Remote Control

by Nnedi Okorafor

Sankofa smiled. Spiders always had better things to do.

Within minutes, insects would people the light. But not yet.

Kelewele, aponkye nkrakra and fufu, kenkey, waakye, red red, jollof rice, fried chicken, akrantie and goat meat, too much food to get her eyes around.

Im hungry

There was talk of a new virus and fear of this resulting in a pandemic faster and more lethal than the one in 2020.

However, her mind was often clouded and those parts that were clear were populated with dark corners.

Her story travelled like an ancestor, always ahead of, beside and behind her.

This was the type of cigarette that made people see God, slowed time and attracted happiness.

Fear of death is a powerful weapon.”

“People treat it with more respect than they treat any police officer. Maybe because the robot is polite, helpful and never asks for bribes.”

In Sankofa’s years on the road, she’d learned that people were complicated. They wore masks and guises to protect or hide their real selves. They reinvented themselves. They destroyed themselves. They built on themselves. She understood people and their often contradictory ways, but that robocop was not a person.

if there was one rule she lived by it was the fact that Stories were soothsayers, truth-tellers and liars.

There were still ghosts in Wulugu and Sankofa was relieved. She felt them as she strolled into town, lingering in shadows, between buildings, on front steps. Reminders that everything that had happened truly happened, no matter how much had been covered up, rebuilt, replaced, reorganized.

“Fatima,” she said. “My name is Fatima Okwan.” But I’m Sankofa, too, she thought. Always.

And so she brought forth her light. When she did, all the seeds glowing in the soil brightened. She pushed her light to grow brighter. The seeds brightened some more. Then some more. Then even brighter. And this time, she did it on purpose.