron before embracing Wanjiru.

    “It is time”, she said, holding Winjiru’s hands tight. Wanjiru just nodded and smiled, exhaustingly.

    “It will be us and his four neighbours, it shouldn’t take long”, said Wanjiru, apologetically.

    “It will take as long as it takes”.

    “It’s a small apartment, I promise you’ll be back for lunch time”.

    “We were planning to make tagine. I know it’s your favourite, we can come back together”.

    “Yes, that would be nice”.

    They walked together. A woman in her later forties and a woman well past her sixties that anyone who knows better would know it’s best not to question her age. They walked hand in hand, although it wasn’t exactly clear if one was carrying the other. They were there for each other, in every sense there is.

    If one would ask Wanjiru why she chose to be a mother she will answer that her first memory was her as a toddler getting up in the middle of the night to hug a crying baby to sleep. Perhaps it wasn’t true but the story was told so many times it rooted itself as an essential part of who she was. At least that was the story as she was told by the parent who was in charge of the nursery that night. It wasn’t her biological mother or father, as all the parents took turns looking after the children, but it was one of her parents just the same.

    Nurseries often consisted of about three to six children and double the number of parents – either the biological parents or other adults who wished to take care of toddlers. The carers sole responsibility was to take care of the children and their household. During the day, The children were looked after by some of the adults while the others rested or tended to the household chores such as cleaning or preparing food.

    Perhaps it was her motherly nature, perhaps it was her environment that nudged her in that direction but she was happy of being a mother just the same. She was proud of all the children she reared and raised or at least been a part of her life and they all loved and admired her as their mother. Her transition to the role of a pastor felt the most natural step for her.

    Otesha, on the other hand, never had the desire for children of his own. For no particular reason, he was simply not interested. In contrast to other cultures, where children are told from an early age they’re expected to go to school; find a job; find a partner; have children; mortgage; pet and continue the traditional circle of life, it is now common to encourage children to pursue their own goals, dreams and aspirations. Otesha had friends, he was loved and cherished but his true love was the sea. He worked in the communal seaweed farm and loved every moment of it.

    Eventually Angavu and Wanjiru entered a small enclosed garden surrounded by apartments. It was a fruit garden, albeit big clumps were torn off by the storm. Out of the 5 fruit trees that fed the surrounding households, only one remained standing still, the rest laid in rest, smashed against the wall while two were completely blown away. Four neighbours have already started clearing up and making small piles of debris and broken woods. When one of them, Zuri, saw Wanjiru come in she gave a short whistle to get everyone’s attention and stood up to hug Wanjiru. Wanjiru hugged her back as she felt the tears soaking on her shoulder.

    They talked a bit and shared their condolences. Eventually Wanjiru held the hands of the two people next to her and as they naturally held each other, they knew it was time to press on.

    The apartment door wasn’t locked. It wasn’t uncommon as the people of Mombasa grew without the fear of burglary or intrusion. Even child delinquency was considered merely innocent mischief. In truth, people were considered responsible adults and treated as such in both respect and responsibility sometime even before puberty. People learned to respect each other’s privacy and ownership and despite having a considerably different sense of ownership, no one ever felt their home was invaded by a malicious agent, jealous of something they might have. The only locked doors were to protect against danger such as medicine cabins or electricity boards, and even then – it was usually a simple mechanism to prevent the door from opening on its own, rather than a key that a single individual might hold.

    The windows were closed and the only light came in through the door, dust floating in the light rays. Mud covered the floor and marks on the clay wall showed the flood water reached knee high. Several photos that were soaked and now dry rested on the floor. Angavu and another ibu went to open the window and let the light flood the small apartment. Most apartments were built in such a way that during day-time there’s no need for artificial light. Angavu picked up a small seashell from the windowsill and rubbed its rugged texture with her thumb. A small smile crept to the corner of her eyes as memories flooded her mind and flashed before her eyes.

    “Hello friend”, she whispered gently and put the seashell back.

    Wanjiru had her first child at the age of 20. It’s considered early but not unheard of. She spent the six years before that travelling and experiencing the world and two more years at the nursery mothering other children before deciding she was finally ready to have a baby herself. Finding a biological father for her child wasn’t a big issue since the children are raised by the community so there’s less pressure to find “the right one”. One of the adults in her kana that medical checks proved isn’t blood-related was happily volunteering. There was no doubt he was a wonderful father. That said, had it just been the two of them raising their child, she may have picked differently. 

    For the next twelve years, she had five more children. At its peak, the kana had twenty children. It might sound overwhelming, but there were plenty of adults around, and the children looked after one another from very early on. Being a parent isn’t a duty to be taken lightly, and parents are usually quite respected in their community—even by most childless adults. Population decline has taken a massive toll on humanity, and although many see the extinction of the human race as “sad, but not the end of the world,” most people are happy to support parents and share some of their burdens. With the exception of some hermits, everyone knows that a fulfilling social life requires other people, and they’re happy to contribute to the cause, even if not by rearing children themselves, often by becoming kamobos.

    Wanjiru put the empty cardboard boxes on the table but she needed a moment to sit down and compose herself. She knew why she was there. She knew what she was ought to do, but all of a sudden it felt too big, too impossibly big, wrong even. It felt like killing someone, like erasing them from existence.

    As a toddler Otesha loved running in the early morning, just before dawn break and seeing the sea-ferrers navigate their small boats out of the harbour. They often waved at him and he could recite the name of each boat to everyone’s delight. Soon after that he would join to see what their day looked like. This is how he met and fell in love with the woman who soon became his kamobo and mentor. She was a marine biologist and luckily, she had the time and patience to teach the young boy everything she knew about the sea.

    Angavu came and put her hand on Wanjiru who was still sitting on the chair next to the empty cardboard boxes.

    “They used to have this myth, you know, that it’s easier to rip a bandaid in a single swift.”

    Wanjiru chuckled. “Easier for the impatient doctor perhaps.”

    She rested her cheek on Angavu’s hand that was on her shoulder, then patted it and stood up. “Come, someone in the refugee camp is going to be grateful to have this place as their new home”.

    The apartment was very big, considering it served a single person. It had two rooms, separated by a thick curtain made of recycled polyester. Its colors looked faded but a simplistic washed-out illustration of a sunflower rising beyond cloudy mountains was still visible. The bottom of the curtain was still soaked and stretch-marks were subtly showing at the top as the weight was pulling at the hooks that held it to its rail. One of the men started taking it off in order to help it dry. The walls were made of terracotta clay but now suffered from dampness at their bottoms. Once everything is taken out of the apartment, someone will use a portable microwave gun to evaporate the excess water and discard any mold that might build up. Wanjiru made a mental note to get it done before the new tenant comes in.

    The entrance door led to the main room, which had a small utility kitchen and a dining table fitted for six people. Considering there were plenty of communal kitchens and dining halls, it was quite telling of a person who lived on his own but would still wish to host guests. The kitchen sink was filled to its brim with soaked dishes, which was also quite telling.

    The bedroom was very functional with a single person bed on one side and a desk on the other. A slate laid still on the desk. It had no password as people normally trusted one another and found it much easier to use devices that don’t require consistent authentication. This one had a ‘to do’ list of actions that someone else will now need to take care of. There were plenty of other small artifacts, collectibles and memorabilia – some on the desk and some on the shelves on the wall. The common theme that linked them most of them, as far as Wanjiru could tell, was their sea salt corrosion that eroded their fine details. They belonged to a past long forgotten. They were memories and stories of past lives, and now they had one more story to tell.

    Zuri started collecting the old photos, those that were still hanging on the wall and those that fell on the floor and got soaked. It was quite tedious as she looked carefully on each one and wrote the details to the best of her knowledge on each picture that wasn’t already detailed. Aside from slates, people normally didn’t have electronic devices to keep photos and document their lives. In general they took far less photos than time past as being present and drinking every little bit of detail was considered more meaningful. They also like retelling stories as a way of preserving their memories. Photos they took were more often than not printed and cherished – in albums, or hanging on the wall. They would argue – “why else would you make the effort to take the picture to begin with?”. She then found a photo that brought tears to her eyes. Trembling, she brought the photo to Wanjiru who was busy sorting out cutlery.

    “What is it?”

    “It’s a namesday”

    The photo showed a crowd of a few dozen people huddled together with the birthday boy in the front holding his cake with six candles on it. They all looked happy in the photo, wearing bright colourful clothes and silly birthday hats made of woven long green weed. He was loved and cherished by so many people. Wanjiru could easily find herself in the photo. She looked brimming with joy, and Angavu looked blissfully happy.

    Otesha’s kamobos were proud of him. He was responsible for a large area of seaweed forest just off the shore of Mombasa. Spending most of his youth with the seafarers, as he became older he was content to stay close to his family and friends and started helping at the seaweed farms and at the age of sixteen he was given a small patch to cultivate on his own. Seaweeds are extremely useful for many purposes, from medicine to food and they’re quite easy to nurture. They can be used to dress wounds, to purify water, to make bioplastics and fermented seaweed can be used to make biofuel. However Otesha focused only on seaweed for human consumption. It can be eaten as-is, although despite the selective breeding process the taste is still “a work in process”, as Otesha would admit, and the texture is still off-putting. It can be dried as used as a snack or a wrap. But often it is grounded to powder that can be used as a high-protein flour substitute. It nearly surpassed wheat production, mainly because of its better land usage as it can be grown vertically up to 30 meters deep.

    He was quite modest regarding his farm and when praised about the produce he shrugged it off by saying he always feels he barely gets any work done. In reality his farm was one of the well-kept farms in the region. He gave credits to his friend, but often failed to mention the reason he doesn’t attend the farm as much as he would argue he should, was that he spent a healthy amount of the day playing with his friends. His friends, that is a family of four bottlenose dolphins, would cater the farm for him, eating pests such as urchins and snails and getting rid of algae and barnacles. All that was left for him was to harvest the daily supply of seaweed and bring it to the sadi.

    Wanjiru opened a closet and took out the small pile of clothes that were there. Besides one drawer with a fancy-looking shirt and a pair of slacks, the rest of the clothes had a faint, but undeniable scent of the ocean. She considered which box should fit these. They had boxes for practical things that other people might find useful such as pots and utensils. Or boxes for pretty things such as art pieces and books. They weren’t useful in any way, but they made the room feel special to anyone who walked into it. And lastly there were the personal items – journal and photographs. They won’t mean to a stranger, but they would mean the world to anyone who knew him. Wanjiru brought the plain, ocean-scented shirt into her face and inhaled deeply, letting the salty tears soak into fabric. In her own little ceremony she thanked each article of cloth and put it in the box for practical things that someone else would appreciate using.

    He always rushed his morning maintenance routine, his kamobo-mama would warn him to be more mindful.

    “You don’t want to find yourself in a leaking boat again”, she would naggingly remind him. It was quite an embarrassing experience, sitting in a half sunken boat five kilometres from the shore waiting for someone to come pick him, his daily harvest floating away in a big pile next to him. Fortunately for him, a dolphin bobbed his head next to him and they started playing catch with an orange he had with him, until someone came to his rescue a few hours later. The next day, he was much more diligent with the morning routine of checking his equipment, the boat and the weather. The dolphin came again and he spent some time playing with him. Over time a few other dolphins joined them and they would spend hours playing and goofing around. His kamobo-mama, who actually specialised in sharks, helped him learn how to communicate with his new friends and perhaps their meaningful interactions were more about presence rather than exchange of words, they could exchange basic instructions to one another. After some time, he noticed they started helping him in hour farm chores so he could spend more time playing with them and over time he would come to the farm only to realise they’ve done everything they could on their part and his responsibility was reduced to fixing the strings on which the seaweed grew and cropping his daily harvest. He would be one of the first farmers to return every day from the sea, utterly exhausted after spending most of the day playing instead of actually doing his chores.

    In the long ago past, people in general and women in particular, had to choose between parenthood and career. The combination was possible with the support of a community or at least a loving partner, but often required a level of sacrifice – of either of the two, or of anything else. Very few managed to juggle it altogether. As the population declined at an alarming rate, society decided that parenthood should be considered a life ambition, not any less respected than a teacher for example as both roles were trying to improve the future of mankind. But at the age of forty Wanjiru decided she wants more from life. With the support of her kana she went back to study and a couple of years later she became a pastor in her community.

    Pastors provided guidance and guards in their community. Over the years the role lost its religious meaning and instead evolved to replace the now decommissioned police patrol officers and social case workers. She was responsible for the civil order and the well being of her community. She was still a mother, she explained, just to a lot more people.

    Family dinners were always important, but in a household of twenty children it can be a bit hectic and lose its intimacy. But it was important to them and a lot of effort was made to make it work. First the toddlers were fed, often with a lot of help from their elders siblings. Then the adults would split into two groups to dine with the younger and then the older children. Each child had an opportunity to tell about their day and discuss the family matters. They learned to listen and ask questions and have a critical conversation about their passions and feelings. That was the part she missed most as a pastor, as she was invited to other family dinners so often. Her children had grown and understood the importance of her role but they still rejoiced to be with her. Sometimes they asked to tag along. They were proud of her, and were happy to share her, knowing she brings her blessing wherever she goes.

    As the last boxes were taken out, Wanjiru was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of loneliness. You can be surrounded with all the loving, caring people in the world but if that one person that your heart yearns for is gone, you will feel lonely. What she would’ve given to see him smile one last time, to hear his laugh or touch his face, to say her final goodbye. Wanjiru broke down crying. Before her knees collapsed under her she was hugged by a firm embrace and soothing voice. Perhaps Angavu was never a biological mother but she anticipated it and was there for her beloved friend. Wanjiru sobbed as she felt a part of her life torn away. It wasn’t the memories that haunted her, rather than her wishes. Your child will never be only his past, rather than all what he could’ve been, who he might’ve become. And this was taken away from her. All six of them huddled together and cried.

    “There, there”, soothed her Angavu. “He will always remain in our hearts”. Death is an inevitable sadness, and the passing of one’s child is even more so a tragedy. There is no solution or a fix for it beyond acceptance and cherishing the moments we have together. A tree was planted, despite having no grave, on top of a hill with a view to the sea.

    In the stormy weeks leading to the hurricane, the dolphins migrated to safe havens down south, promising Otesha they’ll be back once the storm subsides. It wasn’t so obvious as the world climate derailed and, for example, the typhoons hitting Japan for more than a year rendered the island inhabitable. They stayed long enough to help him untie the buoys that held the seaweed strings. Laying them flat on the ocean floor wasn’t ideal, but it will be much easier to recover than rebuilding the entire system from scratch. Sitting at home waiting for the storm to pass made him giddy. For a guy with constant prune fingers he sure didn’t like rain. The small underwater air-dome he constructed next to the farm so he could spend rainy days with his friends was taken ashore as it wouldn’t survive the stormy waves. He would spend his days transferring sand bags using a wheelbarrow he borrowed from a relative that already evacuated. It was a hard strenuous, job, and every night he would come back soaked with rain and sweat, only to go at it again the next day. He kept at it even after he himself moved to the refugee camp. Every morning going back to town and helping fortify it against the storm.

    And then the hurricane hit, and despite everything, he was at the wrong place at the wrong time. When the dolphins returned a few months later, it was his kamobo-mama that sobbingly shared the gracious news and the dolphins wailed as well. 

    The apartment laid empty, stripped from its humanity. The walls were bare and the cupboard was empty. Someone else would take it from here- remove the wall and prepare it for its new occupant. It is the neighbors’ responsibility to choose who will join their extended household. It would probably be a temporary tenant whose house was destroyed but oftentimes the temporary becomes permanent and when everyone makes an effort to get along, a stranger might be an interesting addition to the community. A small seashell is left on the windowsill. There’s nothing very special about it. Maybe it was left there by mistake. Maybe it was left as a welcome letter to the new tenant from the former one – “I was here once, and I loved the sea. I hope you love it too”.

  • Roots and Stones

    The sky was still gray, but the storm had passed. The river’s waterline was slowly receding to its original level, and broken debris had been washed away. The cries of seagulls echoed as they emerged from their shelters. A strong scent of rain, dampness, and mud filled the air, but weak gusts of warm wind from the east felt like gentle fingers caressing the land, offering hope. Leila touched her cheek, savoring the warmth, as she stepped down from the train at the temporary makeshift station near Chaani.

    Mombasa’s main train station remained buried in mud, as was much of the vudo. Yet, less than a week after Hurricane Nyambura had ravaged the streets, a team of MAF engineers—aided by local workers—had erected a temporary station and restored the flow of aid and supplies. Raised platforms and auxiliary tracks were hastily installed and by the next day, two cranes loomed over the site, their skeletal frames ready to unload heavy machinery. Teams of facilitators descended on each arriving train like a swarm of ants feasting on a giant’s carcass. Despite the frenzy, they moved with deliberate care to avoid accidents, working around the clock in three shifts. An unspoken friendly competition simmered among them—each crew racing to be the fastest.

    It took a brief moment for a short, stocky person in a gray overall to rush to greet her. “Leila! So good to see you in person!”, he exclaimed. She smiled, “Desta. It’s nice to meet you as well”, she gave him a greeting hug. “Please, everyone call me ‘Pops’” he grinned at her. Seeing his outfit, she was grateful she made the decision to opt for attire slightly less formal than what her role might have required but considerably more suitable to lend a hand in some manual labour. As the Kampala’s official emissary in Mombasa’s relief effort, she was ready to provide whatever help she could offer- advice, resources or a helping hand. They chatted while walking towards the freight carriages. “How’s your day?” She asked warmly. “Keepin’ busy”, he said while patting  his pockets looking for something. “We’ve got supplies, alright. Everyone on the eastern coast has been incredibly generous and supportive.” he said mind absently. Leila gave Pops smile and tapped her ear. His eyes widened in understanding and he picked the stylus pen that was tucked above his ear. “I guess I’m eager to get back to bi-directional trading and not just receiving”, he sighed. “Of course, no one enjoys being utterly reliant on others”, she said emphatically as he took out a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “We’re a sinkhole in the network right now”, he mumbled. With a flick of his wrist the folded paper unfurled and stiffened to the size of his palm. “Well, I’m sure Mombasa will become the major hub it used to be soon enough” she said warmly. He tried using the pen and as it didn’t work, he shook it a couple of times to recharge its batteries.

    With the exception of archival-books that are made from recycled polymers, most writings are done on “slates” that in the past were named after the “electronic-ink” technology used. These, just as thin as “static” papers, were used for any type of writing of short notes, drawing and reading. For anything more comprehensive, a terminal with a physical keyboard was often used. The more popular slate models don’t have connectivity. Slates with connectivity are usually reserved for particular roles that demand it. It’s a feature that often gets raised eyebrows, followed by silent judgement and an urge to justify why one would need such a feature. In this particular case, Pops’ slate didn’t have connectivity but merely by having his and Leila’s slate touching, they were able to copy the manifest of the cargo she brought with her.

    “Aha! I see  you brought Matooke! We’ll have a feast tonight!” He was about to mention that one of their chefs makes an amazing matooke loaf when he noticed her attention was diverted to a young MAFex walking eagerly towards her. Leila forced her attention back to Pops and apologised, “I’m sorry, if you’ll excuse me for one moment”, to which he replied “yes, of course!”. He went back to review the manifest as the young MAFex reached them and Leila and him hugged cheerfully. “Hello Pops, I see you met my sister”, The young man said to him. Pops didn’t particularly remember this MAFex, albeit always believing he has a good knack for faces. On the other hand, he was quite known in the community and figured this is how the MAFex, “Kato” according to his name tag, knew him. “Hello Kato, yes, your wonderful sister was very kind to bring us goods from Kampala.” Pops said gleefully. Kato laughed “Yes, that’s very typical of her”. The three of them laughed. “I’m guessing you have a lot to catch up on, I can take care of the cargo, Leila. Thank you for all your support” Pops suggested and Leila thanked him and promised she’ll come looking for him later.

    “You’ve bulked up since I last saw you”, admired Leila, causing Kato to smile bashfully. “Yes, well… I think it’s the first time I see you with the ear jewel”, Kato mentioned, and Leila smiled bashfully “Yes, I barely notice it’s there”. It was a recording device that public figures ceremoniously wore as part of their aspiration for complete transparency. Any dispute with delegates can be always re-examined with the use of the recording. Failure to provide a recording is extremely rare but when it does, it often leads to immediate resignation of the person.

    In truth they were quite caught up already, as they communicated quite regularly. Since Kato left Arua to join MAF five years ago, Leila chose to invest her life in the community by helping administer it. Administration consists mostly of “bureaucrats” who excel in following instructions and procedures but also have a small set of delegates who take proactive responsibility to mitigate the public’s wishes and needs. Leila’s sharp opinionated mind quickly led her to become one of Arua’s delegates. This meant that every person in her tega of several hundred people knew her enough and believed in her capability to take care of their own needs as if they were her own. After two years of faithfully working in the interest of her tega, a vote of trust from her fellow delegates has led her to represent the vudo. Following a successful six-month programme she initiated, led and delivered to introduce 4 new green corridors leading out of Arua, she was invited to join the delegates of Kampala, covering a wider region of influence. It’s been almost four years since she worked for the direct benefits of her hometown, but she would still have almost daily chats with various people of her region of influence, which helped her keep in touch with her constituents. Less than a month later, Hurricane Nyambura hit, and Leila was happy to volunteer as an emissary in the relief efforts. She knew  quite a lot about Mombasa from her brother’s correspondence and despite having no equivalent experience with crisis management of such magnitude, her colleagues trusted in her capabilities. Kato and Leila spent their time together as he showed her around the evacuation camp, the ruins of Mombasa and gave her an overview of the current discussions and challenges up ahead.

    “As you probably know”, explained Kato, “The hurricane took the lives of a dozen ibus, seven of which were MAFexi in daring rescue operations and the rest were civilians who fought to protect their homes to their last breath”. “Yes, that’s a horrible tragedy”, said Leila sincerely, “but praise it wasn’t more as only a few generations ago these numbers would have reached the thousands”. “Yes, that’s unfathomable”, concurred Kato as they returned to the evacuation camp and headed to the main hall, “We were lucky MAF got involved as soon as it did and we evacuated as many as we could”. “And most buildings were properly built or at least fortified”, Leila said as they entered the room. She didn’t mean to dismiss the massive role MAF had in reducing the number of casualties but felt it would give a false picture to think it was a last minute bravery that saved the day. She learned from the history books that usually “last minute heroism” is an indication for a failure in the preparation stage. “If it wasn’t for the fortification, Mombasa would have been wiped clean”, admitted Kato, “but the truth is that the hurricane was ten times stronger than expected and now most of the vudo is covered with mud and about half of the buildings are now decommissioned or unsuitable for use”. “I see“, said Leila as she began to realise the challenge that was thrusted at the folk of Mombasa.

    Most of the people at the evacuation camp worked during the day, helping out in the camp’s upkeep and gradually more and more ventured out to rebuild and fix the broken infrastructures. The vudo delegates would work as well, at their respective fields but they talked to as many people as they could to gather thoughts and opinions and would meet amongst themselves to devise a strategy on going forward. The plans and suggestions would be reassessed and discussed the following day. Everyone knew the sense of urgency was real, but they were extremely cautious not to make regrettable decisions. As Leila walked into the room, the big question that was on everyone’s mind was if and when they should move back to Mombasa.

    The room was dim but people could still see each other from the other side of the room. A warm glowing yellow light illuminated the space. The tables were pushed aside and piled up, the chairs were set in rings and a big 3d model of the vudo and its surroundings was placed in the center. It was a massive three square meter panel of five millimetre “pixels” that could be elevated up to fifty centimetres while multiple light projectors provided additional information on the model. It gave an excellent overview and Leila could easily identify the extent of the damage the vudo has suffered. Speakers took their turn standing up and addressing the entire room. Anyone could join the conversation but as the space was limited, it was a known courtesy to let the delegates sit in the inner rings. Everyone was allowed to participate but in order to keep the discussion productive, the audience in the back seats would pass on their comments and questions up the chain and if relevant to everyone, they were answered publicly.

    “…can’t do it on their own, especially if they still need to worry about day-to-day maintenance”, a woman said as Leila entered the room. Leila saw Pops sitting in the front row nodding at her. She nodded back and quietly sat in the back next to the wall. The woman sat down, concluding her remarks.

    Pops stood up. “Yes, as Wanjiru mentioned, there’s a lot of work ahead of us and I would like to think that no one here expects to simply throw the responsibility on one bolo or another, that’s not gonna work. However, I would like to remind us that the vital services that Mombasa normally provides – namely, our medicine industry and our cultured meat, let alone the sadi, are temporarily on hold.” he explained. Leila noticed concerned glances being exchanged across the room. “We have reserves for the time being and we can set up temporary facilities, but it’s an issue. These are vital services to other communities, communities that came to our aid in our time of need.” Murmurs floated in the room again. Leila spotted a few glances in her direction. “Moving workforce from these industries in favour of housing”, concluded Wanjiru, “means that other communities would be strained as well”.

    Another woman, sitting across the room from Pops stood up and everyone quieted down. “I understand the sense of urgency all too well that isn’t affecting just us but other communities that rely on us”, she started saying. It was a good practice they kept whereas each speaker acknowledged the previous one, to confirm they were understood and heard. The woman, who later Leila learned was called Amani, continued “But we should also take into account the unexpected magnitude of the hurricane. There’s no point for us rushing for a quick solution only to be wiped away in the next hurricane”.

    Wanjiru stood up again, “Yes, another hurricane is a real concern. One hurricane was traumatising enough and understandably many are still recovering and require patience and care. Going through yet another hurricane might be a bit too much for some”.

    A person stood up a few chairs away from pops. He was wearing blue work overall and had grease smeared across his forehead. His hair was smooshed as if he recently took off a hat he wore all day. Later on, Leila learned his name is Eliud Mwamba and he’s an engineer. “Yes, no one wants to go through another hurricane. My heart aches at the thought of my home, with all the memories it held, is no more. I’m not sure I’m ready to face that. That’s why I would suggest that we won’t go back to Mombasa island, rather than build a new vudo on the mainland”.

    A ruckus thundered through the room as everyone was surprised by the suggestion. The sentiments were mixed. The idea of not returning to Mombasa astounded most of people in the room and Eliud had to explain the advantages: “Mombasa was originally built centuries ago and although we slowly upgraded most of the building over time, now a chance to widen the streets and move sadi east as we wanted for years”. The last comment evoked some murmurs as this was an unsettled issue that lingered for years. Despite having a majority of people who agreed that shifting the sadi eastward would be more efficient, it was clear to all that the effort of doing so renders the idea unfeasible. “Additionally”, Eliud continued, “We can build a more durable weather-resistant infrastructure with the latest growstone technology”. This caused some eyebrows to raise as the latest version of growstone was quite new and not yet widely accepted. Mainly it meant it would be more challenging to obtain the yeast.

    Growstone worked like baking bread, but instead of using flour, crushed stones dust was used in a mixture of water, organic material (usually refuse) and special yeast that would turn it into a dough. After a couple days of sun-baking in a mold, the newly formed stone would be taken out of the mold and was ready to use. “Molded” stone was the most popular building material for the past few decades as it was re-usable, cheap to make and extremely eco-friendly. A new version of growstone came out a few years earlier that cracks could easily be fixed by applying  some dough on it and letting it dry as it merged to the existing stone. The latest version, the one that Eliud suggested switching to, had self-healing properties, making maintenance even cheaper and easier. It’s been less than a year and therefore less common and moreover – the new type yeast, nicknamed “”, wasn’t as readily available as the old version yeast.

    It might have sounded sensible but Amani was shaken. She stood up as the commotion quieted down and asked in an alarming voice, hoping she simply misunderstood or misheard “Do you wish to reclaim a piece of land the size of Mombasa island from somewhere else?”. Eliud answered calmly but reassuringly, “Yes, Chaani is my favourite option as nature hasn’t fully reclaimed the old airport area so moving wild flora and fauna shouldn’t be too difficult. Acknowledging nature’s primal right over the land wasn’t new and Eliud has considered it, but he argued his idea was still feasible. “In fact”, he argued, “displacing all the wild animals should take roughly as much as it would take to dig away all the mud from the old vudo”. He glanced at Pops who had his mouth open and then shut it. It was clear he was about the object to the idea arguing about time frames but Eliud has answered that preemptively.

    Pops noticed Eliud’s glance, smiled at him but then asked “What about our sea port?”. Eliud looked agitated. He had considered that but didn’t think it to be a critical concern. “We can build a new port at Chaani”. Pops fixed his robe, as if about to sit down, symbolising he has the winning argument, “Not only will it be more costly to the boat to navigate around the island to reach Chaani, we should also consider that Chaani is much higher than the island. Have you considered how to lift up all the cargo?”

    Eliud was about to answer. A moment of hesitation gave Leila the impression that he didn’t factor that concern. It was sensible, no one is expected to think of everything, and this is why they solved complex problems through communal conversations. He argued that the numbers need to be validated but he believes that the overall efficiency of Chaani will be better than what can be established on the island.

    “Moving to Chaani will remove their people from their homes”, said Wanjiru in a calm voice. “Indeed”, she continued, “some of us might be petrified to go back and see our homes ruined, but this doesn’t mean we’re ready to turn our back on them”. Leila noticed Pops moves with uneasiness in his chair. He had something to say about that. Wanjiru concluded by saying that “Healing takes time, and rebuilding one’s home is detrimental to the healing process”.

    Pops churned his thoughts and chose his words carefully before finally standing up, “I have a suggestion, that is probably even more controversial than Eliud’s new vudo idea”. Eliud chuckled at this. He may not have thought of it first but in hindsight he admitted his idea was indeed challenging to swallow. “I believe we should consider mass-production”. The room was stunned into silence. This was unheard of. Pops explained, “I’m aware of the disadvantages, but I’m also acutely aware it means everyone will have a home in fifth of the time”. “You mean a house”, Wanjiru said. It looked like it took all her might to stop the rage that was boiling inside of her by the mere suggestion.

    Just before the hurricane hit, every person in Mombasa had a home. As the population size was mostly stable, most of the folk inherited their homes from someone dear and the home served as a living memory. But homes were also extremely modular so it was incredibly easy to make adjustments, disassemble and build something new to fit one’s purpose. Tenements were built by the bolo and each kana would fashion their own home to their needs. Home was an incredibly personal concept and the idea of mass-produced identical houses felt almost like sacrilege. 

    Wanjiru was struggling to stomach that idea. “Pops, I understand your need for urgency and I appreciate your intention but this is not a good idea”, she said. She inhaled deeply and exhaled between gritted teeth. “Yes, people lost their homes but we are in an evacuation camp. No one here is forced to sleep without a roof over their head”, she continued. “Moving from a temporary housing to a more permanent solution will only drive the hopes of ever having a home again further away. This doesn’t expedite the solution, it only delays it”.

    “We’re not forcing anyone to do anything”, Pops tried to protest. “People who aren’t ready to go back to Mombasa can stay in the camp for the time being, they can also help re-securing the riverbanks and flood gates. They can move to the vudo when they’re ready or we can figure out an alternative solution when we figure out everything else”.

    “I’m also concerned that mass-production methods are very often not environment-friendly”, added Amani solemnly. She felt bad for being a naysayer in the discussion.

    People were shaking their heads in disagreement. Pops’ suggestion would not pass. Leile could see the concern and frustration in his eye. They all knew it wasn’t a good idea but those were scarce at the moment. Eliud stood up, “Perhaps it would be a good time to take a little break and gather our thoughts. I understand the objections against building in a new site or using mass-production but I worry that the timescale required to rebuild our vudo one home after the other is simply not feasible”. It was a harsh truth, but they knew it to be true.

    “May I interject”, Leila spoke from the back of the room. She presented herself as the emissary from Kampla and from the encouraging smile on Pops’ face, she felt more confident to slowly walk towards the center of the room, gently touching people’s shoulders to show her empathy, looking into their eyes understandingly and smiling back at them. “It is indeed a hardship you’re dealing with but you don’t have to do it alone. Just like Mombasa supported Arusha at their big fires a decade ago and just like you support the entire African eastern coast with the medicine you provide, Kampala can come to your aid. We will send you teams to help clear the debris and fix the infrastructure so you can focus on building your homes and industries. We can also send you growstone-yeast to accelerate your brick product”. A few other emissaries from neighboring Vudos also volunteered their support. 

    Everyone cheered, clapped their hands and hugged one another. Wanjiru came to shake Leila’s hands in gratitude. Leila could see the tears of joy in her eyes and felt moved herself. She still had the tasks to ask her Vudo to approve the  offering she made on her own initiative, but she felt self-assured they would understand the severity of the situation and would be more than willing to give their support. Not only helping others may return in kind later down the line, but it’s also the right thing to do. Everyone knows that.

    Pops quickly did the math in head and after a moment of hesitation announced disheartedly that even with the additional support, they won’t be able to completely evacuate the emergency camp before its buildings start  to decompose. “I’m afraid”, he said, “that if there’s an ultimate solution, we haven’t figured it out yet. This means that we need to find a compromise”.

    Amani took a deep breath and stood up. “Building a new vudo or mass-producing the houses are actually good ideas”, she said to everyone’s surprise, “they’re just not good for us”. Pops and Eliud looked intently at her, trying to figure out where she was heading with this, “at least not for the long-term solution”. In an instance, the faces of both men shined and they smiled at each other and at Amani. “We can use mass-production to temporarily build a new industrial zone in Chaani…”, Eliud suggested. “…A high-rise, to reduce the ecological footprint”, continued Pops, visibly getting excited. “All while the outside support focuses on clearing debris, restoring the riverbanks, floodgates and other infrastructure”, interjected Leila, getting hyped at the build-up of energy in the room. “And the people of Mombasa can focus on rebuilding their homes”.

    The conversation wasn’t easy. There was no miracle waiting to happen or a happy path for everyone to agree upon, except a few steps forwards that required some sacrifices. Over the next few days they agreed that the first step was to revitalise the parts that were not damaged in the hurricane, clear debris and restore infrastructure. With heavy hearts it was agreed that the cultured-meat farm will be deprioritised for the time being and more food will be imported while their efforts will be placed towards restoring, rebuilding and constructing new homes.

    On the train back to Kampala, Leila wrote her report. She reflected on the conversations she witnessed in the past few days. She knew she was unfairly judgemental but in her mind the process was too slow. There were too many aspects to consider, she admitted to herself. Too many interests and conflicting views but at least those never stop the perpetual motion of what had to be done. The infrastructure restoration had to be done and clearing of the debris – these were relevant regardless of the final outcome so whilst the discussion continued these tasks were prioritised and she was happy to hear that significant advancements were made in the mere few days she was there. She shared the frustration of those who might argue that a single olori could’ve reached a decision much faster, but she knew it would’ve been most likely an ill-conceived and ill-informed decision. “Too many cooks spoil the broth” and “designed by committee” myths are simple mismanagement follies that are much easier to resolve than having the wrong person make the decisions. Everyone knew that.

    As the train moved further away from the hurricane-stricken area, the landscape brightened in lush green colors and broken stumps made way for tall sturdy trees. From scarred earth and puddles of rainwater having nowhere to go in the drenched soil, to dry mud filled with debris, unrooted trees and broken stones and rocks. Single trees  stood erect, having survived nature’s blow and around them small bushes taking shelter under the  beaten canopies.  More and more trees came together and the small patches grew and connected to one another, strengthening each other, becoming more and more. Animals, first small and then bigger, coming out of their hideaways, licking each other’s wounds, elated to see one another, grateful their story hasn’t ended. Meadows turned to woods and to forest, which grew thicker only to be parted by dirt trails and then paved roads and buildings and a train station, telling Leila she got back home.

  • Rainy Days

    Great events tend to break our lives into “before” and “after.” If they last long enough, they can disrupt our sense of time entirely. For many people, Hurricane Nyambura was such an event, as it was the most powerful storm the West African coast had experienced in their lifetimes. Angavu, in the third chapter of her life, had certainly never experienced anything like it. The hurricane itself lasted only a few hours, but the storm and its relentless rain had soaked the land for more than forty days, and the recovery effort took several months.

    Angavu could hear rain showers pelting her window as she curled up in her warm, cozy blanket. Her hazy dreams faded as her small, dimly lit room took shape. She knew she needed to wake up for work. She kicked off the blanket, and the chilled air quickly brought her to her senses as she sat up in bed. “Work,” she thought sarcastically. She got up, all right, but her days were spent doing something far removed from “work.” She certainly wasn’t paid—payments, along with money, had been abolished long before her time. It might not have been as important, challenging, or glamorous as her previous role—a lifetime ago—but it was appreciated nonetheless. She wasn’t forced or coerced; she genuinely loved her work. It was a solid reason to get out of bed in the mornings. Even on a rainy morning like this.

    When the first forecasts warned of the impending storm, the dining tables at the heart of Mombasa’s sadi buzzed with patrons sharing ideas and making plans. The wind howled above the buildings, and the rain tapped persistently against the thick canopy overhead. The drains gushed with water, adding a resounding backdrop to their concerns. Angavu avoided talking about her old job. In her mind, that chapter was finished. But she used to be a marine biologist, and she had helped build artificial reefs along the coastline—reefs that now served as extra defenses against stormy seas while fostering recovering biodiversity. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

    All of the newer buildings in Mombasa were built with endurance in mind, and most of the older ones had been fortified decades earlier. The people at the tables took it upon themselves to fortify the remaining structures or evacuate them. Some volunteered to shelter the evacuees until the storm passed. Angavu interjected, offered suggestions, and took part in the discussions, all while moving back and forth from the kitchen, bringing out more coffee, tea, and biscuits. The conversation flowed organically, and those unaccustomed to it might have found it overwhelming—a multi-threaded cacophony of voices merging into collective decision-making, then fracturing into new topics, shifting seats, and starting again. Angavu surfed the waves of conversation, offering a tip here, asking a question there—guiding the flow of discussion while handing a young boy a bowl of porridge and patting his head. She named the buildings whose windows needed to be boarded up before they shattered. She knew them all. She knew the city. In so many ways, she was the city.

    Another day, more rain. She realized the gloomy weather affected her mental health, and despite enjoying the intimate privacy of her room, she considered sharing a bed with someone that night. Maybe her sister, who would probably jump at the opportunity but occasionally snored, or maybe one of the children scared of the storm, who would appreciate the company. Walking from one canopy to the next through the nearly empty, rain-soaked streets, her broad hat shielding her from the downpour, she hopped over streams of water flowing from the rooftops and hurried to the main plaza. There were no leisurely chats or squabbles today. Most people had taken it upon themselves to help prepare the city. The coastal mangroves would help slow the rivers, but men still had to reinforce them with sandbags to keep them in place. They only stopped by to grab the lunch packs she had helped prepare and check for news before heading off to wherever they were needed. It had been a while since Angavu had felt this sense of solidarity. She had never felt alone, but this was different—she was part of something bigger, a man-made behemoth rising to face the monstrous storm looming on the horizon. And for a moment, she felt invincible.

    Mombasa had always been a transport hub due to its proximity to the sea. The ceaseless rain had affected the flow of exchanged goods, and with the looming threats, the community collectively decided after ten days of rain to temporarily relocate the sadi to the open area near Chaani, where the old airport used to be. Children and other ibus who couldn’t directly contribute to the preparations were sent to higher ground. There were no “non-essentials”—everyone helped or cared for someone else. Angavu debated whether to go or stay. Help was needed in both places. She promised herself she would stay only a couple more days as she helped mobilize the kitchen, securing what couldn’t be moved and preparing meals for the various teams.

    She remembered it clearly—how she had just sat down to rest her feet when the sirens began. It was the twenty-third day of rain. Some might have argued that a woman her age shouldn’t have stayed in the city, especially since they had known for at least two days that a hurricane was inevitable. But no one who knew her would have dared question her ability to handle the situation—or any situation, for that matter. They regularly practiced various disaster scenarios, along with smaller-scale drills even more frequently. These exercises weren’t mandatory, but they were fun, positive experiences—something people enjoyed as much as sporting events in the past. Some participated for the sake of tradition, some to set a good example for children, and others simply for the big meal that usually followed. Angavu had just been joking with her friend about the meal they would have after the storm subsided when the sirens blared and the PSA announced: “Hurricane imminent.”

    She had barely managed to stand when two young colleagues appeared at her side, gently rushing her toward the kitchen building. She could tell they were trying to remain calm and respectful, but stress was gnawing at their nerves. The canopy above whooshed and roared as the wind blasted it sideways, sending broken branches crashing down around them. She called out to one of them—“Kiko, potatoes!”. She watched, as if in slow motion, as puzzlement flashed across his face, followed by epiphany and laughter when he understood her. Without hesitation, he hoisted her onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and sprinted the remaining twenty meters to the building. She worried his roughness might hurt her, but he was as gentle as he could be under the circumstances, while the girl held her hand firmly as they rushed inside. They were only a few meters from safety when a massive gust tore the canopy away, uprooting three trees as if they were mere toothpicks. The girl shrieked, and this time, Angavu gripped her hand tightly—whether for emotional support or out of a subconscious fear that the wind might carry her away, she wasn’t sure.

    The hurricane struck Mombasa just before midday, raging for several hours. The first MAF teams had arrived a week earlier to manage evacuation logistics, but as the hurricane threat grew imminent, additional teams were deployed throughout the city. Tethered by strong ropes, they combed the city for anyone in danger. Amphibious vehicles were deployed to ferry the last remaining residents to safety.

    Even though the building was secure, they huddled in the basement shelter. Short-range radios, installed in every shelter, emitted a constant crackling hum of updates, instructions, and reassurances. Emergency power cast a dim glow, while the roar of the storm outside and the trickling of water in one corner gave Angavu an “end of days” feeling. She felt no fear—she was with her colleagues, her second family. They sang and made jokes to pass the time. A few young men, too anxious to join in the singing and laughter, sat quietly on the other side of the room. Angavu prepared cups of hot cacao and sat with them, listening as they voiced their worries and concerns. She knew that people handled crisis in different ways. And she knew that, for her, the best way was to be helpful.

    The city lay in ruins. Angavu knew it. She heard the radio reports and the thunderous collapse of buildings that stood no chance against the 200-kilometer-per-hour winds. She sat down, taking a deep breath. The city could be rebuilt, she told herself, but it would never be the same. A small part of her withered as she absorbed the reality. The city she had stayed behind for—the one she chose over leaving with Kimani—was gone. It was a decision she had made over three decades ago. A choice she never questioned—not when Kimani asked her to come with him, not when he begged, and not even when he passed away two decades later. She loved the city and its people and could never imagine calling any other place home.

    Heavy rain still poured as the MAF rescue boat navigated the flooded streets, picking them up and taking them to the evacuation camp at Chaani. Her young colleague hugged her as they gazed out the boat’s window at the devastation, tears streaming down their cheeks. They tried to comfort each other, but Angavu had already accepted this fate. At that moment, all she wanted was to return to her room, to her bed. She needed it, but all she could do was bite her lip and stay strong for Kiko, who held her tightly. They were safe, but their story was far from over.

    The evacuation camp was an unusual sight; in all her life, Angavu had never seen anything like it. A massive complex of deployable, cheerfully colored inflatable buildings was erected within an hour. Generators inflated the buildings, and their memory-polymer frameworks clicked into shape. Once the storm passed, they could be easily dismantled by flushing the biodegradable joints with UV light. Watchtowers were set up to spot anyone approaching the camp and provide support as quickly as possible. There was no need for barriers in a place where everyone was welcome; instead, two sets of interchangeable walls shielded the camp from the wind. A dim, warm light filled every corner of the camp, creating a sense of safety that soothed the shaken refugees who had just lost their homes. It was no surprise that most people disliked feeling helpless, and many quickly sought ways to contribute to the camp’s daily operations. MAF provided guidance but aimed to give as much agency to the community as possible. People applied their everyday skills where possible—some volunteered for the watchtowers, while others joined the countless “day-after” discussions, which, whether intentional or not, often served as therapy sessions for those now facing a new reality.

    Shortly after arriving at the camp, Angavu was given a medical check-up and a fresh set of clothes. She registered her attendance and was informed that her sister and the rest of her family were all accounted for. She was asked whether she preferred a private room or sleeping in the main hall. Most children preferred not to sleep alone, as did a surprising number of adults who were grateful for the emotional support. Angavu thought of her own room, likely flooded with water, and pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She will sleep in the main hall tonight.

    On the first day, she stayed with the children—innocent and carefree. They sang, played games, and completely ignored the storm as it slowly faded outside. In the evening, the kids put on a show they had prepared the week before, and tears of joy filled her eyes as she laughed at their jokes.  Later on, a band played, as they did every night, and some people danced while others sang. She went to bed with a smile on her face, grateful that the worries had been pushed back, even if only for a little while.

    The next day was the perfect time to get back to work. She went to the kitchens and announced her return, met with applause and warm greetings from everyone present. They were genuinely happy to have her back, though the same warmth was extended to anyone who joined the kitchens. It felt good to be appreciated and needed—something she had been longing for. She set to work, orchestrating meal packs for those on duty and serving food to those in the dining hall. At times, it felt like juggling ten balls at once, but she was grateful her memory hadn’t failed her yet. To an outsider, it might have seemed like chaos, but she had everything under control.

    The wind had died down, and only a light rain tapped on the roofs of the buildings. Gradually, the electric hum of the power generators overtook the ambient sounds. Though annoying to those who noticed it, it wasn’t as ominous as the storm. Instead, it served as a reassuring reminder that this would soon be over. Just before the dinner rush, Angavu went to the supply building to fetch a bag of maize. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it—she did this almost every day, sometimes twice. But this time, she heard a strange sound that piqued her curiosity. “Anyone here?” she called. Most people respected shared resources. Though the food storage was open to anyone in need—whether from hunger or the emotional comfort of having an emergency snack—few besides the kitchen staff ever ventured inside. As she rounded a corner toward the noise, she suddenly found herself face-to-face with a leopard that did not look pleased to see her. The leopard was soaked and painfully thin, its claws struggling to pry open a tin can of preserved meat. There was no doubt it was starving, but right now, its focus had shifted—it prowled menacingly toward Angavu. She froze. Memories of a great white shark circled her mind, and instinctively, she closed her eyes.

    In another lifetime, she had been in the sea with Kimani when they spotted a four-meter-long great white shark swimming nearby. Kimani, ever cautious, preferred to keep his distance, but Angavu insisted they swim closer to examine the magnificent beast. It would be a stretch to call the shark friendly, but it wasn’t aggressive either. They approached carefully, and when they reached out to touch it, the shark responded with a flick of its tail, seemingly enjoying the sensation as they rubbed its nose. That’s when Kimani noticed a hook lodged at the edge of the shark’s mouth. Fishing hooks had been abolished decades earlier, meaning this shark was old—perhaps older than they had first thought. Removing the hook was no easy task. As they worked to free it, the shark thrashed slightly, and for a moment, Angavu feared they had hurt or angered it. But once the hook came loose, its agitation turned to something else—almost as if it were expressing joy. For the rest of that season, whenever they went diving, the shark would return to greet them, a silent companion beneath the waves.

    In the present, Angavu felt something warm and sturdy pressed against her leg. She opened her eyes to find a dog beside her, its muscles taut as it let out a low, threatening growl. Across from them, the leopard hesitated. For a moment, Angavu thought she saw something beyond hunger in the leopard’s gaze—frustration, perhaps, or uncertainty. It was starving, yet wary of the dog, caught in a silent standoff. She wanted to say something but feared breaking the delicate balance holding the two animals in place. Her eyes flickered down to the dog’s vest, where the letters MAF stood out clearly. Below them, its name: Alhaadi. The leopard’s gaze darted—first to her, then to the dog, then to the unopened tin of meat, and finally to the exit. Its desperation was almost tangible. Then, from seemingly nowhere, came a short, imperceptible whistle. At once, Alhaadi shifted, lowering into a non-threatening pose. A strip of artificial meat landed a foot away from the leopard. It flinched, startled, but its instincts quickly took over. In a heartbeat, its teeth tore into the food, devouring it. Angavu turned her head just as another piece was tossed past her shoulder. A young MAFex—one of the specialized animal handlers—had appeared behind her. He threw another strip, watching as the leopard hungrily gnawed on it. By the third piece, the leopard was no longer just eating—it was melting into the moment. Alhaadi, sensing the change, took cautious steps forward before extending its tongue and licking the leopard’s damp fur. The leopard let out a deep purring sound, its body visibly relaxing. “My name is Kato. Are you okay?” the MAFex asked gently. Angavu blinked, suddenly aware of the white-knuckled grip she had on the bag of maize. She forced her fingers to loosen. “Yes… I’m okay,” she said slowly. “Just a little startled. I guess we’re all a bit hungry.” Kato gave a small, reassuring nod. “The meat has sedatives in it, but let me try to approach first.” His voice was steady, confident—enough that she believed him. The leopard, now sprawled lazily on the floor under Alhaadi’s attentive grooming, purred again. The moment of danger had passed.

    “It’s a female,” Kato explained, crouching beside the leopard. “But she doesn’t have milk, so there are no starving kittens waiting for her to return.” Angavu exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “What will happen to her now?” she asked. A twinge of guilt nagged at her—perhaps she should’ve just let the poor creature have the tin can. “We’ll check her medical condition, register her, and when she’s strong enough, we’ll release her back,” Kato reassured her. That gave Angavu some comfort. She watched as the leopard, now drowsy, let out a deep sigh.  “Alhaadi says he knows her,” Kato added, nodding toward the dog. “She’s from Kaya Forest—not far from here.” Angavu turned to the dog, who met her gaze with calm, knowing eyes. Of course, she hadn’t heard Alhaadi say anything, but she understood. The connection between Kato and the dog was undeniable. They had likely spent years together, enough time for silent understanding to replace words. It wasn’t unheard of—this ability to communicate with animals. A relatively recent but profound achievement of humankind. Even after all these years, it still felt like a kind of quiet miracle.

    It remained a mystery how the leopard had slipped into the camp unnoticed—bypassing the watchtowers, evading motion sensors, and ignoring the scent-based repellents meant to deter wildlife. Fortunately, no one had been harmed. Still, the incident prompted immediate improvements to the camp’s perimeter sensor systems. More importantly, a monitored feeding station was set up just outside the camp, ensuring that any other starving animal desperate enough to wander close would find food—without the risk of a close encounter.

    A few weeks later, it was time to return home. The storm had passed. It was time to rebuild. MAF had already completed the preliminary sweep, but the streets were still littered with mud and debris. Once again, it was the community’s responsibility to rebuild its home. Within a few days, the main operations were back in motion. Angavu finally returned to her house. As expected, the floor was covered in dried mud. The window was broken, and one of the pictures had fallen off the wall. The smell of dampness lingered, unshakable. But she didn’t care. She made her way to her bed and reached underneath it, pulling out a small metal box. Inside was a shark’s tooth with a tiny heart carved into it—Kimani’s farewell gift to her when he had decided to follow his passion, migrating with his shark-friend at the end of the season. She had stayed behind, unable to leave the life she had in Mombasa. A few years after he left, Angavu had stepped away from marine biology to focus on serving the people and the city she loved. She had never regretted her decision, but that didn’t mean she didn’t miss him every time he went away.

    An invitation to my world and guidelines

    We need more inspiring stories, where normal people deal with real problems but in a reasonable, sensible and compassionate way. There are very few books that I know of that describe utopian egalitarian societies. One example for such society is described in “News from Nowhere” by William Morris, published 1890. It’s an extreme pro-marxist book written at the time of the industrial revolution so clearly it has changed significantly since, but it was fascinating nonetheless. Another example is the 1976 novel “Woman at the edge of time” by Marge Piercy. It’s a feminist book in which the future is split between a dystopian society and an utopian one. Despite finding some of the ideas more difficult to embrace than others, it was refreshing and inspiring.

    I therefore invite you, dear readers and listeners, to tell your own story and imagine how things would’ve been different if we lived in a perfect society. I would have loved to say “perfect world” but that would be too fantastic and childish. In a perfect world we wouldn’t need to face the sadness of death. But both death and that sadness are a natural part of life and they help grow and evolve and become better. Accidents are tragic but it’s incredibly naive to imagine a world where accidents don’t happen or people don’t make mistakes. Mistakes happen and the sooner we acknowledge them, the quicker we’ll be able to learn from them and take measures to protect ourselves from other mistakes. A “perfect society”, however, is something I personally believe to be achievable – a society where everyone cares for one another, where no man is worse off than their fellow men. Some people will still be naturally more talented than others and some will be more hot-tempered, but envy will not lead to resentment and anger will be channeled constructively.

    Personally I don’t drink alcohol as I can easily see how it can badly affect people but in my utopian world other people will still drink, only they’ll do it sensibly and moderately. They will still drink to enjoy and have a nice time, but the community won’t let them drink to cope with traumas or to tolerate life-hardships. This brings me to the first house-rule of my utopian world – People can do whatever they want as long as they are mindful not to hurt anyone else in the process. Homosexuality exists, whatever other people fancy is none of anyone’s business but their own. Religion exists, at least in theory. However it shouldn’t prevent people from sensible critical thinking. In practice, I believe that having solid community values will take most of the need for religion.

    I would be more than honored if you’d choose to expand the world that I write about in my stories. My stories take place roughly 100 years in the future. I intentionally don’t provide a specific date to give a little bit of hope that maybe one day we will get there, as opposed to setting a deadline. The world population is about tenth of today’s current population. I intentionally don’t explain how this came to be as I’m aware that it’s a necessary painful and worrying step we will need to go through somehow and at the time of writing, I’m not sure we’re ready to discuss this. “Climate Change” will still affect our lives but I would like to think that a major portion of the population will focus their attention to tackle it (by helping restore nature) and worry less about paying next month’s rent.

    My society doesn’t have money, not as fiat money that requires trust in institutions that are susceptible for corruption, nor as trade-economy. It was replaced with fairness and mutual respect has replaced greed. I have addressed this in my story, but I welcome further exploration of how such society, with its limited resources can function. Personally I’m a strong believer in universal income and the human basic right for food and shelter. I also support heavy progressive taxation and as I believe that money can unbalance and destroy egalitarian societies, I think taxation should cap the richests’ wealth in proportion to the poorest in society. However all this is irrelevant as in my utopian world there is no money.

    In my utopian world, natural resources and particularly land cannot have ownership. It doesn’t make sense to me that an arbitrary right over a natural resource grants someone wealth without any work or contribution to society.

    One day mankind will learn to treat animals by their intelligent level and with respect. I’m hoping we will learn to communicate with most of them in one way or another and find a humane way to integrate them into our lives white allowing them to maintain their animalistic nature.

  • The Brass Bell

    Being part of the MAF was a big part of Njeri’s identity ever since she could remember. Her tega, where she spent her entire life, was literally the MAF recruitment and training base. The tega of Shanzu, on the shoreline of Mombasa, was made of six Bolos. Five of these were MAF, which set the lifestyle for everyone who chose to be a part of the tega. Both her parents were MAF, or at least used to be. Baba-Okello was still in active duty while Baba-Sokoro retired. Whether it was to raise her, or due to his manageable but permanent injury, or he just grew tired of it, it was never clear to her but she assumed it was probably some combination of circumstances. He was still very engaged in the community’s social life but was no longer in active duty. They were still together, but Baba-Sokoro moved to the nursing kana to raise Njeri and he loved it so much he stayed there even after she grew old and moved out. 

    Human civilization has changed drastically after the last failure of the 21st century’s capitalism. People no longer agreed to participate in an endless, meaningless, “Rat race” (as they called it) and instead focused on restoring nature and bettering their lives socially and mentally. Of course, people who aspired for efficiency and fast-pace would still do that, but the senseless drive for “more materialistic goods,” and particularly “more money,” or even “more extreme experiences” was subdued. The “Mobile Aid Force”, in its various decentralized variations, was a paramilitary organisation formed by former military personnel putting their skills and talents to good use after humanity collectively decided it can no longer afford the expenses of the Industrial-Military Complex. Through long and tedious mutual agreements and shows of good faith, the weapons were disarmed and the tanks were decommissioned. There was no longer an enemy that deserved to be shot, let alone bombarded. Instead, MAF focused on providing support during and after natural disasters and other emergencies where militaristic-like efficiency can be crucial.

    Njeri grew up in the “civilian” bolo of the tega, in the “young cadets” kana, as the rest of the tega was occupied by active-duty bolos or training units. Her childhood was normal and for the most part just like any other child anywhere else. Of course, living in a MAF base, she got to see them exercising and drilling and she even volunteered a couple of times as a “staged injured”. But She never felt any expectation, or coercion to join MAF when she became independent, and not many of her age-group did. Yet, she knew this is what she wanted to do. This was who she was. Those thoughts crossed her mind as she marched up the hill with heavy steps, The entire tega, MAF and “civilians”, saluting in her honour.

    Anyone can join the MAF when they’re old enough. This is of course a very vague definition, but it is the same as “when a person reaches adulthood”. Adulthood doesn’t necessarily correlate to a biological age, but rather with the mental capacity to take responsibility over one’s actions and mistakes. In a society that encourages independence from an early age, most people become responsible adults around the age of 15 or even 14. Teenagehood, as the transitional step in which young adults who are still treated as children rebelled for independence has lost its meaning as instead of restricting and fighting against them, society gradually gives children more and more agency and preparation for their adult life. It is a known fact that children that grew up near MAF are likely to join at a relatively older age, but this is because the adults are struggling to stop seeing them as their “innocent babies” (as Baba-Okello jokes). Njeri officially joined MAF at the age of 15, after passing the aptitude tests to prove she was ready.

    Being a MAFex wasn’t easy. In the first year of training and the first field mission, the drop-rate is estimated at 20%. The majority of which usually drops in the first couple of months when realizing that the overly regimented lifestyle can be quite intense. After that, everyone, and especially one’s kana, will do anything in their power to help whoever is struggling in any way they can. Not far from the entrance to Shanzu, a bare hill stands with a head-sized brass bell with an inscription: “The Journey Continues.” The inscription reminds the person who is about to ring that the journey doesn’t end with giving up, it just takes a different shape. MAF isn’t for everyone. Most people won’t even get admitted, but the bell is reserved for those who decide to leave. Bells normally are less for the person ringing them than for the audience accepting the message the ring conveys. For this bell, it’s the community accepting the loss of one its members, which is never easy. But this particular bell carries a message for the ringer as well. It’s a message of respect. It is a reminder that choosing to step away is not failure, but an act of courage and self-awareness, honoring both the themselves and the community they leave behind.

    Due to MAF’s small-sized nature, new recruits often don’t form their own cohort but instead assimilate directly into existing units. They train with them and learn from their joint knowledge and experience, but have their own study sessions to catch up with the vast knowledge required from a MAFex. When the time was right, Njeri needed to choose a bolo to join. Between Transport, Paramedics, Pathfinders, and Logistics – she chose pathfinding as she enjoyed the outdoors the most. Well, that and the fact that her mathematical aptitude and interpersonal skills weren’t ideal for other specialties. Despite learning the basics in every field, her first year of training focused primarily on navigating through impassable terrains.

    Njeri was already a MAFex for a year, although hadn’t gotten her field-mission badge yet, when Kato joined as a young recruit to the Pathfinders’ bolo. After he was signed in, a game was played “in his honor” to help him decide which kana he should join. Blindfolded, they all were dropped at random points in Bamburi Forest, south of Shanzu, separately from one another and were tasked to scour the forest and accomplish various tasks. However, as tradition goes, since all MAFex have accomplished these tasks countless times before, they must consume performance-dampening substances to hamper their capabilities. And of course, the more experience one has, the more they need to consume. Playing 3 times before, as soon as Njeri removed her blindfold she threw up. Her head pounded. But it was part of the exercise as she knew she needed to be able to function no matter how disoriented she might feel. She looked around and saw a small creek. She drank a little bit of the water and decided to follow it upstream to gain a vantage point.

    She then noticed Kato standing beneath a tall yellow flowered kassod tree. He was examining its 2 meter high canopy. She introduced herself earlier at the briefings but she doubted he would remember her from all the new faces he just met. However, as soon as she came close, he turned around and smiled at her. “Hey, Njeri, right? How’s your day going?” She felt he was a bit too cheerful for her headache, but being patient despite one’s personal issues is a merit ironed into any MAFex from day one. “Oh, it’s a lovely day,” she said, and from his chuckle she knew he saw through her sarcasm. “What do you have there?” she asked. She tried to look at the canopy herself but the headache and the sunlight made her eyes squint shut. “There’s a box hanging there, but I’m not sure how we can reach it. Can you see it?” he said, pointing upward. She looked up and this time saw the small wooden yellow-painted box glistening. It camouflaged perfectly in the tree’s flowers. “Yeah, I see it now. Got a long stick to tip it down?” she asked. In fairness, this is the first time she saw this puzzle. But it wasn’t surprising as there were hundreds of different puzzles throughout the game and the best record ever was to solve 7 puzzles in a single game. In her own trial run, she got 5. She was quite proud of herself. Kato looked around but couldn’t find anything. “I was looking at the vines holding the box in the air. Do you see them?” he asked her. She looked again and it dawned on her. Those vines, as naturally as they may have looked, did not belong here. They didn’t grow on any other tree around except the two trees on each side of the box. She was impressed with Kato’s observance. “I see them now. I get it. Have you ever played ‘pulled-knot-game’?” He admitted that he didn’t. She wasn’t surprised. It was a game the young cadets played a lot to train tying and untying knots. She quickly explained to him the basic principles of the game. “We have two strings that are connected in a standard ‘Carrick Bend’ knot. It’s not simple but it is possible to swing-pull the strings to loosen the knot,” she explained. They tried several times but he seemed to catch the hang of it quickly and on the fifth attempt the knot loosened and the box dropped to a height they could catch. The box contained a code that they both needed to memorize in proof they accomplished the task. They continued the game separately as the rules dictated.

    Kato managed to solve 4 puzzles with various people, which is considered a good score for someone his age, coming from the “outside”. Njeri managed to keep her score of 5, which concerned her slightly. She knew that any future attempts, where she would be drugged even further, would prove more and more difficult to get a better score. It is no surprise that the more experienced MAF members often struggle to solve more than 2 puzzles and unfortunately often don’t remember much from each game for any future attempts. After a rather lengthy debrief, they all returned home. A big meal was prepared, followed by a conversation in which it was mutually agreed to which kana Kato would join. Njeri was pleased he should join her kana, even if it was somewhat selfish, as she had enough of being pampered as the youngest in the unit.

    That next day, Njeri woke up early for a navigation exercise. Naomi was her active olori and she was in charge of giving the instructions. As there was no official or permanent hierarchy in MAF, they rotated the olori role periodically, although it was very fluid and they helped each other fulfill the role, knowing they would also be helped when in that position. Similarly, this pseudo-anarchistic hierarchy expanded upwards – one ibu was in charge of being the olori of each bolo and one for the entire tega. They had a voting mechanism built on merit and experience but flexible enough to prevent forcing anyone to follow leaders they didn’t trust.

    Naomi instructed them to pair up and paired herself up with Kato so she could focus on tutoring him. The instructions were given in sign language, and as some of the words were new to Kato, the rest of the kana helped him out. Sign language is extremely useful for many reasons, especially for MAF in emergency situations. Pairing Kato with Naomi meant that he had no choice but to catch up. They estimated that in three days he would be using signs fluently. Njeri paired with Alhaadi, who was overly excited with the exercise. Despite being an ibu of few words, his positivity was contagious. Each pair received ten random checkpoints to be found by one team member. That ibu then needed to leave a trackable item. Once all items were placed, the second partner needed to track the items in a different order and without the use of a map.

    Ironically enough, the exercise was at Bamburi forest again. When they arrived at the entrance of the thick forest, she stopped to wonder if she’d pass the area she visited yesterday. But the forest was too big and her memory was too groggy. “Do you remember anything from yesterday?” she asked Alhaadi, but he, being a silent type, just walked a few steps forward and looked back at her, smiling. “I guess it doesn’t matter,” she sighed. The exercise took her most of the morning. At her level of training, the checkpoints she picked were verbal descriptions that someone in distress might provide, such as “a boulder resting on a tree” or “abandoned building next to a fork in a gravel road”. No map was provided but she was expected to know the forest well enough to recognize the places by their partial descriptions. Alhaadi’s task was meant to be more challenging as he was tasked to identify the items by the bird sounds they were playing, and he still managed to do it in half the time it took her to place the items. As he sprinted from one checkpoint to the other, she barely managed to catch her breath. Whenever she stopped, he would turn back and come sit with her patiently until she was ready to continue. He didn’t say anything but she could see his muscles twitching as he was eager to keep going, while looking at her with calm eyes and a comforting smile. She cursed under her breath and he just howled back at her and sprinted off. She couldn’t help but smile and run after him. While they were heading towards his seventh checkpoint, they heard a crackling noise and a red flare shot up in the morning skies. “Something’s up, Alhaadi,” she told him, “we need to head back”.

    The exercise was cut short. As Njeri and Alhaadi got back to the base, two trucks filled with MAFex left the base and headed north. A carrier drone deployed in the landing area at Serena and more MAFex from neighboring bases unpacked their gear. “I guess we have guests,” said Njeri to Alhaadi as they both rushed to the main hall. Noticing their insignia, she could identify the visiting MAFex were from Madagascar. She estimated that if they received the alert the same time she did, then it took them about an hour to fly, assuming of course they weren’t just happening to be in the neighborhood already. That would be a very costly flight in terms of hydrogen fuel. “This is serious,” she thought. “This is an emergency.”

    It was a search and rescue mission in Kaya forest, a mere hour drive from Shanzu. They agreed to regroup in ten minutes after each ibu brought the necessary gear. Kato did not have the full gear yet but someone from logistics already took care to bring him what he needed. Not everyone went though, as it was best to keep some of the personnel as reserves and some people needed to keep the base operational. 

    “Not meaning to be insensitive,” asked Kato hesitantly, “but why rush? The person has been missing for more than a week. Would an hour more or less make a difference?” Kato was hovering over the people who were double-checking their gear, trying to be helpful on one hand but also asking countless questions on the other. Njeri could tell he would have liked to come as well. Alhaadi brought his bag and since it was quite light with equipment, Njeri moved some of her gear to his.

    “We take our tasks very seriously,” she answered Kato, “and if it means we could save someone just by being there a minute earlier, we’ll do anything imaginable to do it.” Time is considered a critical asset and punctuality is regarded as a critical foundation in MAF, drilled down from day one. Njeri wondered how accustomed Kato was to time-keeping as some nima are less concerned with time-keeping than others. Fifteen minutes after being briefed, they were already on their way north.

    Hundreds of people, MAFex and civilians, scoured every piece of land and water between Mtwapa and Kilfi, shouting and calling for the missing person. Bird-whisperers listened to bird songs, eavesdropping on any gossip about a human body in the forest. Drones hovered above looking for heat signatures. Boats and kayaks combed the creek and a team of divers went to check whether the body was washed out to sea. Njeri went up the forest with Alhaadi who was the best tracker she ever met. At first he walked around aimlessly, but as he found more and more tracks, interpretable only to him, he began moving faster and faster. At a forest clearing he stopped and looked confused. “Did you lose the trace?” she asked, but he just huffed at her and ran around the edge of the clearing to the other side.

    Invisible from the other side, he found a small pathway leading up the woody hill. The ground was muddy soil and the heels of her boots dug in as she climbed. Eventually, he stopped underneath a tree in the middle of the hill and pointed up to its branches. “What’s that?” she asked. There was clearly something there, a human-sized cocoon-like shape, but she couldn’t make out the details behind the thick branches. She tried thinking how to investigate further or whether she should report it first when she heard a quiet breath not far from her. She realized a female leopard was standing in front of her up the path, trying to measure her.

    She stood tall. It was her first encounter with a wild leopard but she wasn’t scared. She said firmly “Hello there, is this your territory? I’m looking for a friend”. Alhaadi was calm as well as he was trained and unlike her he did have some experience with wild animals. He was closer to the leopard but he stepped back to make himself almost invisible against the flora. She knew he got her back. The leopard walked slowly towards her, looking disinterested, and then made a quick jump unto the tree. Njeri felt her heart miss a bit but she forced herself to remain calm. The leopard climbed towards the cocoon and before Njeri had time to consider if the cat had anything to do with it, it crashed down on her head.

    Seeing something moving fast toward her she wasn’t sure at first if it was the cocoon or the leopard. She tried to jump aside but her boots were stuck on the mucky mud and before she knew it she was already knocked down to the floor. She gained consciousness almost immediately but the first thing she saw was the dead man’s eye staring back at her from a mere inch distance. The body was mostly covered by something organic but the howling white face was clear and in front of her, etched into her mind. She tried to push the cocoon off of her but it was too heavy. Alhaadi came in an instant and together they managed to roll it aside. She was covered in muck. The leopard had vanished. The body was staring blankly at the sky. She used her radio to report her finding. She couldn’t take her eyes off the body until support arrived but the eyes continued to haunt her long after.

    The next moment she was lying in her own bed, staring at the ceiling. She knew she called the carrier drone and instructed it to land at the clearing. She then sent Alhaadi to lead the extraction team while she watched over the body in case the leopard returned. It was all automatic. She didn’t feel present. Her mind was lost in the sunken dead eyes. She remembered explaining how she came about the body, the leopard and how it fell on her. She remembered pointing at the tree and someone climbing to find any clues to what had happened. And she cared, or at least she thinks she cared. She also remembered her flight with the carrier-drone. That was her first flight ever and amazing as it felt, looking at the world from a bird’s view, losing her thought to the quiet hums of the rotors, she also thought of the cost of that flight. The price paid by her dead flight-mate.

    The flight was short, barely twenty minutes. She gave another debriefing at the base and went for a very long shower. When she was finally done, Naomi came to find her. “How are you? You looked a bit off,” she asked. “I’m alright, I think,” Njeri remembered answering. Naomi asked her about the leopard and about seeing a dead body. She felt very tired and asked Naomi to continue the conversation after she rested. “It’s fine, no pressure. I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. I’m here if anything comes up,” Naomi reassured her. They hugged and Njeri retired to her room.

    She woke up from her own scream. It took her a moment to realise where she is and recall the events that happened since the body fell on her. In her nightmare the body fell on her again, but this time the dead person’s mouth opened and with leopard sharp teeth tried to bite her head off as she woke up screaming. She heard a soft knock on her door. She opened and Alhaadi slid inside. He sat on the edge of the bed without saying a word. She hugged him. “You heard me scream, didn’t you?” she asked and she could sense his sympathy from his big round eyes. She asked if he had any nightmares. He pointed to her pillow.  She crawled back to bed and touched him, feeling comforted knowing that he’s there. The nightmares didn’t cease, but his presence was comforting nonetheless.

    The nightmares continued the next night. They even seeped into the day. Whether it was ghosts or hallucinations from lack of sleep, Njeri was shellshocked. On the third day, Naomi suggested they would visit the dead person’s kana. She thought it would be good if Njeri knew more about him and hopefully that would help her see more of the person than just a dead corpse. They arrived at his home later that day and joined the nugo’dala. The place was crammed with family and friends retelling stories of his life. His name was Bakari. He used to kayak a lot as a child but following an accident at the age of sixteen, he decided to focus his life on environmental restoration. He would spend countless hours in Kaya forest and probably knew the terrain better than any of the pathfinders that mastered that area as if it was the back of their hand.

    Death is an unavoidable tragedy. As such, it deserves a place of respect and acceptance rather than fear and willful ignorance. It is customary that when a person dies, everyone who ever knew him would meet and together in a nugo’dala. They would write the story of the person’s life, with as many details and perspectives as they can add. Perhaps there was a time that such a wealth of information would have allowed to resurrect the person in the form of artificial intelligence but now it’s considered more respectful, and healthier for everyone involved, to accept one’s fate to let them rest as the book of their lives is sealed forever. In some cultures they might even burn the book ceremoniously to symbolise that all that remains are the memories shared by the person’s loved ones. In Bakari’s case, the book was kept in the bolo’s library along with his ancestors.

    Njeri contributed to the event as she told once again how she found the body. She couldn’t explain about the organic material the cocoon was made of. It was still being examined. The only thing they knew at that time was that whatever it was, it helped preserve the body from decomposing, which actually made it more difficult to estimate how long he was dead before the body was recovered. That night Njeri went to bed at peace, feeling a sense of closure, seeing the whole person and how much he was loved and respected by his peers, friends and family. That night she slept in peace. But she was never the same again.

    Her kana was there for her. They knew when to simply let her be and when to push her forward. A hollow shell as she was, she was pushed but something besides Bakari died in Kaya. She could no longer face dead corpses and random encounters with animal carcasses would send her spiralling and incapacitated. Alhaadi would take her by the hand and slowly walk her back home. She was ashamed, despite everyone being compassionate and understanding. She had long conversations with most of her siblings as well as her biological parents. She talked with other people who suffered from post-trauma. Most of them retired from active service after a random event left them with an emotional scar that wouldn’t heal. She never felt alone in her distress and no one tried to push or force her to “snap out of it” as everyone knew that pushing the trauma inwards will only cause it to implode later on. She sat quietly with Alhaadi and watched the sunset together. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to come back. 

    She was loved. She knew the entire bolo, if not the entire tega, would do anything in their power to help her. But she accepted her fortune—not without regrets—and so did they. She walked up the barren hill toward the brass bell. Everyone at the base came to honor her departure. They all stood and saluted, but a moment before her hand reached the bell, Alhaadi broke ranks and ran toward her. She felt the warm tear run down her dusty cheek.

    When he reached the top of the hill, she hugged him. She whispered, “I’m sorry for leaving you, but know you’ll always be with me.” He stood next to her in salutation as she rang the bell to announce her surrender.

    Ringing the bell is a matter of pride. It requires accepting that your fate lies elsewhere. Anyone could, at least in theory, give up anytime they liked, but this didn’t mean their bolo would give up on them. Njeri had heard stories of people who fought their way to the bell, only to realize how much their bolo loved them and decide to give MAF a second chance. She felt the warm evening wind caress her face. No one stopped her, but she knew they all loved her, their glistening eyes fixed on her from the bottom of the hill.

    When she came down from the hill, her kana hugged her as everyone else slowly dispersed. She would still spend the night with her family, and although she could stay as long as she needed, she had decided to find a new purpose in the “civilian” bolo. That evening, as they all sat around the campfire, sharing laughs and stories, she noticed Kato and decided to approach him. “I heard you’ve been partnered with Alhaadi,” she mentioned. “Yeah, I guess,” Kato answered. “I don’t know, he seems very… stoic?” They both glanced at Alhaadi, who was sitting by the fire, as quiet as ever—like a majestic beast watching over its pride. They chuckled. “Yes, he’s an old gruff,” Njeri said, “but he is the best partner I could ever hope for. You look after him.” Kato smiled. “I will.” After a moment of silence and fire-gazing, he asked, “Where will you go?” “I’m not sure yet,” she answered truthfully. “I guess I’ll try to find something akin to pathfinding,” she said. “Maybe at the nursery. If I’m bored, I can always send the children to the forest and then go look for them.” She was half-joking. She loved navigating and exploring, and while she could still do it, it would no longer be her ikigai.

    Kato was quiet for a while before saying, “On my way to Shanzu, I passed through the sadi of Mombasa and met a facilitator there.” Njeri listened intently. “The sadi is so big that people—especially those coming from out of town—often need help finding what they need, so the facilitators find it for them.” Njeri’s eyes lit up. “That sounds very interesting. Thank you.” She had been to the market a couple of times before but had never inquired too deeply into the lives of the facilitators. Her skills might be useful after all. She felt grateful. The fire died out on its own long after the last ibu retired to bed. It just so happened to be Alhaadi.