Remote Control Page 6

  However, Sankofa decided not to follow the internal radar that had been guiding her for years. She walked in the exact opposite direction. And that direction led her to a road and she walked down that road. She walked for days.

  “Let it rot in hell,” she muttered to herself over those days like a mantra. “Evil thing will not take me with it.”

  CHAPTER 7

  ROBOTOWN

  Sankofa’s leather sandals slapped her heels softly as she walked. Her small swift steps with small swift feet led her to RoboTown.

  It was a tiny town, but to Sankofa’s eyes it was huge and monstrous like she imagined the Nigerian city of Lagos. She had been walking the Northern region, going from village to village, town to town, spending a few months here, a few weeks there. By this time, she had started specifically asking for and wearing her mother’s style of clothes, elaborate outfits made of beautiful stiff wax cloth. Seamstresses often made them specifically for her.

  They’d put the clothes aside and keep them until news came that Sankofa was coming through. These seamstresses were always able to locate where to deliver the clothes and, for this reason, they were the heroes of their villages and towns. Sankofa arrived at the crossroads of the northern entrance to RoboTown. She turned around to see if Movenpick were still trailing her, but he was gone. He always seemed to instinctively know when to make himself scarce.

  She paused on the side of the mildly busy road and stared at it for several moments, her mind trying to place what she was observing. It was night and the lights built around the giant silver robot illuminated it like an alien. A real and functioning robot, not just a decoration. As people walked and drove up and down the street, the robot moved its head this way and that, monitoring people. And it spoke instructions in Twi using a firm amplified mildly female voice.

  “Put your mobile phone away while you cross, sir.”

  “I have sent you the directions you need, ma’am. Please, check your mobile device.”

  “It is safe to cross, ma’am.”

  The robot was over nine feet tall, appeared to be made of solid steel and had a solar panel and short antennae on top of its head. Broad chested and straight hipped, its shape quite male, despite its feminine voice. Above its head were three large hovering bat-like objects. Drones. The robot stiffly motioned with its expansive arms for traffic on Sankofa’s side of the road to move and the other side to stop, its eyes flashing green.

  This was the third one of these that she’d seen since leaving home, but this was the first she’d seen that was fully functioning. They were called “robocops” and they were supposedly artificially intelligent. If anything, she was sure they at least were connected to the internet and could scan and search every person around it for information.

  As if to prove this, the robocop turned to her as she stood there. It was probably scanning her for any kind of tech so that it could digitally send her a “Welcome to RoboTown” message. How would it react when it realized she didn’t even carry a charity mobile? As she walked along the side of the road, following a group of chatty men, one of the robocop’s drones flew overhead, black and beetle-like.

  “It is safe to cross, kind sirs and young lady,” the robocop said, holding up a large metal three-fingered hand and flashing its eyes red at all traffic. As Sankofa passed it with the others, it turned and watched her. Her, not the others. The drone still hovered directly overhead. Her neck prickled, but she moved as if she belonged there. I am Sankofa, I belong wherever I want to belong, she thought to herself, walking with her chin up and back straight. She’d been curious about RoboTown for a while and she would satisfy her curiosity starting tonight.

  Once across the street, the drones returned to the robocop. As she walked toward the busier part of the town, Sankofa chanced a look over her shoulder. The robot was still watching her, as it conducted traffic.

  * * *

  It was early evening when Sankofa strolled into the market, so it was still open. One section was especially active and well lit, the one where electronics were sold. There were lines and crowds here. Various booths and small shops sold accessories, connection links, and various devices like personal windows, magnetic earbuds, jelli tellis, mobiles.

  There was a festive vibe and Sankofa wondered if it was like this every night. Hawkers came to feed the people standing in lines or who’d just bought their items. Friends met up with friends. The excitement was infectious and Sankofa found herself smiling. She slowly ambled along, grasping her satchel, listening and watching. People were too busy looking at blinking glowing shining things to notice her and this was a joy in itself.

  However, eventually someone did recognize her and … then there was nearly chaos. First there was pointing. Then women selling the electronics rushed and stood protectively in front of their booths as Sankofa passed. Those who were hand-selling cheap mobiles, tablets, windows, clutched their goods and scrambled away from her. One man tripped over his own feet, dropping his armful of chargers and batteries. He got to his knees right there in the dirt and snatched up his tangle of chargers and plugs and as many of the flat black batteries as he could and then ran off. People knew exactly who she was, which meant they knew that her presence destroyed tech. But they didn’t know enough to know that it was only destroyed when she touched it.

  Sankofa came to a large shop embedded in a tall red-brick building. It was called Mr. Starlit Electronics and there was a line coming out of it so long that it wrapped around the building three times. Those in front of the line looked exhausted, sitting on the ground with food packages and opened bottles of water.

  A woman in a bright red sundress stood to the side of the line smoking a cigarette. Sankofa and the woman noticed each other at the same time. The woman took another puff from her cigarette and narrowed her eyes. Sankofa clutched her satchel and eyed the woman right back. Her observant eye reminded Sankofa of the robocop. A ripple of murmurs flew through the line as Sankofa passed the shop.

  “Girl!”

  Sankofa stopped beside an electronics repair booth. The two women in the booth had already retreated inside, cowering like bush rats. Sankofa was glad to have a reason to turn away from them. “Yes?” she said to the smoking woman, curious about her lack of fear.

  The woman motioned for Sankofa to come back and Sankofa obliged. A few of the people in line rushed off, but most, though clearly terrified, kept their precious spots. Sankofa stepped up to the woman and the woman smiled at her. For several moments, the two gazed at each other. She was a tall big woman and both of her arms were heavily tattooed. Sankofa had seen plenty of women with tattoos, they had things like hearts, boyfriends’ names, sexy animals, symbols chosen by local juju men. Never had she seen anyone, woman or man, with tattoos of circuitry. Just like the insides and parts of computers she saw sold in every market she passed through. This woman had them running up both her arms like a disease.

  “You’re smaller than I imagined you,” she said with a smirk. She took a puff from her cigarette and exhaled the smoke. It smelled sweet and heady. This was the type of cigarette that made people see God, slowed time and attracted happiness.

  “Maybe your imagination is not big enough,” Sankofa said. “Is this your shop?”

  The woman blinked and then her smile grew wider. “I think you are the first person in a long time to ask me that. Most people ask for ‘Mr. Starlit.’”

  “Well, who is Mr. Starlit?”

  “An idea born from fear,” she said. “I was too afraid to call it Mrs. Starlit. That was a long time ago, though.”

  “Why did you call me over?” Sankofa asked.

  The woman crossed her arms over her chest, inspecting Sankofa as if she were the daughter of her best friend. “I like to look into the eyes of hurricanes,” she said. She looked around and then said, “Come. I know the routine with you. I’ll make you dinner.” Then she turned and walked past the line to the store’s front door.

  People in line gawked at Sankofa as she
followed the woman. One man even grabbed the woman’s arm and whispered something in her ear as he stared at Sankofa. “I know exactly who she is,” the woman snapped in English. She switched back to Twi, “Relax and mind your business.” Then she turned to Sankofa, took her hand and said, “Move quickly,” as she pulled Sankofa into her shop. Sankofa looked back at people in line just in time to see a man sneer at her. However, no one else left the line. There were jelli tellis stretched across the wall showing the clearest 3D films she’d ever seen, pocket windows on display pedestals, colorful air plugs and other electronic gear; her shop was packed. American music played and the store smelled like the sweat of its anxious customers.

  Sankofa walked past all this, holding the woman’s hand. They walked through another door and emerged in back of the building. Here, more people milled around. These ones wore suits and ties. The women wore American-style dresses and pants, too much makeup and fake-looking long-haired weaves with those blue glowing tubes Sankofa saw women in commercials wearing. And it was clear that many of the women flash-bleached their skin, a practice that Sankofa, someone who glowed a dangerous green every so often, could never understand. There were about thirty of them and they all stopped talking when they saw the woman holding Sankofa’s hand. When they noticed Sankofa, the whispering began.

  “Alhaja,” one man said, stepping forward. He carried a glass of what looked like beer and wore a tan suit that looked cartoonish in its perfection. “Do you know who that is??”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “Mind your business.”

  She smiled at them all as she led Sankofa to another backdoor and then up some stairs. The stairway was narrow, but the walls were painted white and the air in here was cool and smelled like the inside of a mosque.

  “My name’s Alhaja Ujala,” she said over her shoulder. “You can simply call me Alhaja.”

  They ascended four flights of stairs, then Alhaja opened a door. Sankofa had been feeling a bit nervous. She didn’t like being in buildings surrounded by what could turn into a mob. Plus, the place was two floors off the ground. Not that anyone could harm her. She just didn’t like feeling trapped. When the woman opened the door, she forgot her misgivings.

  Mosque-scented air wafted out in a cool plume, giving way to a high-ceilinged blue room. Blue as the morning sky back home. A jelli telli was stretched across the entire wall on the left side of the room. Sankofa stumbled back, hesitant to enter. The woman laughed. “You have sharp senses.”

  “Isn’t that what you expect from the one guarded by the Angel of Death?” Sankofa said, staring at the wall covered with faces. Masks. Ceremonial masks. At least thirty of them. “What is this? Are you a cultist?”

  “I’m a collector,” Alhaja said with a chuckle. “I read a book when I was a child where an old witch had a wall full of these. They would smile, frown, make faces. I always loved that. And I also wanted to grow old and wise like that woman, so you see?”

  Sankofa frowned, still skeptical. “So … where are they from? What do they do?”

  Alhaja shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Carefully, Sankofa entered the woman’s home. “So you’re used to bringing things you don’t understand into your home.”

  A large window took up two thirds of the far wall. Sankofa went to it and looked at the crowd outside.

  “You’ve arrived on the busiest day of the year,” Alhaja said, stepping up beside her. “And the most dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Mine is the only shop that gets the first shipment of the latest models of jelli tellis and portable devices in all of Ghana. And it arrives tonight.”

  “Oooh,” Sankofa said, understanding why the woman had so happily brought her here. In her first year on her own, a bicycle seller had asked her to stay with his family for two nights to scare away thieves who’d been circling his shop for days. It had worked. “Why here and not Accra or someplace bigger?”

  “Because it gives the whole practice some mystery,” Alhaja said. “They leak it on the internet and only the most ambitious leave Accra and sometimes as far as places like Lagos, to come here. Want some orange Fanta? Something to eat?”

  “I would.”

  “Come,” Alhaja said.

  Sankofa sat at the lovely blue wooden dinner table and ate from a blue plate and drank Fanta from a tall blue glass. Alhaja sat across from her the entire time, taking the occasional call on her mobile. She got off the phone and answered the question Sankofa asked minutes ago, “My second husband won the Visa Lottery to America and, instead of taking me, left with a woman willing to give him half a million cedi.”

  “Oh my goodness!” Sankofa said as she ate her last piece of goat meat. “But … why don’t you just find another husband?”

  “You see how old I am,” Alhaja exclaimed with a laugh. “What man will marry me?”

  “A smart one,” Sankofa said, biting into a slice of fried plantain.

  Alhaja threw her head back and laughed heartily. Sankofa snickered. Alhaja’s mobile beeped and she tapped the earpiece in her left ear. After a moment, her face grew gravely serious. She looked at Sankofa as she spoke, “When?” She nodded, picking up the mobile and rubbing a finger on the surface. The face of a young dark-skinned man appeared, the focal point of the camera falling on his wide-nostriled nose. He wore a green veil and seemed to be in a moving vehicle that was driving over a rough terrain.

  “They won’t know when we come, Alhaja, don’t worry.” He smiled. “And everything is traceable and locked. Even if stolen, no one can use them.”

  Alhaja sucked her teeth and dismissively waved a hand. “You don’t know what these young hackers and rippers are capable of. How far are you?”

  “We’ll be there in an hour,” he said. “Stay outside and wait. I’ll flash you.”

  When she hung up, she leaned against the table. “Sankofa, why don’t you get some rest.”

  She showed Sankofa into another blue room just beside the kitchen. “My daughter’s old room,” she said, stepping aside. “She’s in Singapore working on her master’s degree in thermodynamics. She won’t mind.” Everything in the room, the walls, bed sheets, dresser, table, was a light shade of blue. Sankofa slowly entered, looking up at the high ceiling, which was like the afternoon sky.

  “Pretty,” she whispered. Just standing in the room made her feel at peace.

  “How old are you?” Alhaja asked.

  Sankofa nearly gave her usual answer, which was, “How old do I look?” But she caught herself. Alhaja wasn’t just anyone. “Thirteen,” she said. Then she gazed into Alhaja’s eyes and waited. People always had something to say about her age.

  “Old enough for honesty,” Alhaja said. “You look younger than that but I know you’re older than your years, so I’ll be upfront. I need you.”

  A smile spread across Sankofa’s face and she laughed. “I know. I’ve done this before. Fear of death is a powerful weapon.” This was a line from a book she’d once read whose title she’d long since forgotten.

  “They’ll come with guns,” Alhaja said. “They’ve already sent us a text warning of their coming and instructed me on where to leave the merchandise so that no one is killed. They’re bold.”

  “Oh,” Sankofa exclaimed. “Have they come before?”

  “Other towns, never here,” she said. “They call themselves the Bandit Boys.”

  Sankofa walked to the bed and eyed its blue sheets. She sat down and ran a hand over the surface. Soft and cool. She slipped off her sandals and said, “One hour?”

  “About that.”

  “Will you wake me up when they come?”

  Alhaja smiled, but her eyes were hard. “Definitely.”

  * * *

  Sankofa was lying in the forest on a bed of grass and leaves, glad to be alone back in the wilderness, again, with the fruits and trees and Movenpick skulking nearby. She was completely at peace, no pull from the evil seed in the box. But someone was shaking her. She curled herself t
ighter and then she awoke. Sky blue. Sky blue ceiling.

  “Oh,” she said, looking wildly into Alhaja’s eyes. “They’re here?”

  Alhaja handed her a cup of hot coffee. “Come.”

  Sankofa slipped her sandals on, took the cup and looked into it. Something fluttered in her chest and she shut her eyes. On the surface was the pull of the seed, which she ignored easily. Nothing could make her return to that search. But beneath that feeling was a yearning for the forest, again. The quiet, the escape. She sniffed the coffee and the smell brought with it a very clear image of her father. He loved coffee and her mother made it for him every morning. The smell would permeate the house and she and her brother would always come to sniff it, but their father would never ever let them taste the coffee. Her father hadn’t been a tall or muscular man. She’d encountered many tall muscular men since leaving home; she knew them well. Her father was slight, and kind, and gentle and he loved coffee, prayer and cigarettes.

  “This is a man’s beverage,” he’d simply said. Then he’d bring up the cup, sniff the aroma, smile to himself, take a sip and sit back and sigh, “Aaaaaah, that’s good coffee.”

  Sankofa put the cup down without taking a sip and followed Alhaja out of the room.

  As she stepped outside where the group of wealthy folk had been gathered, she saw the truck. It was an ugly broken-down piece of machinery and she doubted if her technology-killing touch would have much of an effect on it. Its outer shell was crusted with rust, the headlights were broken, and its engine was exposed; it looked as if it had been cobbled together from the parts of already ancient damaged vehicles.

  Its trunk was full of oranges. At least on the surface. Alhaja took Sankofa’s arm. “They’ll come to the storefront. The better to make a spectacle that everyone will talk about.”