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https://www.pbs.org/wgbh/frontline/documentary/age-of-easy-money/ TRANSCRIPT MALE NEWSREADER: Federal Reserve Chairman Jerome Powell speaking at an annual economic summit in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. MALE VOICE: Yep, we’re on with him. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Powell and his colleagues at the Fed are under pressure to curb inflation. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Powell could take a harder line, or he could simply play his cards close to the vest. MALE VOICE: Here we go. He’s on the move. MALE NEWSREADER: It’s going to be a tough crowd at Jackson Hole because of the fact that he made a call simply last year that didn’t age well. Now— CHRISTOPHER LEONARD, Author, The Lords of Easy Money: Every year the Federal Reserve holds an economic symposium at Jackson Hole, Wyoming, in August. It's sort of like the Oscars of the Fed world. And media comes from all around the world and the Fed chairman gives a keynote speech that gets all the attention. MALE NEWSREADER: All eyes on Jackson Hole this morning. MALE NEWSREADER: He’s giving a speech as central banker to the world. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN, Chief economic advisor, Allianz: So Jackson Hole plays a very important role in the central bank community, because you're basically bringing the central bankers of the world and economists to a place to discuss critical issues. So people looked to Jackson Hole to see, is there a reset in monetary policy? FEMALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: The economy has slowed. We’re likely in recession and perhaps going deeper into it. Are they going to keep taking us down this road? Are they going to keep slamming the brakes on rates? Raising 75 basis points until we've got job cuts across the corporate sector? RAGHURAM RAJAN, Fmr. head, Indian Central Bank: Central bankers were saviors post-global financial crisis. This time it was different. The mood was more "for the first time, we're failing." FEMALE REPORTER: Is Powell ready to risk recession? This is the question. MALE SPEAKER: Chair Powell, the floor is yours. Please come to the podium. NOURIEL ROUBINI, Economist: Jackson Hole in 2022 was quite important. JEROME POWELL: Thank you, Peter, and good morning, everyone. NOURIEL ROUBINI: The market were feeling in the summer that maybe the Fed would have a pivot, would stop raising rates and maybe start cutting them. MALE INVESTMENT ADVISER: The market started talking about a Fed pivot. FEMALE REPORTER: —market, so maybe they’ll just ease up a bit. MALE INVESTMENT STRATEGIST: The market is, I think, anticipating that they’re going to blink. JEROME POWELL: Reducing inflation is likely to require a sustained period of below-trend growth. NOURIEL ROUBINI: And what Powell told them in Jackson Hole, he said, "Listen, inflation is still way too high, it's not peaking, it's not going to fall fast enough. And if you guys think that we're going to stop raising rates, or even cutting them, you are a bit delusional." JEROME POWELL: The U.S. economy is clearly slowing from the historically high growth rates of 2021. NEEL KASHKARI, Pres. & CEO, Fed. Reserve Bank of Minneapolis: I think the chair’s objective at Jackson Hole was to deliver a very concise message that, "We know what our job is: Our job is to get inflation back down to 2%, and we're going to do what we need to do to get it back down to 2%." JEROME POWELL: While higher interest rates, slower growth and softer labor market conditions will bring down inflation, they will also bring some pain to households and businesses. These are the unfortunate costs of reducing inflation. But a failure to restore price stability would mean far greater pain. NEEL KASHKARI: His remarks were remarkably brief for a Jackson Hole speech, and that was by design to deliver a very direct message. And I think his message was very effective. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Pain. LARRY SUMMERS: Pain. MALE NEWSREADER: Pain. MALE NEWSREADER: Some big— MALE NEWSREADER: —pain ahead. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Pain for American families. SEN. ELIZABETH WARREN, (D) MA: What he calls “some pain” means putting people out of work. DION RABOUIN, The Wall Street Journal: Jay Powell is not messing around. And that is when the markets reacts and says, “Oh, my God. Things are going to change.” JEROME POWELL: Restoring price stability will likely require maintaining a restrictive policy stance for some time. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: If the Fed puts us into a higher interest rate world, it will change everything. The financial system globally has been built around extremely low, ultralow interest rates for 10 years. All of these of things that got built up over the last decade are going to have to be dismantled or changed. JEROME POWELL: We will keep at it until we're confident the job is done. Thank you. NOURIEL ROUBINI: We lived in a bubble, in a dream, and this dream in a bubble is bursting. FEMALE NEWSREADER: —as rising interest rates in the U.S. and many other countries are intensifying fears of a recession. JAMES JACOBY: Ever since that Fed meeting at Jackson Hole, we’ve been getting mixed signals about the economy. Is it bound for recession, or is it in a booming recovery? MALE NEWSREADER: An economy with such a strong labor market is not in a recession. JAMES JACOBY: At the center of the debate are the actions of the Federal Reserve, which seems to have our economic fate in its hands. MALE NEWSREADER: The Fed is trying to stop inflation. But is the medicine worse than the disease? JAMES JACOBY: Lately, it’s been raising interest rates at the fastest pace in decades, trying to tamp down on inflation. But for most of the past decade, the Fed was keeping interest rates incredibly low, trying to stimulate the economy, creating what has been called an age of easy money. MALE NEWSREADER: Tonight, the economic alarms are blaring. JAMES JACOBY: For the past two years, I’ve been investigating the Fed and the far-reaching consequences of its easy money policies. THOMAS HOENIG, Pres., Fed. Reserve Bank of Kansas City, 1991-2011: I'm game if you are. JAMES JACOBY: I’m definitely game. I’ve been speaking to current and former Fed officials. Is that really the first time you’re in a suit since COVID? RICHARD W. FISHER, Pres., Fed. Reserve Bank of Dallas, 2005-15: From the waist down. SHEILA BAIR, Chair, FDIC, 2006-11: Can I take my mask off? JAMES JACOBY: Titans of finance. You were thinking what? JIM CHANOS, Founder, Kynikos Associates: I was thinking this is the craziest market I've seen in 40 years. JAMES JACOBY: Those who follow the decision making— CHARLES DUHIGG, The New York Times: None of us think about this because it’s boring, but it’s everything. It touches everything. JAMES JACOBY: —and those who have been hit the hardest by it. FEMALE SPEAKER: It’s like choosing between your rent and your food. JOHN ADEL, Client, Money Management Intl.: They do not understand what everybody's going through. CHAPTER ONE An Emergency Measure JAMES JACOBY: The Fed's easy money experiment traces back to pivotal decisions made over a decade ago in 2008— FEMALE REPORTER: Right now, breaking news here: Stocks all around the world are tanking because— JAMES JACOBY: —when investors, speculators and Wall Street bankers nearly brought down the global economy. MALE FLOOR TRADER: Right? Get on the train, otherwise it's going to leave the station without you. FEMALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: —with Wall Street shaken to its very foundation today. PRESIDENT GEORGE W. BUSH: We are in the midst of a serious financial crisis, and the federal government is responding with decisive action. FEMALE REPORTER: The Bush administration— JAMES JACOBY: The president and Congress spent hundreds of billions of dollars to restart the economy, but at the center of the rescue effort was the Federal Reserve. Richard Fisher was the head of the Fed’s bank in Dallas at the time. RICHARD W. FISHER, Pres., Fed. Reserve Bank of Dallas, 2005-15: What the Federal Reserve does is provide the blood supply for the body of our capitalist economy. And what happened in 2008 is all the veins and the capillaries and the arteries collapsed. So every financial function had failed. It had collapsed, and we had to restore them. MALE NEWSREADER: We’re at the precipice of the apocalypse. MALE NEWSREADER: We’re on the edge of the abyss. SEN. BARACK OBAMA, (D) IL: We are in the most serious financial crisis in generations. MALE NEWSREADER: There was nothing but panic yesterday. There's been panic all week. MALE NEWSREADER: The bottom to America’s financial woes appear nowhere in sight. FEMALE NEWSREADER: The banks are still not lending to one another, and as long as that’s not happening, the system remains stuck and imperiled. JAMES JACOBY: In normal times the Fed’s job is to promote employment and keep inflation in check, primarily by raising and lowering short-term interest rates, making borrowing cheaper or more expensive. But amid the crisis, Fed officials decided to do something they hadn’t done in half a century: They began dropping rates, eventually to almost zero. FEMALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: Those massive rate cuts have not been stimulating the economy, so it's the other things— JAMES JACOBY: With Americans still suffering and the banking system on the verge of collapse, Fed officials there at the time told me they felt compelled to go even further. RICHARD W. FISHER: And then the question was, "What else can we do?" And the committee came up with the idea of quantitative easing. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Quantitative easing. What in the world is it that? FEMALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: Quantitative easing. That’s just a Greek term to a lot of people. FEMALE NEWSREADER: A lot of people want to know what they’re going to say about what we call quantitative easing. JAMES JACOBY: Quantitative easing, or QE, was championed by Ben Bernanke, then the Fed chairman. BEN BERNANKE: The Federal Reserve is committed to using all available tools to stimulate economic activity and to improve financial market functioning. JAMES JACOBY: QE was an experimental way for the Fed to inject money into the financial system and lower long-term interest rates. RICHARD W. FISHER: It's almost like alchemy. You can create money out of thin air if you're at the central bank. So creating more money puts more money in the banking system, put more money out there for the economy to take it and put it to work and to grow and to restore itself. BEN BERNANKE: The Federal Reserve has been putting the pedal to the metal. So we're doing everything we can to support the economy, and we hope that that's going to get us going next year sometime. JAMES JACOBY: Their hope was that the new money would help shore up the failing banks and get them lending again. It would become the heart of their easy money policies. THOMAS HOENIG: It was an emergency measure. I mean, the economy was imploding. No one would lend to anyone. There was no ability to borrow. The economy was going to be a stop dead. JAMES JACOBY: Thomas Hoenig was the president of the Kansas City Fed and initially supported the quantitative easing plan. THOMAS HOENIG: These are trying times, and as you just heard, there is much to be done as we try and work through this financial crisis. When you have a crisis, that's when you want your central bank to be willing to put cash in, and so to avoid a major depression, where everything just stops, you provide the cash. So I agreed with, yes, we need to provide this money on the expectation that once we got through the crisis, we would go back to a more normal policy. ANDREW HUSZAR, Fed. Reserve Bank of NY, 2001-11: Again, you can tell me if I’m giving too long answers or what have you. JAMES JACOBY: The task of managing most of the program went to Andrew Huszar, a former Fed official who was then working on Wall Street. ANDREW HUSZAR: I realized very quickly what I was being asked. I was being asked if I would manage the largest financial markets intervention by a government in world history. JAMES JACOBY: The Fed began creating hundreds of billions of dollars to buy things like mortgage-backed securities and government bonds from banks and financial institutions. ANDREW HUSZAR: This was a $5 trillion market. This was the largest private bond market in the world, and the Fed had never once before bought a mortgage bond in its history. And basically in the fall of 2008, it announced that it would buy basically 25% of the entire market within 15 months. JAMES JACOBY: And that was your job to do that purchasing? ANDREW HUSZAR: That was my job, to think about how to get the program done. SARAH BLOOM RASKIN, Fed. Reserve Board of Governors, 2010-14: Many of these tools had not been tried before. They were definitely like "break the glass" kind of tools. Like, what are we going to do in order to restart the economy here? JAMES JACOBY: Sarah Bloom Raskin joined the board of governors while QE was already underway. SARAH BLOOM RASKIN: As QE began, it showed great promise. We started to see that people's sense of economic well-being was ticking up somewhat. People were finding jobs. People were finding homes. The foreclosure rate had slowed. So there was a sense that something was working. Now how it was working was a different question altogether. MALE NYSE FLOOR TRADER: Things are not as bad. We’re getting better. And things will get better. There’s no question about it. SARAH BLOOM RASKIN: So view it as an experimental drug that actually is doing some good things, but nobody quite knows how or why at the moment. JAMES JACOBY: The financial sector had begun to stabilize, but there were early signs that not everything would go according to plan. MALE NEWSREADER: The banking industry fat cats still aren't lending money. MALE NEWSREADER: Well, the big banks aren’t lending. JAMES JACOBY: Despite the money the Fed was pouring into the banks, they still weren’t back to lending. MALE SPEAKER: The government's not doing anything to help small business, and the banks are sitting on their butts and they’re still not lending money. JAMES JACOBY: Instead, they were taking a lot of the money and investing it themselves. MALE ECONOMIST: The banking sector is broken. It is not lending to small business. Somebody’s got to get the money there. The government is the actor in this case. JAMES JACOBY: You were injecting money into the banks, more than a trillion dollars worth at that point, and what were the banks doing with that money? ANDREW HUSZAR: The Fed's idea was the banks would be taking that money and lending it, effectively, at lower interest rates. What the banks were doing instead was that they were just investing in the same bonds that the Fed was buying. They were taking that money and they were turning around and buying the same mortgage-backed securities and other bonds. Why? Because the Fed had made very clear that its goal was to drive up the price of financial assets. And so Wall Street turned around and thought, "Why would I go through the effort of making a mortgage when I can just press a button and buy millions, if not billions, dollars of bonds and ride that trade, as the price of those assets are very consciously being inflated by the Fed?" JAMES JACOBY: Huszar grew increasingly disappointed by the program and would eventually leave in 2011. ANDREW HUSZAR: I hadn't seen the benefits accrue to the average American, and I wasn't seeing larger structural reform in favor of the average American. I began to question whether it was my role any more to be at the Fed. JAMES JACOBY: Were you seeing that the banks were gaming the Fed? That they were in some ways taking advantage of this program that was intended to help the real economy? ANDREW HUSZAR: I think you could say they were gaming the Fed, or I think you could just say that they have a different mind, and they're not part of the Fed, and they have their own interests. You know, it's sort of like the Aesop's fable of the scorpion and the frog. On some level, it's in their nature to do what's in their nature, and their nature is to make the most money possible in the quickest way possible. And just because the Fed wanted to do something, and wanted to help the average American, it doesn't necessarily mean that Wall Street has the same interests. CHAPTER TWO Volatility and Anger PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA: Twenty billion dollars worth of bonuses. It is shameful. MALE NEWSREADER: Are these executives greedy or stupid? Personally, I am stumped for an alternative word. BARACK OBAMA: There will be time for them to make profits, and there will be time for them to get bonuses. Now is not that time. MALE VOICE: It’s socialism for the rich. JAMES JACOBY: By the end of 2009 the banks were back to making money, and paying themselves record bonuses, while the real economy lagged. MALE ECONOMIST: Washington loaned them money at cut rates, so our thanks is they’re going to stuff it in their pockets even as many Americans are suffering from unemployment and reduced wages. MALE VOICE: People absolutely ought to be outraged. I mean, these guys just don’t get it. JAMES JACOBY: The inflation rate was well below the Fed’s target of 2%, signaling weak demand. Unemployment had shot up, and foreclosures were continuing across the country. MALE PROTESTER: Banks got bailed out, we got sold out! SARAH BLOOM RASKIN: People had lost homes. Household net worth had plummeted. It really wasn't an inclusive recovery. It was a recovery that benefited only portions of the economy. FEMALE PROTESTER: I’m here to support all of the people who want their taxpayer dollars back, me included. SARAH BLOOM RASKIN: There was a sense that the banking sector, the financial sector benefited primarily, and not so much everybody else. And that had a political taste to it which became the basis, I think, for a lot of anger, and really set the stage for the next chapter in our country's political history. MALE PROTESTER: We have you surrounded. Come out with the Constitution intact, you usurpers! FEMALE REPORTER: Demonstrators opposed to what they call out-of-control government spending begin a series of rallies this afternoon. JAMES JACOBY: That resentment helped give rise to the Tea Party— PROTESTERS [singing]: We ain’t going away! JAMES JACOBY: —fueled by the belief that government spending and bailouts had been out of control and ordinary people weren’t seeing any benefits. MALE PROTESTER: Hedge fund bankers, Bear Stearns—they didn’t build this country. Workers like us did. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: The only political constant in 2010 was volatility and anger. FEMALE PROTESTER: Hell no, we won’t go! FEMALE PROTESTER: Nobama, Nobama! CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: And there was a real loss of faith in the political and economic system. And that manifests as the Tea Party. SARAH PALIN: Tea Party Americans, you’re winning! You’re winning! JAMES JACOBY: They were especially outraged by the $800 billion stimulus package that President Obama and Congress had passed in 2009 to get the economy going again. PROTESTERS [chanting]: Can you hear us now? Can you hear us now? CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: The entire principle of the Tea Party, the entire platform was to stop Washington, D.C., from intervening. MALE PROTESTER: This is just the beginning. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: It was an agenda of "no." SEN. RAND PAUL, (R) KY: We’ve come to take our government back. JAMES JACOBY: As Republicans swept the 2010 midterm elections, aided by the Tea Party’s growing influence— SEN. RON JOHNSON, (R) WI: We need to restore fiscal sanity to this nation. JAMES JACOBY: —the prospects for Congress and the White House working together to pass another stimulus bill were growing dim. REP. CHIP CRAVAACK, (R) MN: Let this serve as a warning to Congress: We don’t work for you, you work for us. JAMES JACOBY: Into the political vacuum stepped the Federal Reserve. Was it palpable that the Fed was sort of the only game in town here? RICHARD W. FISHER: Yes. The fact was we were carrying the load all by ourselves. CHAPTER THREE Unintended Consequences FEMALE NEWSREADER: Resurgent Republicans racked up huge gains Tuesday. MALE REPORTER: A devastating night for the Democrats that fundamentally changes American politics. BARACK OBAMA: People are frustrated, they're deeply frustrated, with the pace of our economic recovery. JAMES JACOBY: The Fed wasted no time. The day after the midterm elections, they took a dramatic step: another round of QE, not just to stabilize the economy, but to boost it. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: What happened on Nov. 3, 2010, represents a step change in the Fed’s role in our economy, when the Fed changes from a central bank that manages the currency to the primary engine of economic growth in America. Whatever your philosophy is—small government, limited government, big government that hires people to go out and build roads to stimulate growth—whatever it is, it's supposed to be our democratic institutions that do that, not the central bank. JAMES JACOBY: You're basically saying that because our democratic institutions are so paralyzed and there's so much political dysfunction, that we as a society, we as a country have become overly reliant on the Fed to run things? CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: Totally. Economic affairs. I think one of the most important things to think about is that our democratic institutions in America are becoming less and less capable and less and less effective. I think that point is almost undeniable. So what we're doing in this country is we're relying on our nondemocratic institutions to take up the burden, like the central bank in economic affairs. Which leads you to the surreal place where we are today, where this committee of 12 people is making these decisions that could very well plunge our economy into a deep, deep, deep recession and cause financial crisis. JAMES JACOBY: In the early days of the easy money experiment, Fed Chair Bernanke promoted his plan saying it would create a wealth effect—that boosting the stock market would make people feel wealthier and start spending again. MALE REPORTER: There’s no doubt that there is quite a bit of opposition. JAMES JACOBY: But he was met with some skepticism and concern that the decision risked causing runaway inflation. He went on television to push back on the critics. BEN BERNANKE: What they're doing is they’re looking at some of the risks and uncertainties associated with doing this policy action. What I think they’re not doing is looking at the risk of not acting. FEMALE NEWSREADER: QE2 has become a punching bag for everyone from top-tier economists to Sarah Palin. JAMES JACOBY: Inside the Fed itself, Thomas Hoenig was sounding alarms about the long-term consequences. FEMALE REPORTER: You are the one member of the Fed that has been critical of 0% interest rates. Why? JAMES JACOBY: Over the course of 2010 he argued against Bernanke’s plan at every meeting and cast the lone dissenting vote eight times in a row. THOMAS HOENIG: It was difficult, but this was fundamental. And so I really did think that it was a wrong policy, and I didn't want to be associated with it, so I voted no. JAMES JACOBY: Did you think it was a radical policy? THOMAS HOENIG: I most certainly did think it was a radical policy, and I think most people did. It was meant to be radical. And so my concern was we had come through a crisis and we provided the liquidity necessary to come through it and we were on the other side of that crisis. The economy was recovering. And yet we were engaging in a deliberate effort to have easy money. JAMES JACOBY: What were you most concerned about, if easy money continued? THOMAS HOENIG: I thought that it was unnecessary to do. I thought it brought new dangers. When you keep interest rates at zero and keep pumping money into the economy, you favor the debtor and you penalize the saver. You are saving for nothing. I mean, you get nothing for that. And if you are a borrower, well, life is good. You borrow for nearly nothing. And so you actually encourage speculation. You encourage additional risk-taking. In fact, that's one of the reasons they did quantitative easing, was to encourage greater risk-taking. CHAPTER FOUR Dangerously Addicted FEMALE NEWSREADER: The stock market rally on Wall Street today pushes the Dow to its highest level in nearly nine months— MALE NEWSREADER: That figure includes activity fueled by recent government stimulus programs. JAMES JACOBY: The Fed’s quantitative easing set off what would become the longest bull run in the stock market’s history. MALE NEWSREADER: Investors took the good news and, well, they basically ran with it. JAMES JACOBY: By design, QE effectively lowered long-term interest rates, making safer investments like bonds less attractive and riskier investments like stocks more attractive. RANA FOROOHAR, Associate editor, Financial Times: The Fed goes out and buys certain kinds of assets, and it kind of puts a floor under the market, and it artificially pushes up prices. And when I say artificial, what I really mean is nothing changed at Apple or IBM or GE. It wasn't like somebody invented the new new thing, post-2008, but a lot more investors got bullish in the stock market, so the stock prices of those companies go up. But what's really happening? Nothing's changed. Nothing new has been invented. It’s a sugar high. It’s like drinking a Coke instead of having a meat-and-potatoes meal. FEMALE NEWSREADER: You’ve got oil up. You’ve got gold up. You’ve got copper up. You’ve got stocks up. Stock futures are up. All because of central banks and the stimulus they’ve been putting into the economy. JAMES JACOBY: On Wall Street, no one seemed to mind. The stock market rally continued. FEMALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: The old saying is "don’t fight the Fed." FEMALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: Don’t fight the Fed. MALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: Don't fight the Fed. MALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: Rule number one as a young trader you’re taught is "don’t fight the Fed." FEMALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR: I don’t know what the hangover’s going to look like down the road from all this extraordinary stimulus, but for now the markets love it. Don’t fight the Fed. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: Don’t fight the Fed. The one institution that has a printing press in the basement, and there's no limits to how much it can use it. That is what makes the Fed such an influential player in the marketplace. JAMES JACOBY: Mohamed El-Erian remembers it well. He was running the largest bond fund in the world at the time and helped advise the Fed on its QE experiment. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: Keep an eye on the Treasury market— JAMES JACOBY: He shared with them his concerns that the markets were becoming dangerously addicted to the Fed’s easy money. MALE NEWSREADER: To taper or not to taper. JAMES JACOBY: His prediction played out in 2013 when after multiple rounds of quantitative easing totaling more than $2 trillion, Bernanke signaled the Fed might start to taper off. BEN BERNANKE: If we see continued improvement and we have confidence that that is going to be sustained, then we could, in the next few meetings, we could take a step down in our pace of purchases. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: I was on the trade floor. I remember Chairman Bernanke saying that he would taper. First we had to figure out "what does taper mean?" And the minute people realized what "taper" meant, which is that the Fed would step back from buying all these securities, and even though the Fed said it's going to be gradual, it's going to be measured, the markets had a massive tantrum. FEMALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: The market selling off after Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke said that the central bank could start tapering its economic stimulus measures— RICHARD W. FISHER: It shows you how addicted the markets are. The markets went into a fit, became dysfunctional. It was known as the "taper tantrum." FEMALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: Well, we all know it: When Ben Bernanke talks, and the Federal Reserve speaks, the markets listen. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: Markets are like little kids. They want candy, and the minute you try to take the candy away, they have a tantrum. SARAH BLOOM RASKIN: You had big Wall Street reaction, right? You have extreme volatility where Wall Street says, "Whoa, whoa! No, no, no! Unacceptable!" and values plunge. And of course the Fed doesn't like that. Nobody likes that. That's a precursor to instability, right? But it put the Fed in a real bind. MALE ANNOUNCER: Chairman Bernanke. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: And Chairman Bernanke had to go in a conference in Boston and say, "No, no, no, we're not tapering." BEN BERNANKE: You can only conclude that highly accommodative monetary policy for the foreseeable future is what's needed in the U.S. economy. RANA FOROOHAR: Every single time the Fed would start talking about, "OK, we're going to maybe taper back faster, or we're going to think about raising rates." Boom! Stocks would correct, because stocks wanted that easy money dopamine hit. JAMES JACOBY: Bernanke’s successor, Janet Yellen, had better luck the following year. She was able to pause the quantitative easing part of the easy money policy without a tantrum, in part by suggesting she’d maintain the Fed’s massive balance sheet of assets it had bought and to keep short-term interest rates low. JANET YELLEN: The FOMC reaffirmed its view that the current zero to one-quarter percent target range for the federal funds rate remains appropriate. JAMES JACOBY: The Fed justified its actions in part because the fears about runaway inflation hadn’t materialized, and in fact it was running below its target of 2% because economic growth was still low. But Yellen’s partial easy money pullback didn’t dampen concerns and criticisms about the ill effects of the Fed’s policies. CHAPTER FIVE Who Owns the Stocks JOSEPH STIGLITZ, Chief economist, The Roosevelt Institute: So you're doing a documentary on the Fed and monetary policy? JAMES JACOBY: We are trying to. JOSEPH STIGLITZ: OK [laughs]. JAMES JACOBY: Are we insane? JOSEPH STIGLITZ: No, no, no. I think it's a great idea. JAMES JACOBY: OK. Joseph Stiglitz is one of the most well-known economists in America and a winner of the Nobel Prize. JOSEPH STIGLITZ: The intention of the Fed was to stimulate aggregate demand. JAMES JACOBY: He told me that while the Fed had done some good, he worried at the time that by stoking the stock market so aggressively, it was exacerbating economic inequality. JOSEPH STIGLITZ: The main thing I was concerned about was that the way they were trying to revive the economy was a kind of trickle-down economics. The way quantitative easing works is that it's a lowering of the interest rates. That leads stocks to go up. And so who owns the stocks? It's the people in the top. Not just the top 10%, 1%, one-tenth of 1%. And so it increases enormously wealth inequality. We had had increasing inequality really since the late '70s, and this was putting that on steroids. JAMES JACOBY: What sort of response did you get from folks at the Fed to what you were saying at the time? JOSEPH STIGLITZ: "Our mandate is to do what we can to increase employment, to use the tools that we have, and that's what we're doing." JAMES JACOBY: I heard a similar response when I raised these issues with the president of the Minneapolis Fed, Neel Kashkari, in March of 2021. He was the only current Fed official who agreed to speak to us. NEEL KASHKARI: The Fed has been on a mission—I've been on a mission—to put Americans back to work and to help them get their wages up, especially for those lowest-income Americans. And if it has had some effect on Wall Street, to me, the trade-off is well worth it if we can put Americans back to work so that they can put food on the table, they can take care of themselves. That is profoundly beneficial to society. JAMES JACOBY: One of the things that we have seen in this country is a widening wealth gap. The question is what role, if any, the Fed has played in widening that wealth gap? NEEL KASHKARI: Well, this is a great point, and I'm glad you raised it. Most people who make this argument ignore the fact that for many Americans, they don't own a house. They don't own stocks. They don't have a 401(k). The most valuable asset they have is their job. So by putting people back to work and helping to boost their wages, we are actually making their most valuable asset more valuable. BARACK OBAMA: Middle-class economics works. FEMALE NEWSREADER: President Obama today in Wisconsin fired up over jobs. Another 223,000 added in June. Unemployment at its lowest— JAMES JACOBY: In fact, by 2015, the employment was heading toward record lows. But critics I spoke to said the Fed’s focus on jobs was missing the full picture. I mean, Neel Kashkari told me that a job is a great asset. That when I— KAREN PETROU, Author, Engine of Inequality: [Laughs] His may be. I'm not so sure that that's true for the folks working three jobs behind the counter at the supermarket. Sorry, Neel, I think that is an elitist assumption of what labor income is good for. JAMES JACOBY: Karen Petrou is an unlikely critic of the central bank. We’ve got Pete here— KAREN PETROU: Go lie down. Down. There we go. JAMES JACOBY: She spent her career inside the financial system, advising banks and big investors. MALE CAMERA OPERATOR: Interview [inaudible], take five marker. JAMES JACOBY: 2015 to 2020 was actually considered a time of recovery. Unemployment was getting to record lows and there was a kind of conventional wisdom that the economy was in a good place at that point in time. So, you disagreed with that? KAREN PETROU: I did, because most Americans disagreed with that. The majority of Americans said they were economically anxious. Significant percentages of people who were in the statistical middle class were skipping medical treatments because they didn't think they could afford them. Forty percent of the United States didn't have $400 in a rainy day fund and they were at risk of imminent financial peril if a tire blew. That's not a good place. JAMES JACOBY: What about this idea that there was record unemployment? KAREN PETROU: Record unemployment was judged the way conventionally the Fed chooses to judge it, not by taking into account the people sitting out working because they couldn't get enough wages with their jobs to make going to work pay. Employment was fine, by at least some numbers. Wages weren't, and people work to eat. They don't work because of some noble ideal. JAMES JACOBY: So just to understand, what was wrong with the models that the Fed was using in order to judge the success of their programs? KAREN PETROU: Paul Krugman, a well-known economist, has a great example. You've got four guys in a bar, each one of whom is making $60,000 a year. Jeff Bezos walks into the bar, and he's making two gazillion dollars. Does that mean that the four guys in the bar are doing any better? No, it doesn't. It's distorting statistics. You have to look at how much each person has, not at what the averages are, to understand what's going on in the economy. And when four out of five guys in the bar are not doing well, the country isn't doing well. CHAPTER SIX A Missed Opportunity JAMES JACOBY: The growing sense that the system was not working for the poor and middle class became a central theme of Donald Trump’s populist campaign. DONALD TRUMP: Sadly, the American dream is dead. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: When you have a society with the middle struggling and the rich realizing almost unimaginable gains, it starts to corrode the civic foundation. DONALD TRUMP: We have to clean up the country. Our country is a mess. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: People start to feel like this cliche you hear all the time: that the system is rigged. MALE TRUMP SUPPORTER: Like he says, I think the system is rigged. MALE TRUMP SUPPORTER: You know what? He’s just speaking what we’re all thinking. But he’s saying it in the public domain. He’s saying it in the political domain. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: You know, the fact that a huge portion of Americans were willing to vote for a president like Donald Trump, whose entire campaign seemed to be burning down the system— DONALD TRUMP: We are going to drain the swamp. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: —that doesn’t just happen in a vacuum. CROWD [chanting]: Drain the swamp! Drain the swamp! DONALD TRUMP: We are going to fix our inner cities, and rebuild our highways, bridges, tunnels, airports, schools, hospitals. JAMES JACOBY: It was a moment of potential for the Fed’s easy money policies. Trump promised to take advantage of the low interest rates and create jobs by investing in new infrastructure. DONALD TRUMP: We will create millions of new jobs and make millions of American dreams come true. JAMES JACOBY: But once in office, the political paralysis in Washington only intensified— FEMALE VOICE: Congress simply hasn’t been willing to find the amount of money necessary to do it. JAMES JACOBY: —making big economic investments all but impossible. RANA FOROOHAR: There just wasn't the political cohesion to push through these major programs. And you saw a lot of op-eds, by a lot of economists, and even Fed bankers themselves, after the first or second, or certainly third and fourth round, of quantitative easing. They were saying, "Please, give us some fiscal policy," meaning "Give us some government action to direct this money to the right places. We can't do all this alone. We can keep rates low, we trying to keep rates low here, trying to keep confidence high. But we can't make you spend on a bridge or revamp a school." JAMES JACOBY: Are you saying that there was sort of a squandered opportunity here? RANA FOROOHAR: A hundred percent it was a missed opportunity. We didn't use the cheapest money in memory—I don't want to say in history, but certainly in the last several decades. We didn't use that opportunity to spend on the things that would have been almost free, in terms of debt. We really missed something that now will be more costly, because now that interests rates are going up—I still think, for example, we should do more infrastructure spending. That we should revamp education. But it's going to be more costly to do it now. PRESIDENT DONALD TRUMP: It’s the largest—I always say the most massive, but it's the largest tax cut in the history of our country. And reform, but tax cut. JAMES JACOBY: The marquee legislative achievement of the Trump administration would instead be a tax cut that further boosted the markets and deepened economic inequality. DONALD TRUMP: That’s your bill. JAMES JACOBY: The jury is still out on whether it contributed to the economic growth that had started to tick up during the Trump presidency. But to some inside the Fed, it seemed like an ideal time to pull back on the easy money experiment. One of them was Jerome Powell. CHAPTER SEVEN The Fed Blinked DONALD TRUMP: It is my pleasure and my honor to announce my nomination of Jerome Powell to be the next chairman of the Federal Reserve. Congratulations. JAMES JACOBY: Trump appointed Powell in late 2017. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: Jay Powell is a profoundly competent, smart guy who has spent his entire career at the nexus of big money and big government. JEROME POWELL: In the years since the global financial crisis ended, our economy has made substantial progress toward full recovery. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: A self-acknowledged Republican. He's a conservative. He tends to embrace the deregulatory view of the economy. And he's also a Wall Street guy, who came up through the business of corporate debt and deal-making. MALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR: The Fed is seen continuing to raise interest rates going forward. JAMES JACOBY: The Fed had already begun raising rates and reversing QE. They’d call it quantitative tightening, or QT. Powell took office eager to accelerate the effort. JEROME POWELL: The really extraordinarily accommodative low interest rates that we needed when the economy was quite weak, we don’t need those anymore. They’re not appropriate anymore. JAMES JACOBY: Once again the market threw a tantrum. MALE NEWSREADER: The Dow closing down more than 500 points today. FEMALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR: A brutal week in the market. The Dow and the S&P now on track for their worst December since the Great Depression. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: The global financial system short circuits. MALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR: The decline will accelerate if Jay Powell doesn’t walk things back. JAMES JACOBY: The president threw a tantrum, too. DONALD TRUMP: I think the Fed has gone crazy. It’s a correction that I think is caused by the Federal Reserve. If the Fed knew what it was doing, they would lower rates and they would stop quantitative tightening. MALE NEWSREADER: The president has been attacking the Fed chair on Twitter very often for raising interest rates. FEMALE NEWSREADER: —with the Fed's decision to raise interest rates. He suggested it would hurt the economy. MALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: In a tweet, he said that quantitative tightening is a killer, should have done the exact opposite. JAMES JACOBY: Powell would change course. FEMALE NEWSREADER: The Federal Reserve cut a key short-term interest rate today after raising it as recently as December. DION RABOUIN: You see this complete reversal and what a lot of investors and economists saw as a capitulation to financial markets. Financial markets don't like this, so the Fed's going to reverse course. And that has defined Chair Powell ever since then. MALE NEWSREADER: A tricky balancing act for Chairman Powell. He’ll now face criticism that the Fed has bowed to pressure from the White House or Wall Street or both, sacrificing the central bank's precious independence. JIM CHANOS, Founder, Kynikos Associates: The Fed blinked, and the Fed reversed course when the market was down 20% and went from tightening policy to easing policy. And it became very clear to the market that saving the stock market was now one of the Fed mandates, and I think that had really ominous ramifications for the future. CHAPTER EIGHT A Giant Bloodsucker JAMES JACOBY: By 2019, the Fed’s easy money experiment had been going on for a decade. MALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: The Fed’s job isn't to help the president of the United States. JAMES JACOBY: What had started out as an emergency measure to save the economy had become the status quo. MALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: Yes, quantitative easing is there, but it’s a tool you don’t want to overdo. JAMES JACOBY: And it was deepening the concerns about how the Fed was fueling troubling trends. Taking advantage of the Fed’s low rates, private equity firms had been buying up huge swaths of the economy with borrowed money— MALE AUCTIONEER: A hundred and ten thousand, 128,000. MALE REPORTER: For multimillion-dollar private equity firms, this is a bargain hunt. JAMES JACOBY: —concentrating wealth and ownership of everything from houses to hospitals. BLACKSTONE SPOKESMAN: Across Blackstone, we own a range of things. So SeaWorld, Busch Gardens, Birds Eye Foods, Michaels Stores, Hilton and Waldorf. What we like to do is come in, buy either real estate or companies. We see an opportunity to grow something faster, to invest capital, fix whatever that is that's broken, and then sell it. JAMES JACOBY: The Fed’s policies had also been fueling a frenzy in Silicon Valley— MALE REPORTER: WeWork has announced it’s received a massive $4.4 billion investment from SoftBank Group. JAMES JACOBY: —leading to all sorts of excesses— MALE NEWSREADER: Venture capitalists pumped nearly half a billion dollars into the food delivery start-up industry. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Airbnb is now valued at $10 billion, more than big hotels chains, including Hyatt and Wyndham. JAMES JACOBY: —and enabling certain tech companies to disrupt and dominate entire industries without ever turning a profit. FEMALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: WeWork is saying its total opportunity is $3 trillion dollars. I mean, that’s 3.5% of the entire world’s GDP. JAMES JACOBY: But perhaps the most destabilizing consequence to the economy was how the Fed’s low interest rates had been incentivizing public companies to take on more and more debt. MALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: Valuations are generally elevated, especially corporate debt. MALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR: We have flagged the rise in corporate debt. FEMALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: We have entirely too much corporate debt out there. JAMES JACOBY: I saw numerous studies and reports detailing the extent of the debt and how even marquee companies were becoming so leveraged their credit ratings plummeted. The Fed had hoped that companies would put all that borrowed money to good use and invest in their workforce and their infrastructure. But in reality, it played out differently. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Buybacks. MALE NEWSREADER: Buying back stock. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Stock buybacks. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Stock buybacks robbing the American worker. JAMES JACOBY: Companies were often borrowing money to buy back their own stock, making the remaining shares more valuable and the prices higher. DION RABOUIN: As a corporation you realize all that matters is the stock price. So what do we have to do to increase the stock price? And more often that is buying back the stock. So it used to be the Fed would lower interest rates. Businesses would then take on more debt. They would use that debt to hire more workers, build more machines and more factories. Now what happens is the Federal Reserve lowers interest rates, businesses use that to go out and borrow more money, but they use that money to buy back stock and invest in technology that will eliminate workers and reduce employee headcounts. They use that money to give the CEO and other corporate officers big bonuses and then eventually issue more debt and buy back more stock. So it's this endless cycle of things that are designed to increase the stock price rather than improve the actual company. MALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR: GE just authorized a $50 billion stock buyback. JAMES JACOBY: The numbers were astounding: More than $6 trillion in corporate buybacks during this easy money decade after the financial crisis. MALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR: Fifty billion dollar stock buyback. That makes a big deal, big difference to the stock price. SHEILA BAIR, Chair, FDIC, 2006-11: Buybacks were an embarrassment, and so it’s just another example of things that used to be viewed as kind of "ew" just going mainstream. JAMES JACOBY: Sheila Bair, a former top banking regulator, was issuing public warnings at the time that the Fed was incentivizing bad behavior on Wall Street despite its best intentions. SHEILA BAIR: I can't fault the companies so much, because this interest rate environment creates very strong economic incentives to do exactly what they're doing. It's hard to create a new product. It's hard to come up with a new idea for a service. It's hard to build a plant and hire people and run the organization. It's real easy to issue some debt and pay it out to your shareholders to goose your share price. That's real easy to do, but it doesn't create real wealth. It doesn't create real opportunity. It doesn't create jobs. It doesn't improve the labor market. But it's just another example of how these very low interest rates have really distorted economic activity and frankly been a drag on our economic growth, not a benefit. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Warren Buffett likes Apple’s buybacks. MALE NEWSREADER: Well, why wouldn’t he? He’s a shareholder, and they’re buying back $100 billion in stock. RANA FOROOHAR: When you get an age of easy money like what we've seen, you get a financialized economy that's really more in service to itself. So, most of what it's doing is buying and selling existing assets rather than helping real businesses and real people make real investments. But one of the things that's so diabolical, I would say, about easy money and our financialized economy in general, is that we're all in it. We're all part of this Faustian bargain of pretending that there's something wonderful happening in the real economy, when really it's just Wall Street going up. But we all kind of want the market to go up, because we're in it, with our pension funds, and with our 401(k)s. So everybody's money is kind of helping to push this whole cycle along. JAMES JACOBY: Even some of the largest beneficiaries of this trend told me it made them uncomfortable, like legendary investor Jeremy Grantham. JEREMY GRANTHAM, Co-founder, GMO LLC: In my career in America, the percentage of GDP that goes to finance has gone from 3 1/2 to 8 1/2 [laughs]. We're—In a way, we're like a giant bloodsucker, and we have more than doubled in size and sucking more than twice the blood out of the rest of the economy. And we do not generate any widgets. We do not generate any real increase in income. We are just a cost. JAMES JACOBY: When you say "we," you mean you and other members of the financial community have been this kind of bloodsucker on the economy? Is that what you're saying? JEREMY GRANTHAM: Yes. Collectively we fulfill a completely necessary service, but what we have done is created layers upon layers of more and more convoluted, expensive financial instruments. And that's what makes all the profits for the financial industry. It's taken a lot of ingenuity and salesmanship to make this happen, and a lot of lobbying in Congress, etc., etc., and we have imposed on the rest of the economy the idea that banking and finance are utterly important at all times. If you do anything wrong to us, the entire economy will collapse in ragged disarray. JAMES JACOBY: Corporate buybacks. The elevation of corporate debt. How was that viewed by you and others at the Fed? NEEL KASHKARI: Something we pay a lot of attention to. But when companies are buying back their stock, one of the things they're telling us is, "We don't have profitable places to invest, and it's easier for us just to buy back our stock." That's concerning in terms of the future of our economy, but that's not because of the Fed. So we pay attention to it, it really matters, but in my view, we don't—It's not something we control. JAMES JACOBY: Kashkari and others have pointed out that it’s the job of Congress and regulators to address some of these concerning trends. And when we sat down in 2021, he was quick to dispute the criticism that the Fed’s policies had really just been boosting financial markets and helping Wall Street. We hear it all the time from Wall Street people, that basically that prices are completely untethered from some fundamental reality. There is this idea on Wall Street that the Fed has our back, and that because you may have well-intentioned policies that are trying to get everybody to work, there is this side effect, this unintended side effect, of just kind of really helping the rich. NEEL KASHKARI: That argument ignores the benefit to the poor. And for sure, if you're going to ignore the benefit to the poor, then we're only helping the rich. But of course, that's an incomplete analysis. When you actually sit down and say, "Well, let's go through the trade-offs of the choices that the Fed has," whether it's interest rates or it's quantitative easing, it's not just about Wall Street. It's not just about asset prices. It's also about thinking about the men and women in America who are trying to find work and who want to have higher earnings and who deserve higher earnings. If we are benefiting them by helping them find work and helping them have higher wages, I will take that trade-off. CHAPTER NINE A Source of Instability JAMES JACOBY: Beyond the debate over the effects on Main Street, there were increasing concerns about the risks on Wall Street. What would happen to all those companies that had gone deep into debt—and their investors—if there was a downturn? But some of the most dire warnings were about a largely unregulated sector of the financial world that had become a key player in all the borrowing going on. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: Finance was getting bigger and bigger and riskier and riskier. And then there was something else going on that was only noticed later on. The risk had migrated to what we call the non-banks, to the financial system that are not banks, and it had morphed, it had changed. And in doing so, the ability to understand what was going on came down, because the non-banks are not supervised and regulated as well as the banks. The phrase that was used at the time was "shadow banking." That there were banking activities happening, but they were happening in the shadows, in the shadows of the banks themselves. These are the asset management companies, these are the hedge funds. These are not well-regulated, but suddenly become systemically important. JAMES JACOBY: When it comes to shadow banks, what was your big concern? LEV MENAND, Economist, Fed. Reserve Bank of NY, 2016-17: The core of the problem of the shadow banking system is that it's extremely fragile. JAMES JACOBY: Lev Menand, who’d been an economic adviser to the Fed and Treasury Department, was warning that even though Congress had imposed regulations on big banks after the financial crisis, shadow banks were largely untouched—and they were endangering the whole system. LEV MENAND: Anybody who is an investor in a shadow bank, who has their money in a shadow bank instead of a real bank, is going to have an incentive to withdraw in the face of any uncertainty. So little economic shocks that cause asset prices to fall have the potential to trigger runs and panics. And so what we've done is, by allowing this shadow banking system to develop, is we've inserted a source of instability in our entire economic system that doesn't need to be there and that has the potential of throwing us all off course. JEROME POWELL: Let me start by saying that my colleagues and I strongly— JAMES JACOBY: That potential instability posed by the shadow banking system was on the Fed’s radar. REP. JIM HIMES, (D) CT: How are you thinking about potential risk bubbling up in the broader shadow banking system? JEROME POWELL: This is a project that the Financial Stability Oversight Council is working on now. And also, the Financial Stability Board globally is looking carefully at leveraged lending. And we think it's something that requires serious monitoring. JAMES JACOBY: But by the end of 2019, little action had been taken by the Fed, financial regulators or Congress to rein in the shadow banks and other growing risks. The system remained vulnerable to a shock. It would arrive in early 2020. CHAPTER 10 Whatever It Takes MALE NEWSREADER: A preliminary investigation into a mysterious pneumonia outbreak in Wuhan, China, has identified a previously unknown coronavirus— NEEL KASHKARI: When the pandemic hit, it was so unlike anything any of us have experienced in our lifetimes. MALE NEWSREADER: Already, 45 cases have been reported in China, including two deaths. The victims are thought to have contracted the virus in a meat and seafood market. NEEL KASHKARI: We'd been paying attention to what was happening in China for a few months. MALE NEWSREADER: There are new images out of Wuhan that purport to show the dire conditions in hospital. NEEL KASHKARI: I was calling my contacts, global businesses that had big operations in China, to understand what their employees and staffs were seeing. And we were all trying to learn as much as we can about pandemics and what it's likely going to mean. FEMALE REPORTER: Major selloff across Europe this morning. NEEL KASHKARI: I think we all figured out very quickly the pandemic and the virus would drive the economy. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Investors are spooked by the growing number of infections outside China. NEEL KASHKARI: But how fast would it hit us? How widespread? What would the health care response be? It was maximum uncertainty. And you were seeing that uncertainty manifest in financial markets. MALE NEWSREADER: What you have here are concerns, fears, worries and deep uncertainties about what’s likely to happen next. NEEL KASHKARI: People were scared. Investors were scared. Individuals were scared. And they said, "You know what? I just want cash." FEMALE NEWSREADER: Markets giving us the worst two-day point drop ever in history. NEEL KASHKARI: "I don't even want Treasury bonds. I don't even want corporate bonds. I don't want stocks. I just want cash." And when everybody in the economy says "I want cash" at the same time, that leads to potentially a collapse of financial markets. MALE FINANCIAL TRADER 1: On the bell, on the bell! MALE NEWSREADER 1: Means the first circuit breaker— MALE NEWSREADER 2: For whom the bell tolls. MALE NEWSREADER 1: —has been triggered. MALE FINANCIAL TRADER 2: I knew we were going to [unintelligible]. JAMES JACOBY: All the weaknesses of the system that had built up over the years of easy money were being exposed. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: Market functioning was starting to cascade into failure. MALE NEWSREADER: The Dow plunging again today. The 11-year bull market has ended. DION RABOUIN: Stocks were just on a downward free fall. You had credit markets seizing up. People were selling anything that wasn't nailed down. MALE FLOOR TRADER: I can’t do anything, I'm frozen. JAMES JACOBY: Attention was focused on the highly leveraged shadow banks. LEV MENAND: What we saw was a full-blown panic in the shadow banking system. It wasn't something that you have when you have a pandemic, you have a bank panic. It was you have a bank panic because you had some exogenous shock in the economy and you have these underlying vulnerabilities in your monetary system that you haven't resolved. JAMES JACOBY: The Fed responded to this new crisis with an old tool—once again, quantitative easing. FEMALE NEWSREADER: The Fed will try to steady the ship after a week that echoed the financial crisis of 12 years ago. JAMES JACOBY: It bought up hundreds of billions in debt from financial institutions. MALE REPORTER: We have seen the Fed inject money into the economy in the last couple of days. JAMES JACOBY: By mid-March they had made more than a trillion dollars available to the shadow banks and they cut interest rates back down to near zero. FEMALE NEWSREADER: What that tells all of us is that the economic impact of the coronavirus is going to be crippling. LEV MENAND: The Federal Reserve lent half a trillion dollars to securities dealers, half a trillion dollars to foreign central banks, bought $2 trillion of Treasury securities, another trillion dollars of mortgage-backed securities. It flooded the zone with new government cash to stabilize this system. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Incredible effort from the Federal Reserve, taking major action to— CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: Everything that Ben Bernanke's Fed had done over the course of the financial crisis of 2008, Jay Powell did that in a weekend. The scary part is it wasn't enough. The crisis continued, and they had to intervene even further. MALE NEWSREADER: Good morning. We are here for you on this morning when the stock market has taken a dramatic plunge. At least— FEMALE NEWSREADER: —as the emergency rate cut failed to calm investors. In fact, it did the opposite. Futures immediately dropped— JAMES JACOBY: Despite the Fed’s actions, the corporate debt market froze up and companies were unable to pay their bills, putting the wider financial system at risk. RANA FOROOHAR: There's just this corporate debt picture out there, and we're just beginning to see how those dominoes are going to fall. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: Then comes the realization that we have to lock down. FEMALE NEWSREADER: The list of closings and activities being suspended is growing from coast to coast. JAMES JACOBY: In the White House, Eric Ueland was the Trump administration’s point person dealing with Congress on the response. ERIC UELAND, Dir., Trump Office of Legislative Affairs: Every day and into the evening as we're going through and hearing more information and trying to explore the health side of this exploding virus crisis, there's also an economic impact that is just getting larger and larger and more significant. And so what's the impact on a community when suddenly you're telling it a significant amount of economic activity needs to slow or actually cease? That's pretty dramatic. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Three point four million people filed for unemployment last week. FEMALE NEWSREADER: You can't really compare this to the financial crisis, or even 9/11. There's never been a time in history where the U.S. government told the economy to shut down. ERIC UELAND: Then we're talking about impacts on businesses—from small businessmen, who are the real heartbeat of our economy, communities, and how to keep people employed. What's the impact on industries and significant economic sectors of the American economy? But the policy response that we need to design and hopefully execute here inside this crisis is a lot broader than anybody conceived up to that point. REP. ANTHONY BROWN, (D) MD: The motion is adopted. JAMES JACOBY: In a rare moment of bipartisanship, the Trump administration and Congress would end up passing the largest economic stimulus ever. DONALD TRUMP: All right, thank you, all. JAMES JACOBY: The $2.2 trillion CARES Act, which unlike after the crisis in 2008, was aimed not just at Wall Street but directly at individuals and small businesses as well. ERIC UELAND: You encouraged your team to be bold, be brave and go big, and we certainly delivered today: $6.2 trillion. MALE NEWSREADER: You ain't seen nothing yet, from what the Fed is about to do. JAMES JACOBY: Part of the money would go to the Fed, which announced a new range of loan programs worth trillions. And for the first time, it began buying up corporate debt. The easy money experiment went into overdrive. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: A guy inside the Fed was telling me that what they were doing was not that sophisticated. They were just looking at any part of the market that looked like it was on fire and dumping money on it. FEMALE NEWSREADER: We often talk about the Federal Reserve using a bazooka to tackle markets and the economy. This is bazooka, cannons and tanks all at once. DION RABOUIN, Axios, 2018-21: So this was huge. This was the Fed stepping in on an unprecedented scale and saying to the market, "We will do whatever it takes." JEROME POWELL: Many of the programs that we’re undertaking rely on emergency lending powers that are available only in very unusual circumstances such as those we find ourselves in today. We will continue to use these powers forcefully, proactively and aggressively until we're confident that we are solidly on the road to recovery. JAMES JACOBY: I don't think most people are aware that we came this close to a bona fide financial crisis. LEV MENAND: Yeah. I think a lot of it is missed for two reasons. One, there was a lot of other stuff going on in the news at the time. The other is the Federal Reserve did an amazingly good job at putting out the flames of this panic. And even though the panic in March 2020 was more severe along many metrics than anything we saw in 2008, the government's response was more powerful in certain respects. And we're lucky that the government was successful or we could be living through a true depression. CHAPTER ELEVEN Moral Hazard MALE NEWSREADER: Everything has been thrown at this market to try to keep it floating. MALE NEWSREADER: The Federal Reserve now getting into junk bonds. MALE NEWSREADER: It's a joke. The market is manipulated. They're printing trillions of dollars to pump up the value of publicly traded stocks. JAMES JACOBY: In trying to keep workers employed and companies afloat, the Fed had also used its power to rescue some of the riskiest parts of the financial system, like the junk bond market. MALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR 1: Is this just like a high-yield junk bond bailout? I mean, I don’t get— MALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR 2: Yeah, we've got to live with it now, Tom. MALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR 1: —why this is an emergency. MALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR 2: We've got to live with it. JAMES JACOBY: To the critics, the Fed was rewarding the same players and practices that had helped make the system so fragile in the first place. JEREMY GRANTHAM, Co-founder, GMO LLC: Over the years, we've been trained to believe that the Fed is on our side. What the Fed has trained us to believe is that if we make a bet in the market and we win, we're on our own. We get to keep the profits. If we lose, they will bend every effort and every dollar they can get their hands on, one way or another, to bail us out. This is asymmetry of the most splendid kind. MALE CAMERA OPERATOR: A speeds. Go ahead and clap it off, please. JAMES JACOBY: Billionaire bond investor Howard Marks called the Fed out at the time, saying it was undercutting the way the free market is supposed to work. HOWARD MARKS, Co-founder & co-chair, Oaktree Capital Management: There are negative ramifications to this. One called moral hazard, which means conditioning people to believe that if there's a problem the government will bail you out. And if people really believe that, then there's no downside to risky behavior, because if there's a problem, it won't fall on you. You'll get bailed out. If you play it aggressively and succeed, you make money. If you play it aggressively and fail, you'll get bailed out. MALE NEWSREADER: We are truly getting to a point of moral hazard. MALE NEWSREADER: Do we want to live in a world—Do central banks themselves want to live in a world where their interventions are so central to the market outlook and of market performance? JAMES JACOBY: So has moral hazard gotten worse as a result of this bailout? HOWARD MARKS: There’s no barometer of moral hazard, so I can’t give you a reading. All I can say is that for the last year or so, risk-taking has been rewarded, and that tends to bring on more risk-taking. FEMALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR: I don't think it's anything that investors should be applauding, necessarily, because it's a nail in the coffin of capitalism. MALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR: This is going to be a test of whether or not capitalism is just a call sign when CEOs are looking for bailouts. JAMES JACOBY: Do you see moral hazard in what has just happened? SHEILA BAIR, Chair, FDIC, 2006-11: Oh, absolutely. I think now the entire business community has had a taste of bailouts [laughs]. And boy, doesn't it work really, really nicely. Yeah, so I fear that now, the Fed stepping in, not just to bail out Wall Street, but the entire corporate America, is starting to be embedded into people's thinking. People talk about the survival of capitalism, but this is the biggest threat to capitalism. In good times, when anybody can make money, you reap those profits. In bad times, the Fed just keeps stepping in. You have this never-ending ratchet up. The markets never correct. JAMES JACOBY: It's like a no-lose casino. SHEILA BAIR: It is. It is a no-lose casino. That's exactly right. JAMES JACOBY: This is the second time in 12 years that you and your institution have had to funnel into the financial system trillions of dollars, and there is this sense that the financial markets have an iron-clad backstop from the Fed. NEEL KASHKARI, Pres. & CEO, Fed. Reserve Bank of Minneapolis: Well, I completely agree that it is unacceptable that 12 years after 2008, we had to do this again. I am proud that we did what we did. It was the right thing to do. It was necessary. But it is unacceptable as an American citizen that we have a financial system that is this risky and this vulnerable. JAMES JACOBY: But what, if any, responsibility or accountability does the Fed have for the financial system having been so risky and so vulnerable to a shock? NEEL KASHKARI: Well, I think all financial regulators that have a seat at the table have responsibility for what was left incomplete after 2008 and where we go from here. We need to use this crisis to finish the work that we did not finish after '08. JAMES JACOBY: With all due respect, I wonder if you could be a little bit more explicit with me. What will the Fed own when it comes to the vulnerability of the system? NEEL KASHKARI: Well, I reject the thesis. I actually don't think it's been the Fed's monetary policy that has led to these vulnerabilities. I think it's been incomplete regulatory policy that has led to these vulnerabilities. CHAPTER TWELVE Orgy of Speculation FEMALE NEWSREADER: The coronavirus pandemic has left millions of Americans out of work. MALE FOOD BANK VOLUNTEER: The people have gone now without four or five or six or seven paychecks, and it's starting to catch up. They need food. It's the most basic thing. JAMES JACOBY: In the months following the Fed’s rescue, we saw a troubling disparity. MALE BBC REPORTER: Have you got any income at the moment? FEMALE SPEAKER: No. No. And we have kids, too, so— JAMES JACOBY: As businesses were shuttered and millions of Americans were living on the edge, the markets did indeed look like a no-lose casino, thanks to the Fed's safety net. MALE NEWSREADER: The economy may be facing major hardships, but the stock market is thriving. MALE NEWSREADER: The best quarter for the Dow in 33 years, it surged 17%. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN, Chief economic advisor, Allianz: We ended up in a world where bad news was good news. MALE NEWSREADER: The unemployment rate is now a staggering 14.7% MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: Bad news for the economy was good news for markets. Why? FEMALE NEWSREADER: In the midst of all the economic turmoil, Wall Street actually closed out its best week in 45 years. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: Because when people saw bad news, they said, "The Fed will have to do more." MALE NEWSREADER: Anna, today the markets say, “Bring on the next quarter!” MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: And then over the next few months we saw one record after another in stock markets. MALE NEWSREADER: Stocks surging even as America enters its darkest chapter yet of this pandemic. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD, Author, The Lords of Easy Money: Even after the initial emergency passed the Fed was pumping $120 billion a month into the economy through quantitative easing on an indefinite basis. The fire hose was simply turned on and left on the curb. The extraordinary measures of 2010 literally become the daily operating procedure of 2020. FEMALE NEWSREADER: The S&P 500 hitting another record high today after surging 55%. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: The stock market didn't just regain all of its losses in a matter of months but started breaking new records. MALE NEWSREADER: I see quite a bit of green on the markets this morning. Dow, S&P, NASDAQ—all of them higher. JAMES JACOBY: Over the next two years, tech stocks would soar. MALE NEWSREADER: Apple is now the first publicly listed U.S. company to be valued at $2 trillion. MALE NEWSREADER: Tesla shares are soaring. MALE NEWSREADER: This company has just gone through the roof this year. The stock price has more than quadrupled. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Right now it's a seller's market, and homes are selling fast. JAMES JACOBY: The price of real estate would shoot up across the country. MALE NEWSREADER: The housing market has never been hotter. JAMES JACOBY: And corporate America would take on even more debt, which investors gobbled up. MALE NEWSREADER: Massive issuance of corporate debt. FEMALE NEWSREADER: More than $10.5 trillion. JAMES JACOBY: For the richest Americans, it was an extraordinary time. SEN. BERNIE SANDERS, (I) VT: Mark Zuckerberg has increased his wealth during the pandemic by more than $37 billion. MALE NEWSREADER: Elon Musk has added over $10 billion to his wealth just this week. MALE NEWSREADER: Jeff Bezos reportedly earning over $50 billion this year. MALE FINANCIAL REPORTER: Billionaires now hold two-thirds more in wealth than the bottom half of the U.S. population. Let that sink in for a moment. And as I mentioned— DION RABOUIN: Just the billionaires in the United States, from March 2020 to February 2021, have grown their wealth by $1.3 trillion. One point three trillion dollars. JEREMY GRANTHAM: It's the burst of euphoria that typically brings these things to an end. JAMES JACOBY: But even some of those billionaires were worried the Fed was fueling a dangerous bubble. JEREMY GRANTHAM: The housing market, the stock market and the bond market, all overpriced at the same time. If the Fed knew what it was doing it would not allow bubbles of this magnitude to take place. MALE SOCIAL MEDIA PERSONALITY: Smash the "like" button. Invest consistently. JAMES JACOBY: But the epic rise in the markets proved irresistible to millions of new small investors, too. FEMALE SOCIAL MEDIA PERSONALITY: So when a stock does well because of internal or external factors, you secure the bag, honey. ROBINHOOD COMMERCIAL: An app that's changing the way we do money. DION RABOUIN: All these brokerage platforms saw the largest growth of new users they'd ever seen because people said, "Now is my opportunity. I'm going to invest my money in the stock market. I may not understand what the Fed's doing or how it works or what exactly is going on—" FEMALE NEWSREADER: —the S&P 500 now on track for the best week going back since 2008. DION RABOUIN: "—but I understand the Fed takes action, stock prices go up, these people get rich." And it became a very clear mandate for people: "If I want to get in on this economic recovery we're having, I've got to buy stocks." FEMALE SOCIAL MEDIA PERSONALITY: I’m going to take my stimulus check and I’m going to put it in the stock market. DION RABOUIN: So they're online, they're trading stocks, they're buying and selling and putting money into these stock accounts. They started creating their own community. ROARING KITTY, Social media personality: Welcome, Declan, Michael Lee—ah, so many people. Bob Smith— MALE SOCIAL MEDIA PERSONALITY: We've got the get the Dow Jones up! JAMES JACOBY: Fed Chair Powell became a kind of cult figure, master of the money printer. REDDIT MEME VIDEO: Money printer go BRRR. MALE SOCIAL MEDIA PERSONALITY: Invest in these four tickers. I’ll put them right above. JAMES JACOBY: And billions poured into so-called “meme stocks.” ROARING KITTY: This GameStop situation, we will never encounter a setup like this again. JAMES JACOBY: And new, risky asset classes like cryptocurrency took on a life of their own. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Bitcoin. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Bitcoin. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Bitcoin has been on a wild ride. MALE NEWSREADER: It really is the new currency. DION RABOUIN: There's just too much money. [Laughs] People just have so much money and there's not really places to put it. So what folks have started doing is investing in these very speculative assets, things like bitcoin, because they're just seeing ridiculous rates of return. It doesn't really matter what the underlying value of the thing is, just like it doesn't matter what the underlying value of a company is, right? As long as the stock price goes up, you want to buy because the stock is going to keep going up and then you'll sell. It's the greater fool theory of investing. STEPHEN COLBERT: Cryptocurrency. BILL MAHER: Cryptocurrency. "SILICON VALLEY" VIDEO CLIP: Cryptocurrency. "THE SIMPSONS" VIDEO CLIP: Cryptocurrency. ELON MUSK ON SNL: Blockchain technology. BEN McKENZIE, Actor: It's actually—This is actually a very comfortable chair. JAMES JACOBY: Crypto was all the rage in Hollywood, where actor Ben McKenzie saw it being pushed on an unsuspecting public. With reporter Jacob Silverman, he began raising alarms. BEN McKENZIE: Crypto exchanges primarily were driving the advertising dollars here, so it's not unreasonable to think that these folks got paid not just multiple millions of dollars, but potentially tens of millions of dollars to sell this stuff. MEGAN THEE STALLION: Bitcoin is a new kind of money. NEIL PATRICK HARRIS: Cash into crypto. MALE SPEAKER: What's up? TOM BRADY: I'm getting into crypto with FTX. You in? MATT DAMON: History is filled with "almosts." BEN McKENZIE: When you're talking about an ad like the Matt Damon ad that went viral, and not in a good way. What does he work, one day? He walks around a studio and points at stuff that isn't there and talks about how brave you need to be to buy crypto? It's a pretty easy paycheck. MATT DAMON: Fortune favors the brave. BEN McKENZIE: I certainly understand how easy it is to get lured in to cryptocurrency, especially when you see, at least for one brief, shining moment, all of your friends and neighbors or people you follow on social media getting rich. Of course you're going to try it. JAMES JACOBY: How does the Fed figure into this? Was there just so much money sloshing around that it just needed to go somewhere, and crypto was one of those places where it just was like, "All right, we'll throw it in there." BEN McKENZIE: Yeah. When money is cheap, people gamble. It's just undeniable. And fraud runs rampant. JACOB SILVERMAN, Freelance reporter: You would hear, even within crypto circles, people started talking about Ponzi schemes in a non-derisive way, saying, "Well, maybe we're doing new types of economics." There are all forms of irrational thinking, and rationalization also, that come together to help sort of conjure this illusion that there's value here until something pops it. MALE CAMERA OPERATOR: Sound speed. JAMES JACOBY: A number of serious investors, like Jim Chanos, began speaking out. JIM CHANOS, Founder, Kynikos Associates: It just became this orgy of speculation by the first half of 2021. Anyone who wanted to raise money for anything could do so. The amount of fraud we saw being floated on top of legitimate companies was really concerning, particularly in places like the crypto space, which was sort of not being regulated. People were creating new coins or NFTs and selling them on to the public, who was eager to get in on the latest fad. And that bothered me. JAMES JACOBY: And you would draw a direct link between what the Fed was doing and the crypto craze? JIM CHANOS: Well I just—It was all part of speculation that led to people doing really silly things with their money. At the end of bull markets, at the end of speculative markets, all kinds of crazy schemes get floated to separate people from their money. NEEL KASHKARI: At least these are different questions and not the same question over and over again. JAMES JACOBY: Was last time the same question over and over again? NEEL KASHKARI: It was the same question for 90 minutes. JAMES JACOBY: I don't know about that. NEEL KASHKARI: Yes, trust me. I have a tape of it. JAMES JACOBY: Oh, yeah? When I sat down with Neel Kashkari again recently, I asked him how the madness in the markets looked to the Fed. It kind of was mania at the time, but the Fed was continuing to flood the markets with liquidity, with money. Did you not see all of that mania as a sign of overheating? That an indicator in the markets was telling you something about what was happening in the economy? NEEL KASHKARI: Yeah, I mean, we see froth in financial markets not infrequently. There have been other times when we've seen booms in financial markets. If we are going to try to raise interest rates to control excitement in the stock market, the cost—Who's going to bear the cost of that? The people who are out of work today. If we had said, "Let’s go raise interest rates to try to keep crypto down, keep bitcoin from going too high, and we're going to keep millions of Americans out of work as the way to do that," that strikes me as a bad trade. CHAPTER THIRTEEN Economics 101 MALE VOICE: I think interest rates and inflation are going to rise well above what the Fed has projected. JAMES JACOBY: As the markets were heating up, so were concerns that the Fed's policies would fuel inflation. MALE NEWSREADER: Prices are rising at the fastest pace in more than a decade. JAMES JACOBY: But it wasn’t just what the Fed was doing. PRESIDENT JOE BIDEN: I'm going to help the American people who are hurting now. JAMES JACOBY: The new Biden administration was sending $1,400 checks to many Americans— FEMALE NEWSREADER: —stimulus money from the latest COVID relief bill is arriving in bank accounts all over the country. JAMES JACOBY: —extending unemployment benefits, tax credits and other relief programs. LARRY SUMMERS: I think there is a real possibility that within the year we're going to be dealing with the most serious incipient inflation problem that we have faced in the last 40 years. JAMES JACOBY: Critics like former Treasury Secretary Larry Summers were publicly expressing concern that all the stimulus money from the Fed and the government would boost economic demand at a time when supply problems from the pandemic were still an issue. NOURIEL ROUBINI, Economist: People like myself, like Larry Summers and other, saw that that massive stimulus—it was unprecedented, an order of magnitude greater than the one we had after the global financial crisis—would lead to excessive demand, overheating and inflation. So we had an unprecedented fiscal stimulus. An unprecedented monetary stimulus. We had bail-out checks sent to everybody—every household, every firm, every financial institution. It was too much and should have been more selective. DION RABOUIN: There really just was all this money being pushed out in the economy. At the same time you've got the Federal Reserve, they're pushing out another $4 or $5 trillion into the economy, and so prices rose. MALE NEWSREADER: Core CPI inflation is set to rise sharply over the next three months. DION RABOUIN: This goes back to your Economics 101 textbook, right? When there's too much money chasing too few goods, prices go up, and that drives inflation higher. JAMES JACOBY: It only took a few months for the warnings to come true. FEMALE NEWSREADER: It seems like everything across the board is becoming more expensive. MALE ON-STREET INTERVIEW: Gas prices going up, food prices going up. JAMES JACOBY: But the Fed didn’t flinch. MALE NEWSREADER: A surge in energy, housing and food costs. JAMES JACOBY: It didn’t raise interest rates or pull back on quantitative easing. MALE REPORTER: The question now haunting economists is whether these price hikes are a pandemic blip or a sign of a long-term threat to the economy. JAMES JACOBY: And they had a word for the highest inflation in more than a decade. MALE NEWSREADER: Transitory. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Transitory. MALE NEWSREADER: Transitory. MALE NEWSREADER: Transitory. REP. PAT TOOMEY, (R) PA: Now, I know you believe this is transitory, but everything's transitory. Life is transitory. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: This inflation round is not transitory. This is a very hot inflation environment, and the longer the central banks wait, the greater the risk. I reacted quite strongly to the assertion that inflation was going to be transitory. I remember warning at that time that we simply don't have enough evidence that it's going to be transitory. Transitory is a very reassuring term, because I tell you, "Don't worry about it, it is temporary. It is reversible. Therefore you don't need to change behavior. So yes, we have inflation, but don't worry." JAMES JACOBY: What kind of evidence were you seeing that this may be stickier inflation than it is transitory? MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: One, what companies were telling us. And companies were saying, "I am not sure it's transitory. This is beyond the pandemic." I was talking to CEOs, and they were giving me a very clear message, the same message that was in one earning call after another earning call: They did not view the disruptions as being transitory. JAMES JACOBY: Why transitory? Why that word? What did you think at the time? NEEL KASHKARI: Well, saw a number of factors that we thought were conspiring to lead to high prices and that many of those factors would fade away over time. So for example, supply chains we saw were getting gummed up. But we also know that businesses were working very hard to un-gum those up, to untangle those supply chains. So we thought that they'd probably make more progress there than we expected. JAMES JACOBY: The Business Roundtable, for instance, was coming out and saying—polling their CEOs and saying, "Look, we're seeing inflation everywhere in what we're doing, OK?" How does something like that land for you at that time? NEEL KASHKARI: I mean, I take it seriously. I don't dismiss it. But then I map it against the data that we're seeing. But I'll just say if we did not have an outlier view on inflation or the economy overall, if you look at the consensus of forecasts of my experts in America, on Wall Street, around the world, they all basically had the same forecast, which is inflation's going to be transitory. It's going to come back down. Yes, there were outliers, but if you look at the consensus, we were well within the consensus of the experts who study this. JAMES JACOBY: Any regret about not taking the foot off the pedal, seeing what, for instance, the federal government was doing at that point in time? NEEL KASHKARI: Well, I think, again, knowing what I know now, absolutely. JAMES JACOBY: I put the same questions to Brian Deese, one of the chief architects of the Biden administration’s $1.9 trillion Rescue Plan. Were the inflation concerns at the time part of your internal deliberation about doing the Rescue Act? BRIAN DEESE, Dir., National Economic Council, 2021-23: It was an issue that we were always aware of and focused on and weighing in the weighing and balancing that you have to make when you do policymaking in the face of uncertainty. JAMES JACOBY: You’re saying that you knew that that could be a potential tradeoff. BRIAN DEESE: It is always a tradeoff. It was always a tradeoff, and the logic behind our actions was to get ahead of the pandemic, help bridge for families and businesses and also ensure against the downside risks to our economy. And I think if we look back now and recognize that the inflation challenge that the U.S. economy faces is not unique, it is a global challenge. Inflation is higher in Europe and the U.K. today than it is in the United States. JAMES JACOBY: Was there a concern at the White House that the Fed was running the economy too hot for too long? BRIAN DEESE: That is a question that I will institutionally not answer. JAMES JACOBY: Why? BRIAN DEESE: Because one of the hallmarks of our system is the independence of monetary policymaking. This has been something that you can't take for granted in our system, that prior presidents have not necessarily honored. But this president, this administration is quite committed to the proposition that the strength of our system, one of the strengths of the U.S. economy, is the trust that people have in the independence of our monetary authority. And therefore we make deliberate choices to not make comments on questions like that. FEMALE NEWSREADER: We're going to begin tonight with the rough road to recovery for America's economy. JAMES JACOBY: Through late 2021 and into 2022, stimulus from the Fed and the government would contribute to a rapid economic recovery. JOE BIDEN: As our economy has come roaring back, we've seen some price increases. JAMES JACOBY: But inflation continued climbing at the fastest pace in decades, hitting the poor and middle class the hardest— MALE REPORTER: You know, these price increases will be a real impact on families, and they're not going away any time soon. JAMES JACOBY: —the people the Fed had hoped its easy money policies would help the most. CHAPTER FOURTEEN A Different World MALE NEWSREADER: This is the epicenter of this rise in inflation. FEMALE NEWSREADER: —the highest inflation rate of any major city in the country. Housing prices— JAMES JACOBY: No city had it worse than Phoenix, which had the highest inflation rate in the nation. When I visited St. Mary’s Food Bank, the cars were lined up first thing in the morning. TOM KERTIS, Pres. and CEO, St. Mary’s Food Bank: Every day, my key team, we get an email with the number of people that come through. Yesterday was a 1,007 households. And it's not people, it's households coming through. They're feeding four or five people. And it's like, wow. And that's five days a week. They just don't have any other choice. We're hearing that their budget is being eaten up by all the impacts of inflation, and it's either that or they don't have food for their children. FEMALE SPEAKER 1: I'm a single mom, so sometimes at the end of the month I need the assistance. Because life has gotten a lot more expensive, and being a single parent, I can feel it. It's like choosing between your rent and your food. FEMALE SPEAKER 2: It's like, yesterday I spent a hundred bucks just to get cereal, milk and bread. And eggs. And that was basically it. And some lunch meat. And that was a hundred bucks, and that was our week's worth of food. And that's not going to feed six kids. JAMES JACOBY: When you did start seeing an increase in people coming? TOM KERTIS: It was the end of February this year, 2022. We saw a slight uptick, didn't know if it was real, but it kept climbing. And it's climbed all through summer. We thought that was a plateau, and then at the end of summer, it's continued to climb. And here we are today with 1,000 households coming through. We've seen a 26% increase year over year in the number of people coming to us for help. JAMES JACOBY: From 2021 to 2022? TOM KERTIS: Yes. And of that, 18% of the people are first-time people coming to the food bank. JAMES JACOBY: Is what you're seeing now actually worse than what you saw during the height of the pandemic? TOM KERTIS: It is worse now. And it's worse because the food was more available during the pandemic. We're seeing food availability going down. What was once predictable doesn't appear to be predictable anymore. It's probably going to get worse before it's going to get better, unfortunately. JAMES JACOBY: What brings you here? MALE SPEAKER: I'm just trying to get a little extra food. Can't really—you know, trying to stretch the dollar. JAMES JACOBY: Yeah. MALE SPEAKER: It's not hard to spend $200 at a grocery store and only have one week's worth of food for two people. JAMES JACOBY: Have you been coming here for a long time, or this is more recent? MALE SPEAKER: It's more recent, since probably the last six months I've been coming here. JAMES JACOBY: Are you working? Are you— MALE SPEAKER: Yeah, I'm working, but it's just not enough. JAMES JACOBY: We heard similar stories from credit counselors and their clients at a money management counseling center. KATE BULGER, Dir. of research, Money Management Intl.: You know, we're getting all these folks who are telling us for the first time they can't pay their bills, they can't make ends meet. And often when when they say that, they say, "I'm a good person. I've always paid my bills before." CRAIG BLECK, Counselor, Money Management Intl.: With the inflation, they have just eaten away their savings. People have told me, "I did the three to six months of savings for an emergency fund. That’s gone." JAMES JACOBY: So you're saying that it's not just folks that you're seeing that have had chronic problems with credit or—these are, there's a lot of new people that are coming to you now. OK. WANDA JENKINS, Counselor, Money Management Intl.: Yeah, a lot of new people. KATE BULGER: These are folks who had been making it before and were solidly middle class now, and today are struggling to make ends meet, struggling to keep their utilities on, struggling to stay in their apartment or their home, and are really in danger of falling out of the middle class. It's a shrinking middle class problem. JAMES JACOBY: How real are rent increases right now? DOMINIQUE PAYTON, Client: At a local shelter here in Phoenix, we've seen an uptick of new families and individuals coming in that just could no longer afford where they were living. Because even where they were living, their rents increase $500 to $1,000 in one month. WANDA JENKINS: Sometimes clients have called me—now, and they're angry when they call. They need our help, but they're angry, and I understand it. They're ashamed and they're crying and all of that, but I was there. I was one of them. JAMES JACOBY: Are your numbers up in terms of people that are seeking out help at the moment? KATE BULGER: So it's not just that we're getting more calls, it's that the folks who are calling us are in greater distress. Because now instead of calling us because they're just behind on their credit cards, they're calling us because they're behind on their credit cards and they're behind on their utilities and they're struggling with their housing payment. They are facing greater economic challenges I think and more diverse economic challenges than what they faced just a few years ago. JOHN ADEL, Client: It's a different world, but I have to tell you, I go to the store and I am just shocked. I'm keeping my nose above the waves right now, but I feel like that wave is a lot bigger than I thought and it's behind me and it's coming. CHAPTER FIFTEEN Things are Gonna Get Harder JAMES JACOBY: In the fall of 2021, with inflation at 6.8%—well above the Fed’s 2% target—Chairman Powell acknowledged it might not be transitory after all. JEROME POWELL: So I think the word "transitory" has different meanings to different people. To many it carries a sense of short-lived. We tended to use it to mean that it won’t leave a permanent mark in the form of higher inflation. I think it’s probably a good time to retire that word and try to explain more clearly what we mean. JAMES JACOBY: It would be the start of a new phase in the easy money experiment. JEROME POWELL: The committee is determined to take the measures necessary to restore price stability. Thank you. I look forward to your questions. JAMES JACOBY: Over several months, they’d raise interest rates. May 2022 JEROME POWELL: Good afternoon. It's nice to see everyone in person for the first time in a couple of years. JAMES JACOBY: In response to the rising inflation, the Fed would also pause quantitative easing and begin tightening. JEROME POWELL: At today's meeting, the committee raised the target range for the federal funds rate. We also decided to begin the process of reducing the size of our balance sheet. MALE FINANCIAL COMMENTATOR: But neither Powell nor any other Fed official has explained with any precision just how far the Fed will go. MALE NEWSREADER: The Federal Reserve raising a key interest rate three-quarters of a percent. MALE NEWSREADER: —its biggest hike in nearly three decades. MALE NEWSREADER: The Federal Reserve has raised its key interest rates again. MALE NEWSREADER: —and a move that seemed unfathomable to many just months ago has now happened twice in a row. JAMES JACOBY: Other events, like the war in Ukraine— MALE NEWSREADER: Russia is picking off Ukraine's military facilities one after another. JAMES JACOBY: —lockdowns in China— MALE NEWSREADER: China has decided to put its southern tech hub Shenzhen under a citywide lockdown. JAMES JACOBY: —and companies raising prices— RODNEY McMULLEN, CEO, Kroger: A little bit of inflation is always good in our business. JAMES JACOBY: —would all send inflation even higher and accelerate the Fed’s moves. MALE NEWSREADER: Federal Reserve Chairman Jerome Powell speaking at an annual economic summit in Jackson Hole, Wyoming— JAMES JACOBY: Which brings us back to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, in August 2022—that annual meeting of central bankers where Jerome Powell signaled that he’d keep the Fed on course— MALE NEWSREADER: He made a call simply last year that didn't age well. JAMES JACOBY: —raising rates to try to combat inflation. JEROME POWELL: While higher interest rates, slower growth and softer labor market conditions will bring down inflation, they will also bring some pain to households and businesses. JAMES JACOBY: How do you explain, for instance, to someone who is seeing their gas bills go up, their food bills go up, and groceries, their rents go up, how is it that higher interest rates and what you're doing with this very blunt instrument, how do you say that that's going to help them with those issues in particular? NEEL KASHKARI: Well, one of the reasons prices are high is because there's too much demand in the economy. And by raising interest rates—For example, we are going to slow down demand for housing, people going out and buying up homes, which eventually should prevent home prices and rents from continuing to climb. That should benefit workers. But things like gas prices, that's not being driven by us. I mean, that's being driven by the war, Russia invading Ukraine, Saudi Arabia cutting back production, big geopolitical forces. So there's some pieces of this that we can directly affect. Some pieces of this are out of our control. JAMES JACOBY: I mean, some people have said you're kind of—interest rates are almost like a hammer, a sledgehammer. It's not like a scalpel. Can these problems be solved with a scalpel, or you really do believe that you need to bring the hammer down to some extent? NEEL KASHKARI: Well, here's the thing. I would love to be able to bring it with a scalpel, and a year ago I argued that I thought many of these factors were transitory, meaning you've got these one-time events, they're going to pass and then inflation will come down, so let’s not bring out the hammer. That was my view. That didn't happen. So now we have to bring the hammer, because if we don't bring the hammer, this thing can get out of control. JAMES JACOBY: So to those who point to the Fed and say you ran it too hot for too long and that was an epic mistake, you say what? NEEL KASHKARI: I say look around the world. Other central banks adjusted more quickly than we did, to their credit, and unfortunately their economies are facing very similar inflation. And so yes, with the benefit of hindsight, I wish we had tightened sooner, but I'm not kidding myself to think it would have made a big difference in where we are in inflation today. MALE NEWSREADER: Stick around for just a second as we watch the clock here, counting down to 2:30. JAMES JACOBY: A month after Jackson Hole, I caught up with business reporter Chris Leonard as the Fed was announcing another rate hike, moving at the fastest pace in 40 years. JEROME POWELL: Good afternoon. Today, the FOMC raised its policy interest rate by three-quarters of a percentage point. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: It can be a little bit hard to understand, because you hear, OK, the Fed hiked rates today to 3 1/2%. Well, what does that mean? That my credit card rate is going to be a little bit higher, or I'll have to borrow more money for a house? He is talking about a fundamental restructuring of the financial system. The financial system globally has been built around extremely low, ultra-low interest rates for 10 years. JEROME POWELL: My colleagues and I are strongly committed to bringing inflation back down to our 2% goal. CHRISTOPHER LEONARD: I think people don't appreciate the magnitude of what the Fed did over the last decade, and so this is going to be like a long-term thing playing out over time, probably over a year or two, of shifting to a higher rate environment and then the correction that that's going to cause. So he's talking about a huge adjustment that's not going to be an adjustment upward. Things aren't going to get easier. Things are going to get harder. MALE NEWSREADER: Tonight, the economic alarms are blaring. JAMES JACOBY: The specter of this kind of economic upheaval has heightened concerns about a recession— FEMALE NEWSREADER: The Fed has made it clear its number one priority is fighting inflation, even if it means the jobless rate, unemployment, goes up. MALE UNION ORGANIZER: Good evening! Are we going to let this corporation stop workers from joining a union? CROWD: No! JAMES JACOBY: It's also raised fears of layoffs, which has aggravated the organized labor movement. LIZ SHULER, President, AFL-CIO: I'm here with 12 1/2 million union members— JAMES JACOBY: Liz Shuler leads the largest union in the country. She's been urging the Fed to slow down. LIZ SHULER: Listen to your workers! We met with Chairman Powell and six board of governors because I think the Fed doesn't often get to hear from actual working people and how they're seeing things in the economy. JAMES JACOBY: What was your message for the Fed when they started to raise rates? LIZ SHULER: That raising the interest rates is bad for working people. That we think it puts the trajectory that we're on at risk, in terms of coming out of this pandemic. We know that we're in a consumer-driven economy, right? And if working people are not able to make ends meet, they're not going to be buying goods, and it's going to grind the economy to a halt. We can't take aggressive moves that are going to throw people out of work and basically balance the economy on the backs of working people. JAMES JACOBY: But I mean, the Fed is tasked with controlling inflation, and inflation is definitely bad for working people. So why advocate for the Fed to take its foot off the pedal? LIZ SHULER: Well, because the interest rate hikes they were implementing were happening quickly, and we thought it was happening too fast. And also, though, their tools aren't necessarily going to impact the things like gas prices and food prices, which is what most working people are worried about. DION RABOUIN: The Fed doesn't ever want to say this out loud, but their goal is, quite literally, to make businesses not want to hire people or to get businesses actually to lay people off. The Fed has estimated that the unemployment rate, under their very rosy projections, by the end of this year would rise to 4 1/2%. There is no real way for unemployment to get from 3 1/2% to 4 1/2% without millions of people losing their jobs. JAMES JACOBY: I understand the best-case scenario being that you bring down inflation without unemployment going up, and that somehow we avoid a recession. But if employment does stay strong and inflation stays high, then don't you have to basically hurt the jobs market? Isn't that the bottom line here? NEEL KASHKARI: We do have to. We are going to have to keep raising rates until we get inflation back down, that is absolutely true. And one of the sources of optimism, and it's mild optimism, is when there have been recessions that have been caused by the central bank raising interest rates, the good news is, once inflation is in check and they reverse the policies, the bounce back can be very quick. So we're not trying to engineer a recession, but if one were to happen, I feel pretty confident that we could have a very fast recovery. JAMES JACOBY: So how remote is the possibility that there could be much higher unemployment in the next couple of years? NEEL KASHKARI: I mean, I wouldn't say it's remote. It's hard to put the odds on it. CHAPTER SIXTEEN The Tide Goes Out JAMES JACOBY: Throughout 2022, the economy remained strong. Unemployment hovered near historic lows. FEMALE NEWSREADER: —showing unemployment at a half-century low. JAMES JACOBY: Wages were on the rise. MALE NEWSREADER: We also saw some wage growth, about 5% annually. JAMES JACOBY: —causing the Fed to continue pumping the brakes to try to cool down inflation. FEMALE NEWSREADER: The Fed has been raising rates in hopes of slowing the economy, and with so many businesses still hiring, that means the economy isn't really slowing that quickly. JAMES JACOBY: That riled Wall Street. MALE NEWSREADER: Facing the growing possibility of a recession, Wall Street spent another day in turmoil. FEMALE NEWSREADER: And you're probably feeling it in those 401(k)s. Stocks are headed— JAMES JACOBY: For the stock market and bond market, it was the worst year since the great financial crisis in 2008. FEMALE NEWSREADER: The NASDAQ down for four straight quarters for the first time since the dot-com bust. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: In 2022, we've had this very unusual situation whereby you've made double-digit losses on both risky assets, stocks, and risk-free assets, U.S. Treasuries. That's not supposed to happen. But there's been absolutely nowhere to hide. That is a big issue for retirement plans, pension systems, because no matter how well you diversified your portfolio, there was no risk mitigation in it at all. JAMES JACOBY: It was all losses? MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: It was all losses. FEMALE NEWSREADER: U.S. existing home sales plunged to a 12-year low in December. DION RABOUIN, The Wall Street Journal: You've seen a huge impact on the housing market. FEMALE NEWSREADER: The Federal Reserve's interest rate hiking cycle has pushed housing into a recession. DION RABOUIN: Housing prices have started actually coming down for the first time in a very long time. Mortgage applications have decreased. The crypto market, you've seen a number of companies wiped out. MALE NEWSREADER: Crypto winter is here. DION RABOUIN: That is not unrelated to what's happened with the Fed. MALE SPEAKER: Hold on to me, Sam. Let's go. FEMALE NEWSREADER: Sam Bankman-Fried faces investigations from U.S. regulators and potentially the Department of Justice. MALE SOCIAL MEDIA PERSONALITY: He invested $3 million into Luna, and now it's worth $1,000. STEVEN PEARLSTEIN, Contributing columnist, The Washington Post: You create these asset bubbles—that is, bubbles in stock markets and bond markets and real-estate markets and art markets, whatever people invest their money in with borrowed money. And then those bubbles burst, and then that causes a downturn. So rather than having— JAMES JACOBY: Steven Pearlstein has been reporting on the financial markets and the economy for almost 40 years. STEVEN PEARLSTEIN: Bubbles tend to be everything bubbles these days because if the source of it is cheap money, then you can be pretty much sure that it's not just real estate, or it's not just stocks, or it's not just tech and telecom. It's not just bitcoin. These things are connected by rubber bands with each other in a sort of way, and what propels one propels all of them. JAMES JACOBY: There's a famous line by investor Warren Buffet. WARREN BUFFET: You don't find out who's been swimming naked until the tide goes out. [Laughter] JAMES JACOBY: Almost everyone I spoke to repeated that line to describe what's been happening. RANA FOROOHAR, Associate editor, Financial Times: When interest rates start to rise and the tide pulls out, as Warren Buffet would say— CHARLES DUHIGG, The New York Times: You don't know who's swimming naked— DENNIS KELLEHER, Pres. & CEO, Better Markets: —until the tide goes out. AARON BENDIKSON, Partner, Onsight Capital Management: You see who's swimming without a bathing suit— NOURIEL ROUBINI: —when the tide is receding. SCOTT MINERD, Chief investment officer, Guggenheim Partners: We'll find out who's wearing their swimsuits when the tide goes out. RANA FOROOHAR: What's amazing is that a lot of people, and I would say I'm included in this, think that there probably will be a bigger correction at some point. JAMES JACOBY: Look, when you say you expect there to be a bigger correction, what does that actually mean? I mean, a lot of people are going to see this and get concerned about that, obviously. RANA FOROOHAR: Yeah. Yeah, let me try and be honest but not scare people [laughs], if that's possible. So the markets were down 20% last year. That seems like a lot, and if we were in a normal market cycle, I'd say, "OK, we're done. We're probably at the bottom." I don't know if I can safely say that we're at the bottom because of what we're looking back at, this age of easy money. Not just even since the financial crisis, but before that, for the decades that rates have been going down and down and down and debt has been going up and up and up. That's a long period of time where assets have arguably been artificially inflated, and so is it possible that you could see a continued correction at some point? It is possible. Now, I'm personally not going out and selling my entire stock portfolio; I don't want to scare people. But I do want to say that I think we are in a once-in-a-lifetime financial transition, and I think that everybody needs to sort of strap in for that, and if you need your money in the next couple of years, I would be more cautious than not. JAMES JACOBY: In these early months of 2023, on Wall Street, some have been betting that the Fed will relent and stop raising interest rates. Maybe even tolerate higher inflation. Because the higher it pushes rates, and the longer it does, the greater the risks. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: So the marketplace is saying the Fed is going to go too far and is going to be forced to reverse course. That is really unusual. And we've got to a situation now where the markets dismiss what the Fed is telling us. It's a moment where there are many more potential outcomes. Some are fine—a "soft landing." Some are not—a hard landing. And the truth is, you cannot distinguish enough between them. JAMES JACOBY: One of the most pessimistic voices is economist Nouriel Roubini, who became famous for his accurate prediction of the financial crisis in 2008. NOURIEL ROUBINI: We have had literally a few decades of ever-increasing bubbles that have been fed and supported by central banks. And not only have we had bubbles, but we've had bubbles that have been fed by excessive leverage, excessive private and public borrowing and excessive risk-taking. The party is over. Inflation is high and rising. Central banks have to increase interest rates. That is bursting the asset bubble. It's increasing the amount of the debt servicing of everybody who over-borrowed like crazy. So we lived in a bubble, in a dream, and this dream in a bubble is bursting and is turning into an economic and a financial nightmare. JAMES JACOBY: If Roubini's prediction of a debt crisis is correct, then Jim Millstein would be on the front lines of it. He’s known on Wall Street as the guy who countries and companies turn to when they run into trouble and need their debts to be restructured. Wouldn't a debt crisis actually be good for your business? JIM MILLSTEIN, Co-chairman, Guggenheim Securities: [Laughs] You know, I'm getting a little too old for this. [Laughs] JAMES JACOBY: [Laughs] Meaning what? Too old for what? JIM MILLSTEIN: This business! No, I—Yeah, no, it'll be a boom for the restructuring business. But I just don't think it's avoidable at this point. I think we're just—The bill has come due and it's going to have to be paid. JAMES JACOBY: How worried are you about what's happening right now? JIM MILLSTEIN: I've never been more worried in the 42 years that I've been a professional, either as a lawyer, banker or government servant. The American corporate sector has never been more levered in American history, never had more debt, and American households are just about as levered as they were heading into the 2008 financial crisis, whether it's student loans or mortgage loans or car loans or personal loans or credit card loans. We've borrowed a lot of money as a people. And so the Fed is absolutely right to try and get it under control by raising interest rates and slowing economic activity. But the most highly levered players in our economy are going to come under real stress, whether that's households or businesses or governments, as interest costs rise. JAMES JACOBY: Are you basically saying that we should be preparing right now? That there would be a bursting of this massive credit bubble? JIM MILLSTEIN: It's happening right in front of us. It may—It's happening right now. JAMES JACOBY: Are you usually this gloomy, or am I just getting you on a bad day? JIM MILLSTEIN: You got me on a bad day. [Laughs] JAMES JACOBY: One of the concerns is that there's a kind of debt bomb out there, both in the American economy as well as the global economy. How concerned are you about a credit bubble popping? NEEL KASHKARI: We're looking at the data. We're not seeing evidence of such a popping. We're not seeing evidence of delinquencies taking off. Might it happen in the future? It might, but I'm not seeing evidence of it. Households on average have very strong balance sheets. The big banks, which can be very risky for the economy, are well-capitalized relative to where they were before 2008. So we're not seeing evidence of it yet. Can't rule it out. JAMES JACOBY: So I guess the question though is how much disruption in the financial markets are you willing to tolerate now that they're adjusting to this new interest rate environment, after more than a decade of zero rates? NEEL KASHKARI: We live in a market economy, and market participants need to find a way to adjust to a changing economic landscape. It's not the Fed's job to bail out Wall Street investors if their stock portfolios go down. Obviously, we need to keep systemic risk from spilling across the whole economy, and when those events happen, we are prepared to act. But from—in my view, the bar of us acting, the bar from us acting should be quite high. JAMES JACOBY: I mean, the Fed has come to the rescue several times, and we've talked about this in the past, of the financial markets that had grown vulnerable and brittle. So, are you saying—I'm just, again I'm asking, what degree of disruption would you have to see in order for the Fed to intervene? NEEL KASHKARI: We're a long, long way away from that. I guess I would say it that way. We're a long, long way for any kind of disruption that would warrant us stepping in in that way. JAMES JACOBY: Less than five months after that interview, the Fed would indeed have to step in. FEMALE NEWSREADER: In breaking news, a U.S. Federal Reserve has bailed out the Silicon Valley Bank, which had collapsed over the weekend. JAMES JACOBY: It enacted emergency measures to shore up the banking system after two banks collapsed. MALE NEWSREADER: This is the biggest bank collapse since the 2008 financial crisis. JOE BIDEN: There are important questions of how these banks got into the circumstance in the first place. SHEILA BAIR: We're seeing a potential fragility in the system related to monetary policy. If we hadn't been driving our economy for 14 years with easy money and then trying to really quickly undo that, no, we wouldn't be having these problems now. Absolutely not. JAMES JACOBY: What should the Fed do? SHEILA BAIR: So, for a long time, I've advocated that the Fed should be raising rates. But even I believe now they need to hit pause. They've gone too far, too fast. They need to hit pause and assess the impact on the financial system and the economy. JAMES JACOBY: It's unclear what the Fed will do next. But just days before the bank failures, Jerome Powell appeared before Congress to answer tough questions about the economy. JEROME POWELL: We actually don’t think that we need to see a sharp or enormous increase in unemployment to get inflation under control. SEN. ELIZABETH WARREN, (D) MA: I’m looking at your projections. Do you call laying off 2 million people this year not a sharp increase? JAMES JACOBY: The hearing was a showcase of partisan politics and government gridlock. SEN. KEVIN CRAMER, (R) ND: Raising interest rates won’t stop Senate Democrats and President Biden from overtaxing, overspending, overborrowing, overregulating. JAMES JACOBY: And it was yet another reminder of how, in an era of political dysfunction, we’ve become so dependent on the Fed, and on easy money, to drive the American economy. STEVEN PEARLSTEIN: The economy needs to get back into balance, and that will be painful. And if we keep putting off the day of reckoning, we’ll just make the day of reckoning a bigger day of reckoning. JAMES JACOBY: How do you think we’ll look back at this era of easy money? STEVEN PEARLSTEIN: Unfortunately, I think we may look back on it as something of a golden era, because cheap and free money, without consequences, is great. But in other ways, we will think about it as a lesson for the future, which is that it was a mistake. MOHAMED A. EL-ERIAN: I think that we're going to look back on this era as being totally exceptional historically, and one where we didn't fulfill its potential. We lost sight of something critical: We lost sight of how we grow our economy in a sustainable and inclusive fashion. The world of easy money went way too far. Way, way too far. Let's do the other stuff that's needed. The stuff that really promotes genuine, durable, inclusive growth and not this stuff that creates artificial growth. We are capable of producing that. None of that is in the hands of the Fed. They don't invest in infrastructure. They can't reform the tax system. They can't help labor retraining. This is a political problem.

topics The forty-eighth of the Cento series. A cento is a poem made by an author from the lines of another author's work. In the series I place my cento and a link to the other authors poem. synthography sentiments Dates IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR : Shirley reviewed by Movies That Move We , Kindergarten Cooking , Ki Khanga the role playing game , Notre Dame in recovery , Morgan Price of HBCU Fisk University , Julie Bell on Monsters Madness and Magic , a wooden hand https://rmnewsletter.over-blog.com/2023/10/04/14/2024-rmnewsletter-6.html

Have any of you played this? I think a nice project for this group will be making an electronic version of this. what do you think @Milton? We can work together and make it in the aalbc website? link Buying page at  MVmediaatl Info on the book Ki Khanga: The Sword and Soul Role Playing Game puts you in the role of a character of your liking in a world of mystery and magic; of villainy and victory; of sword... and soul. Will you delve for lost artifacts in the ruins of ancient temples? Strap on beaded armor and an nkisi necklace to battle undead legions as they storm your city upon the backs of skeletal camels, or defend your village from a swarm of ravenous impundulu? Whether you're making your way through the magical forests of Wandatu or fighting to survive in the palm oil-lit back alleys of Sati-Baa, you and your team will need all your wits, combat skill, and magic to make it through. But most of all, you'll need each other. $20.00 $25.00

@ProfD in the black conference on day 4, linked below, i think a sister said a similar thing about how people call writing about slavery trauma porn. Adding her position to yours, I do realize the issue is integration. I will explain. For over one hundred and fifty years, since the end of the war between the states, the majority of black leadership in the usa has sought integration to whites, those who once completely enslaved us. And in that time the black populace who at the end of the war between the states was compelled more to kill whites, nat turner's leadership, leave the usa, garvey leadership , through the efforts of said majority leadership [douglass /web dubois/booker t/ida b well/sojourner truth] the majority of the black populace in the usa embraced in varying styles or qualities or intensities , integration. But, some things can be integrated. Some things are segregatory. Legacies are one of those things. This is why the scottish people keep talking about cessation from england. The scottish people never wanted to be in england. The english government used money and the members of the scottish government/parliament [a majority of scottish leaders] to create a peaceful union against the wishes of the scottish people, that is a legacy that will always hold true, even though today most scottish people in varying ways embrace the united kingdom. The legacy of being enslaved is unique to Black DOSers. It isn't with other black people from nigeria or jamacia. It isn't with non blacks. It isn't with non black native americans. It is a legacy that can not be integrated. It is unique to black dosers. And, it is negative. So i concur to the power of time as you suggest but I do think the issue of Black DOSers wanting to integrate at all cost in a populace in the usa that is getting more and more filled with people who have no relationship to Black DOS tradition, unlike white people descended from enslavers or native americans, and don't care. It is a blackwashing, but not from miseducation as much as a desire to be happy in the integrated mix of the usa. I will rewrite myself and argue, I think many black DOSers want to be like the black folk who just come to the usa in 2024. IT isn't an antiblack desire as much as a desire not to have a legacy which if honest puts one at odds with the usa or the white people in it while less innocent as the rainbow of immigrants since the immigration act. And, black leadership in 150+ years in the usa has rarely embraced the concept of something black people have are unique and can't be integrated. In the same way, native american leadership has done similar. ... yes the prison industrial complex has grown in palin sight. @aka Contrarian yes it is very touchy. First, taking out the entertainment industry, no industry in the usa has a greater black presence than black people as legal men of arms [us military/law enforcemeent agencies of state or city] plus the incarcerated. So I am talking about the second most important industry to black people in the usa. Which has led to levels of financial wealth or financial security for black homes throughout the usa on the armed side while led to many broken homes on the incarcerated side. Second, even though the black populace owns no gun making firms in the usa , to my knowledge, and there was a time in the usa when white people called knives, nigger guns, cause black people were dissuaded by the white populace to own guns the modern black populace from the nineteen hundred and sixties to now have got access to guns and the financially weak situation of the black populace in the usa has led to street violence. I have to say one thing, white people in chicago committed levels of gun violence that black people never did and have not. PEople forget how chicago/new york/los angeles white populaces had levels of gun violence that would shock modern media if it was to happen. I know in nyc, the irish/italian mob wars. Third, no organization in humanity is evil. Humans who do good for other humans is in every organization in humanity, regardless the percentage. So with the financial relationship to the black populace in the usa, the modern design of the gun totting, the humanity in law enforcement or similar, this is touchy. Many black people have people they live with who are law enforcers/soldiers and can't accept or will not accept them being bad mouthed. And some black law enforcers deserve to be protected from negative judgement based on their own actions. It is touchy. And Aka Contrarian, people your age in our village aren't supposed to be leading, you are supposed to be watching younger generations lead and guide even younger generations to become the leaders, so that you feel secure leading up to the moment when your spirit flies . You are a member of the black race and it always matters what you think. Your role is to live as happy as you can, and if the village is strong, support you. This is how I was raised in our populace anyway. You don't need to come up with the solution, that is the job of black people from younger generations like me. I do think the problem is the crossroads black people in the usa find themselves in. What does it mean to be statian , of the usa or american? What is the goal of the black populace in the usa? These questions rarely get answered but in them is identity.

Day 4 1->Regina Brooks [ https://aalbc.com/authors/author.php?author_name=Regina+Brooks ] 2->Karen Hunter [ https://aalbc.com/authors/author.php?author_name=Karen+Hunter ] 3->Christopher Jackson 4->Lisa Lucas 5->Jamia Wilson [ https://aalbc.com/authors/author.php?author_name=Jamia+Wilson] M->Moderator: Yahdon Israel M Question # Answer My thoughts M How to help writers publish ? 3 No normal production cycle, manuscript and editing and nine months o processing. Sales meeting, whose the audience, how to make audience visible 1690 project was six or seven months in production. Intense editorial process 4 information sheet, sales conference people, sitting in a room discussing how to sell the book and they go around The problem with many artist: musician/writers/illustrators is they ask how to help get published when publishing isn't the problem anymore in modernity, if you live under a government of power. A million online forums exist to publish audio/visual content for free. The question people want is how to lead to profit legally in a sure fire way and said way doesn't exist. You can research till eternity, research your industry till eternity, it will not guarantee a work become financially profitable. M How many books published? three million in total. Two million self published. One million by major publisher. People don't see the context of failure from success. To get a number 1 is hard. 2 She came in publishing pollyanna. She went to her first sales meeting, and is hyper competitive. Most of the people at the top of the masthead know nothing about blacks. What most units of any book you sold 3 Three million The USA has circa 325 million people in total. one percent is three million. The black populace in the usa is circa 47 million so one percent is 400,00. The black populace of New York City is circa 1.7 million. So New York City has circa 4% of the black populace in the usa. So , if a black author, I am thinking of myself, can get a quarter of the black populace in NYC. That isn't bad. 400,000 at the least is six figures and if your book is double figures we are talking a million. Not bad i say. M Somebody does a report , publishing is dominated by whites? 4 Nobody listens to me 2 Editors still feel the need to cater to white. you have to get clearance of publisher, so you need green light. But clearance is not on publishers. 4 You need CEO's that are people of color to make it change. Hundreds came in three years but none have left. We haven't changed retail , group cons, the bureaucracy of the industry is still mostly filled by whites. 2 The success is by luck, Harry potter sat in some one's bin. You put money in. You get money back. Austerity, she brought in big names on the cheap. 4 All skin folks ain't all kin folks. Celebrities of color have not been treated as white celebrities have. They put a lot of white ghost writers on them, not same per diem. But the basic mechanism are getting better. That changes the conversation. 2 It is more complicated if the whites know charlemagne an d the black book ecosystem. 1 Many industry elements are not consistent in the industry. How am*zon or Barnes and Nolbe compare to black book sellers. How to change? Some is data. They d a lot of research and development. But But publishers do a lot of gut but doing more data lately. I have always said nothing is stronger than being an owner, in any industry. But the black populace in the usa, who in majority embrace nonviolence, are on a path of non ownership. You can't be an owner when the owner is already your enemy and you choose not to attack them. Working through the system doesn't work. The people who mostly own in the usa, didn't work through a system to become an owner. They murdered another, another being the native american. M With all acknowledged, what sustains you, keeps you going? 5 I love books. We love our people, we want to create opportunities. I envision my audience for my writers. Who might see themselves changed. I love a riddle of a book that presents challenges. For "The black period" the details bring her joy. Calling people who have hardships and being able to tell them they are about to get alot of money. 4 I like a good fight. Winning s possible. She sees many older generations. It is a cycle. We are proof it is a cycle. It isn't overnight work. I say " I am sick of these people" She sees more people buying books. How many people have bought a book in a week? 3 When Lisa was at the national book award she changed it from a national white book award. He mentions Yahdon. 2 I don't have Jamia's joy but feels optimistic. There are gatekeepers but if you have it can be published and have an audience. 1 I am an eat what you kill as an agent. I am not salaried. We can all keep creating and doing new things. It is hard on poets but we will work with people. Audio book over text. More Black press. Loved ones offline keep me going physically, but mentally or spiritually, it is that I like to create . Question and Answer Q Question # or M Answer My thoughts Q What do you do to relax? 1. She fishes, she loves to fish and fly her plane. Playing pinball lately:) Q What is the myth or realities of AI publishing? 2 She want people to know as much about AI as possible. 4 She is doing a book with an AI writer combination Modern computer power allows a unprecedented level of mimicry or imitation. And as time goes on computers will gain a stronger imitative ability to all arts. The question is the path to profitability will require imagination. Q She watches Karen on youtube, what is happening on black owned publishing? 2 Just U Books, she works with M am*zon can sell cheaper but often we are asked to spend more cause they are black owned. I funnel black authors to independent sellers. Publishers is who we as consumers support, if you say support black and you are looking at your budget and you don't buy black you are talking sideways. We did an event , with an independent book seller. They made no record. No record was made to notify. How you run your bookstore as a business matters. In terms of sustainability we can publish books but if we don't know how to navigate it , it is sending a good signal through a bad device. I return to ownership. Black people in the usa are not historically an owning populace... they are an owned populace and the path of integration doesn't have a destination in ownership that blacks in the usa need, desperately. Q You have a sea of black folk interested in literature. Is their a way to send work and not to the slush pile? What about story collectives? 2 If they want to submit to me, if you say you were in the conference you can send it to her. I tried but I didn't get or didn't see the reply Q She just published an ebook, and she is overwhelmed . Her book is about vulnerability. And she hasn't received good feedback, and her history in NYC, and how you pitch? M Publishing was best in 2020 but the two highest titles were back books and biographies. 96% of debut sold less than 500 copies. What people don't comprehend is it is a slow industry. You have to reconceive success. If you look at Toni Morrison's career you may say great but that is a career. Many writers put so much energy in a book that if it doesn't return they are spent. Every engagement or moment is part of the process. An artist told me a while back, if you stay in the game long enough money will come. Look at George r Martin, in all earnest. The wealth took so long, he is to old to finish the winds of winter. Q [The questioner asked a question so long I lost track of it] What was the book that was great for you? 2 You need an editor 5 She broke into tears when a black woman, a stranger, recommended her book " mambo sauce" to her At the end of the conference, it affirms what I have said in the past few years. Art has two sides, a creative side commercial. The creative part is free for all to do today, from your inner mind to being published. This means the quantity of published content is larger than ever in all fields. But the commercial now has an issue today. The quantity of oversaturation is so high , all artists need a way to get through it. to be viewed by a larger audience or attached to a larger audience. This is why publishing firms are still needed cause someone has to spend advertising dollars for your work to be seen by a larger audience if unattached, even if you are famous. The second is a group. Find something a group can be a part of,that fits your art. not simple but...

Before I go into the segment I will speak on Stageplays + screenplays. One of the things I like about stageplays or screenplays is they are made to be performed. Which means what? They are meant to be the basis of a collective art work. A book of fiction is meant to be read but not performed. That simple variance , in my mind, opens up stageplays or screenplays to a different set of allowable judgements. The best example I can think of showing the power of screenplay fluidity is "THe Jungle" from "The Twilight Zone" . In the original short story from Charles Beaumont it is located in Africa and in the future with a technologically advanced manner. The characters are all the same but the visualization is starker. The goal is to show an encroachment by the wealthy white powers onto a Black space, and the price for some agents of that white power. It is that blunt. But when Beaumont wrote the teleplay for the show. He changed alot of aesthetic. But kept the basic idea, still kept the story. But why? A play is a collaborative artwork as is a film and both are open to interpretation. It isn't about rigiidity , it is about interpretation. Another example is Baum, writer of the wizard of Oz, who loved the 1902 stage production, a musical, whose language and tone was far more adult. But I paraphrase him:"as long as people do well by the work he is fine" . In the same way , he would had loved "The Wiz" stageplay in my opinion for its quality while reflecting another community or the earlier Judy garland movie, whose dorothy is significantly older than in the book. Whether the work is turned into something meant to be laughed at with gawdy humour, or reflecting another communities ways, or just some tweaks of the original works , stageplays or screenplays are interpretations and if they achieve their goals then no critique to a standard storytelling is warranted. Immediately below is an excerpt from an article presented ultimately. I will continue my prose after the excerpt THE EXCERPT In 1979, Paramount needed an answer to Star Wars, so it revived Trek in the form of movies. Then T.J. Hooker came along a few years later. What did you get out of the show? It was a terrific show. It had all kinds of drama. I got to direct several of the episodes. And some of my shots are in the opening. I was totally involved, committed to the writing, committed to the directing. You're running all the time. You've got to make decisions and you don't have enough money. You directed a big-budget feature, Star Trek V, in 1989. It was considered a disappointment, but it has its fans today. Were you hoping to expand what a Trek movie could be by filming around the world? I wish that I'd had the backing and the courage to do the things I felt I needed to do. My concept was, "Star Trek goes in search of God," and management said, "Well, who's God? We'll alienate the nonbeliever, so, no, we can't do God." And then somebody said, "What about an alien who thinks they're God?" Then it was a series of my inabilities to deal with the management and the budget. I failed. In my mind, I failed horribly. When I'm asked, "What do you regret the most?," I regret not being equipped emotionally to deal with a large motion picture. So in the absence of my power, the power vacuum filled with people that didn't make the decisions I would've made. You seem to take the blame, but outside observers might say, "Well, the budget wasn't there. You didn't get the backing you needed." But in your mind, it's on you. It is on me. [In the finale,] I wanted granite [rock creatures] to explode out of the mountain. The special effects guy said, "I can build you a suit that's on fire and smoke comes out." I said, "Great, how much will that cost?" They said, "$250,000 a suit." Can you make 10 suits? He said, "Yeah." That's $2.5 million. You've got a $30 million budget. You sure you want to spend [it on that]? Those are the practical decisions. Well, wait a minute, what about one suit? And I'll photograph it everywhere [to look like 10]. (Editor's note: The plan to use one suit famously did not work well onscreen and was ultimately abandoned.) MY CONTINUED PROSE It seems to me, Shatner made two mistakes. When you go from low budget television to large budget film, the financial scale requires greater care. In a low budget television show, your financial scale is predetermined low so you know limits, there is no suggestion of overspending. But when you do a high budget film the allowance for misuse or waste is higher and sequentially ruinous or dangerous to the overall collective experience. I am not sure but shatner alludes to not presenting a screenplay or storyboard list. And while I comprehend film studios love pitching a concept in a sentence. I think an artist is wiser to have a screenplay plus storyboard list in hand , to aid in the pitch when questions may be asked. Leonard Nimoy supposedly had the script for Wrath of Khan before the pitch he made, so there lay the variance. When I look at Star Trek Generations, I can see that being a remake of Star Trek v tweaked to bridge the original series + next generation. The Nexus is what? a science fiction element that is as close to the gateway to heaven as you can get. It literally exist as a natural phenomenon in space, moving about destructive to interface with but if very lucky it can grab you or if unlucky or purposed can spit you out. And the place it goes to is so powerful part of you remains there, ala Guinan's character. This is heaven. Shatner said he wanted the Enterprise to meet god and essentially that concept was tweaked so that two enterprises meet , as close as possible in star trek world, the gateway of heaven. From my little knowledge I imagine the screenplay for Generations was around for a while or at least the writers to it had access to screenplays or other content concerning star trek v, if not the simple pitch itself. But this is why the screenplay/stageplay is such a fluid creature. They are meant to be manipulated for purpose. They are not meant to be treated as rigid works, ala why so many have it wrong when they treat shakespeare's work rigidly. It was meant to be performed, speculated in various ways. I will love a chance to redo The Meteor Man. I think the screenplay isn't bad but can be interpreted in a way various with even the same budget. THE COMPLETE ARTICLE William Shatner on His Biggest ‘Star Trek' Regret – and Why He Cried With Bezos Story by Aaron Couch When writing about a legend who's still working as a nonagenarian, it's almost obligatory to include a line about how they are seemingly busier than ever. William Shatner, 92, may no longer be on set 12 hours a day for the roles that made him the first Comic-Con celebrity (Star Trek), or that transformed him into a late-career regular at the Emmys podium (The Practice, Boston Legal), but it's difficult not to marvel at the pace at which he lives his life. The actor, who looks and speaks much like he did 20 years ago, maintains a healthy travel schedule that includes appearances at a dozen or so fan conventions every year. Always popping up in new projects (he hosted the extraterrestrial base camp-simulating reality contest Stars on Mars that aired on Fox over the summer), in 2021, he became the oldest person to travel to space, pouring that experience into a music-and-poetry performance at Washington D.C's Kennedy Center a few months later with friend and musical collaborator Ben Folds. (That recording, So Fragile, So Blue, will be released as an album April 19). Now, Shatner is the subject of the crowdfunded documentary You Can Call Me Bill (in select theaters March 22, his 93rd birthday), a meditation on his life, career and mortality. The Montreal-born actor began performing at the age of 6 at camp and never stopped, transitioning from Canadian radio dramas to Broadway to 1950s TV Westerns. He's been an omnipresent pop culture fixture since 1966, when he was cast as Captain James T. Kirk in Star Trek under unusual circumstances never seen again in Hollywood. NBC had a pilot that didn't work, but the network wanted to try again with a mostly new cast. Where the original pilot was a somewhat dry affair, Shatner brought much-needed humor to the Enterprise. Though the show was canceled after just three seasons, it earned a cult following in syndication, and Shatner reprised the role for seven feature films. Along the way, he reinvented himself over and over, as a hard-a** cop who didn't understand the value of Miranda rights for five seasons on ABC/CBS' T.J. Hooker, and again as a comedic sendup of himself as the spokesperson for Priceline.com, with ads beaming into homes from 1998 to 2012. His comedic chops led him to the Saturday Night Live stage - 38 years later, people still ask him about a sketch in which he mocked Star Trek fans with the exasperated line "Get a life!" - as well as multiple Emmy wins playing lawyer Denny Crane on David E. Kelley's ABC procedural The Practice and then Boston Legal, which concluded after four years in 2008. And he has penned books, released albums and directed documentaries. During a Zoom conversation in early March, Shatner discussed why Star Trek V: The Final Frontier, his first and only theatrical feature as a director, was the biggest regret of his career; that history-making Star Trek kiss with Nichelle Nichols; and what could lure him back to the captain's chair. Some say acting is a way to find the love they aren't getting elsewhere. Was that true for you? I'm sure it's true. I spent a very lonely life in my younger years. Being able to join a cast and be a part of a group of people, I'm sure that was an element in my starting to be an actor when I was very young. Though you acted throughout childhood, you got a practical degree, a bachelor of commerce, from McGill University in Montreal. Was the plan to use that degree? I've bumbled my way through my life with a growing realization that all the plans you have for your life are dependent on the guy driving a car behind you or in front of you. The accidents that you have no control over, whether they're physical, like falling down a flight of stairs, or emotional, like the person you love the most doesn't love you - and everything in between - you have no control over. So you may think you're like, "I'm going to control. I'm going to choose that motion picture," or go onstage choosing elements of your career, thinking you're making a career move. It has nothing to do with reality at all. But as an actor, you do have some control, right? You understudied for Christopher Plummer on Henry V in 1956, and he once said, "Where I stood up to make a speech, he sat down. He did the opposite of everything I did." I had no rehearsal. I didn't know the people. And it was five days into the opening of the show [when Plummer got sick]. The choreography was one of the other things that I didn't know. I was in a macabre state of mind. So that had nothing to do with "I stood where he sat." [It was, rather], "I've got to move around the stage somewhere. I think I'll sit down here, I'm exhausted!" You worked with director Richard Donner on the classic Twilight Zone episode "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet," which was in fact a nightmare for him, as it was technically complicated and the shooting days were halved. Did you sense the pressure he was under? It's complicated. When you get those science fiction choices: The guy is dressed in a furry little suit and you say, "Well, why isn't the suit aerodynamic? Why is it a suit that'll catch every breeze that blows?" What kind of logic do you use in any science fiction case? When I looked at the acrobat [Nick Cravat, who played a gremlin terrorizing Shatner's character from the wing of a plane], I said to myself, "That isn't something you'd wear on the wing of a 747," but then again, what do you wear on the wing of a 747? So yeah, it was complicated in that way. Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry had strict rules about what was appropriate for his show. Were you privy to what informed that thinking? He was in the military, and he was a policeman. So there was this militaristic vision of "You don't make out with a fellow soldier." There are strict rules and you abide by the rules. Around that, [the writers] had to write the drama. But within that was the discipline of "This is the way a ship works." Well, as Star Trek progressed, that ethos has been forgotten [in more recent shows]. I sometimes laugh and talk about the fact that I think Gene is twirling in his grave. "No, no, you can't make out with the lady soldier!" The writers of Star Trek: The Next Generation butted heads with Gene when he was alive. The fights that went on, to my understanding, were big, because the writers had their difficulties. "We need some more material." "We need to get out of here. It's claustrophobic." When you joke that Gene is twirling in his grave, you mean he wouldn't approve of onscreen romances between crewmates on the later shows? Yes, exactly. I haven't watched the other Star Treks very much, but what I've seen with glimpses of the Next Generation is yes, the difficulty in the beginning, between management, was all about Gene's rules and obeying or not obeying those rules. You and Nichelle Nichols are credited with the first interracial kiss on TV. Is it true that you pushed to make every take real, despite the network asking for faked takes so they would have the option? I do remember saying, "Maybe they'll try and edit it. What can I do to try and discourage the editing of the kiss itself?" I don't remember quite what I did because it's difficult to cut away [from the kiss in an edit]. But yeah, I remember thinking that. After three seasons, NBC cancels Star Trek in 1969, and you find yourself broke, doing summer stock theater on the East Coast. Did you think acting might be over at that point? I'm broke, living in a truck, sleeping in the back and trying to save that money so I could support my three kids and my [ex-]wife, who were living in Beverly Hills. The only thing that ever occurred to me was, "I can always go back to Toronto and make something of a living as an actor there." I never thought, "Oh, I've got to become a salesman." It never occurred to me from the age of 6 to do anything else. Which is weird because [today] I hear it all around me: "God, I can't make a living anymore [as an actor]." And that's true. People with names can't make a living under the circumstances that the business has fallen into. In 1979, Paramount needed an answer to Star Wars, so it revived Trek in the form of movies. Then T.J. Hooker came along a few years later. What did you get out of the show? It was a terrific show. It had all kinds of drama. I got to direct several of the episodes. And some of my shots are in the opening. I was totally involved, committed to the writing, committed to the directing. You're running all the time. You've got to make decisions and you don't have enough money. You directed a big-budget feature, Star Trek V, in 1989. It was considered a disappointment, but it has its fans today. Were you hoping to expand what a Trek movie could be by filming around the world? I wish that I'd had the backing and the courage to do the things I felt I needed to do. My concept was, "Star Trek goes in search of God," and management said, "Well, who's God? We'll alienate the nonbeliever, so, no, we can't do God." And then somebody said, "What about an alien who thinks they're God?" Then it was a series of my inabilities to deal with the management and the budget. I failed. In my mind, I failed horribly. When I'm asked, "What do you regret the most?," I regret not being equipped emotionally to deal with a large motion picture. So in the absence of my power, the power vacuum filled with people that didn't make the decisions I would've made. You seem to take the blame, but outside observers might say, "Well, the budget wasn't there. You didn't get the backing you needed." But in your mind, it's on you. It is on me. [In the finale,] I wanted granite [rock creatures] to explode out of the mountain. The special effects guy said, "I can build you a suit that's on fire and smoke comes out." I said, "Great, how much will that cost?" They said, "$250,000 a suit." Can you make 10 suits? He said, "Yeah." That's $2.5 million. You've got a $30 million budget. You sure you want to spend [it on that]? Those are the practical decisions. Well, wait a minute, what about one suit? And I'll photograph it everywhere [to look like 10]. (Editor's note: The plan to use one suit famously did not work well onscreen and was ultimately abandoned.) Paramount+ is rumored to have tossed around ideas for you to reprise your role, à la Patrick Stewart in Star Trek: Picard. Is that something you would entertain? Leonard [Nimoy] made his own decision on doing a cameo [in J.J. Abrams' 2009 Star Trek]. He's there for a moment, and it's more a stunt that Spock appears in a future. If they wrote something that wasn't a stunt that involved Kirk, who's 50 years older now, and it was something that was genuinely added to the lore of Star Trek, I would definitely consider it. Did hosting SNL feel like a breakthrough, in terms of showing what you could do with comedy? That was a new show then, it was a big sensation, and hosting it was good. They really wrote comedy for me. I played comedy since I was 7. There is a timing. There is a way of characterizing a line. It's a kind of spiritual thing playing comedy, letting the audience know they're open to laugh. After decades in the industry, you achieved your greatest critical success in your 70s playing Denny Crane on Boston Legal. What was the genesis of Denny? David E. Kelly invites me to breakfast. He says, "I've written this character. He's a little bit senile." I said, "Well, I can play that." He'd write, "The character would say his name, Denny Crane, four or five times." How do you act that? What rationale pulls that together? David didn't offer any explanation. I learned somewhere that snakes stick their tongues out. It's assessing what's out there. So I thought that's what the character is doing. Denny Crane is reading what your reaction is to the words "Denny Crane." In 2021, at age 90, you became the oldest person to go to space. Upon landing, you had a tearful exchange with Jeff Bezos. How have you processed that? I was weeping uncontrollably for reasons I didn't know. It was my fear of what's happening to Earth. I could see how small it was. It's a rock with paper-thin air. You've got rock and 2 miles of air, and that's all that we have, and we're f****** it up. And, that dramatically, I saw it in that moment. What are your thoughts on legacy? At Mar-a-Lago, I was asked to help raise funds with the Red Cross. I had to be at Mar-a-Lago Saturday night, and Leonard's funeral was Sunday morning. I couldn't make both. I chose the charity. It just occurred to me: Leonard died. They got a statue up. It's not going to last. Say it lasts 50 years, 100. [Someone will say], "Who is that Leonard Nimoy? Tear the statue down, put somebody else up." But what you can't erase is helping somebody or something. That has its own energy and reverberation. That person got help - and then is able to help somebody else. You've continued an action that has no boundaries. That's what a good deed does This story first appeared in the March 14 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. URL https://www.msn.com/en-us/movies/news/william-shatner-on-his-biggest-star-trek-regret-and-why-he-cried-with-bezos/ar-BB1k6dbN

A group of eccentric characters learn different lessons in greed, lust, and desire as they encounter supernatural creatures in the enchanted muggy land of South Florida. It is a dark and spooky twist on the Black culture of South Florida. The FIRST TWO EPISODES are on Black Oak TV. And we will have weekly drops for all eight episodes leading up to Halloween. You can sign up for a free trial and experience the whole series streaming EXCLUSIVELY on Black Oak TV via desktop or the app. https://www.blackoak.tv/catalog/shows/criblore see more posts from filled with magic content https://aalbc.com/tc/search/?&q=moon ferguson&type=core_statuses_status&quick=1&search_and_or=and&sortby=relevancy

topics Cento series round 21 Promptpot part 2 intro- can you describe the image in Scream? Adult variant of my work Criblore from Filled With Magic , perfect for the halloween season If You Made It This Far: Film noir cocktails with Eddie Mueller, thoughts on Ahsoka Tano, Ray Bradbury, Merit in media https://rmnewsletter.over-blog.com/2023/07/10/15/2023-rmnewsletter.html

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Video TRANSCRIPT - my thoughts in the comments 0:28 all right good evening my name is Dr Jason ockerman 0:34 I'm a faculty member at the uh in the IUPUI School of liberal arts 0:40 and I'm the director of the Ray Bradbury Center what is the Ray Bradbury Center it is a 0:47 one of the larger single author archives in the United States it's also a small Museum we have 0:53 recreated Ray Bradbury's basement office with entirely original artifacts and we do offer tours to the public on 1:00 occasion so please follow us on social media if you'd ever like to come and see the collection 1:06 on behalf of the Bradbury Center and the school of liberal arts I want to welcome you to our literary Festival Festival 1:13 451 Indy we have events throughout the month of September to celebrate our literary 1:20 Heroes two of mine are going to be taking the stage uh in in just a moment to encourage people the festival 1:27 encourages people to cultivate an active reading life and to celebrate the humanities our 1:33 Festival references Ray Bradbury's most famous work Fahrenheit 451. 1:38 a cautionary tale about the consequences of the cultural devaluation of literacy 1:45 his words you don't have to burn books to destroy a culture just get people to 1:51 stop reading have only become more poignant and relevant today 1:56 that's why we felt that a festival like Festival four or five when Indy was necessary so thank you so much for for being here 2:04 tonight and being part of it hopefully you picked up some note cards 2:10 as you're listening to the speakers today please write down your questions and I think these two aisles here if I'm 2:18 wrong somebody will correct me okay I got the thumbs up from the boss so these 2:23 two aisles here you'll be able to approach a microphone and address your questions so please stick around for the Q a sometimes that's the best part 2:30 although I think everything about tonight's going to be great we also want to thank the aw Clues foundation for sponsoring tonight's 2:36 event and for sponsoring the entire Festival um that lasts the entire month of 2:41 September their generosity made this Festival possible uh in your programs 2:47 tonight there's a short survey if you could fill that out and turn it into one of our team members at our information 2:53 table uh in the lobby that would be super helpful for us we do have to do a grant report for Clues and your your 3:01 response to the event tonight would go a long way in helping us craft that report we definitely appreciate it 3:08 before introducing our speakers I want to share a brief land acknowledgment 3:13 IUPUI acknowledges our location on the traditional on the traditional and 3:18 ancestral territory of the Miami padawatami and Shawnee people 3:24 we honor the heritage of native peoples what they teach us about the stewardship of the earth and their continuing 3:31 efforts today to protect the planet founded in 1969 IUPUI stands on the 3:39 historic homelands of native peoples and more recently that of a vibrant a vibrant black community also unjustly 3:47 displaced where we sit tonight Madame Walker theater is one of the last vestiges of 3:53 that Vibrant Community as the present stewards of the land we honor them all as we live work and study 4:01 at IUPUI today people in this state who teach about the 4:07 injustices of the past are under attack and I want to affirm tonight that we 4:13 stand with our public Educators our public libraries and librarians 4:18 we honor their expertise we will never correct the injustices of 4:24 the present if we fail to acknowledge our past especially the parts that make us uncomfortable 4:30 if there are Educators and Librarians in the art in our audience tonight would 4:35 you please raise your hand so we can honor you [Applause] 4:46 thank you thank you for what you do um you know tonight in part we honor Ray 4:53 Bradbury a great author who spent his life standing up for public libraries because knowledge 4:59 should be free and accessible to everyone no matter what 5:06 we stand against any attempt to whitewash our history the old adage that 5:12 those who refuse to learn history are doomed to repeat it rings true but I would add it seems clear that 5:18 those who actively try to prevent history from being taught intend to 5:23 repeat it we will not let that happen so tonight the red Bradbury Center is 5:29 thrilled to partner with our friends at the center for Africana studies and culture and presenting a night with two 5:35 legendary authors Dr Charles Johnson and Stephen Barnes 5:41 tonight's event will be moderated by my dear friend and colleague Dr lasatien 5:47 executive director of the center for Africana studies and culture Dr Les the stage is yours my friend 6:02 good evening good evening good evening everyone thank you for coming out um a little little housekeeping before 6:08 we get started because we are breathing rarified air here tonight so I want to 6:14 acknowledge uh in in right in the front here to also legendary writers uh Ms 6:21 Sharon Skeeter and also miss Tanner nariev do right here in the front 6:29 and big thanks to to Jason uh and the the staff and and Folks at the Bradbury 6:36 Center for putting this on and also giving us an opportunity to play a role in it um some colleagues from Liberal 6:43 Arts are sitting right there shout out to y'all hello um and also our Dean 6:49 um let me say oh and look Rob Robbin uh our other colleague but our Dean is also 6:55 in the house here tonight as well uh Tammy Idol so I'd like to bring up uh Mr Barnes and Dr Johnson if they could hear 7:02 me to come on up and we'll get started let's give a round of applause 7:17 you wanted the right I'm gonna go to the right thank you 7:24 all right welcome welcome welcome thank you thank you both for being here greatly appreciated I think it's um it's 7:33 always good uh to introduce uh folks uh to who we have this August panel that 7:40 we're in here tonight so if you wouldn't mind if we just get started Jump Right In but also I think there might be 7:48 people in the house that would want to know uh about uh who we are are sitting 7:54 with tonight no I'm always curious about who I'm sitting with especially when I'm sitting 8:00 alone in a room exactly okay there we go so you know what I forgot to say what 8:05 did you forget to say we have Mr Maurice Broadus in the house tonight as well yay 8:10 foreign yes that's right yes yes so if you don't 8:17 mind I will start with uh the youngest of us um 8:23 [Music] okay if you don't mind um because uh you know uh I think it's 8:29 it it's it's very important for us to understand um the value uh in in the work you've 8:35 done uh in the literary World um but also you know in Academia and and 8:42 it's you know and some of these other other places if you don't mind just giving us giving a brief brief bio a 8:48 little bit about yourself okay uh you got 30 minutes 8:54 um first I want to say this is a joyful occasion for me to be on the stage with 8:59 this gentleman but especially that gentleman on the end we have collaborated on any number of projects in the past 9:07 most recently the Eightfold Path yeah uh which is uh award-winning as it turns 9:13 out uh graphic novel all of it all the credit goes to Steve they're all of his 9:18 stories okay I came on and I I you know I took 9:24 the ride with you and it was like anything we do together um a great pleasure we have a lot of 9:30 overlap you know I did a book in 1988 called 9:36 um being in race black writing since 1970. and in the last chapter it's a 9:43 survey of black writers uh up to 1970 in the last chapter I I mentioned this guy 9:50 I keep running across um his you know he's a martial artist and he writes science fiction 9:58 um he's a black dude too I'm thinking that's me that's me but then I really no 10:04 it's this character over here Stephen Barnes who um has been my hero for a 10:09 very long very long time um my history my journey 10:15 and to creativity had it was truly influenced by the man who did this book 10:20 he was in and the Art of writing uh brave adverry but I come to this 10:28 from being a journalist and a cartoonist that 10:33 was my first love my first Passion was drawing in high school I became a 10:39 professional illustrator when I was 17 I did some illustrations for a magic Company catalog in Chicago and 10:47 um I saved that dollar by the way too that I got paid it's framed and there were times I was I was gonna 10:54 use it because I was so broke in grad school but I started out as a as a Cartoonist and a journalist 11:02 and along the way read you know voraciously of course you know cartoons 11:08 do read a lot so we can get ideas from all kinds of different you know sources and it was around the time when I was 18 11:15 I got exposed to philosophy and decided one of these days I I have to get a 11:20 doctorate in philosophy I just have to and one of the lights I discovered is 11:25 how much Bradberry admired Socrates and Marcus Aurelius you know among the uh 11:32 the stoics right so so my journey took me from drawing to to scholarship and 11:40 then to writing at a certain point uh you know novels and short stories and 11:46 essays and and other things uh one of the things I want to emphasize which I'm sure most of you know already but I have 11:53 to remind myself of it repeatedly is all of the the liberal arts in the 11:58 humanities are interconnected one thing will lead you to another thing 12:04 you know if you might want to get up one day and draw but then the next day you 12:10 might want to get up and start a short story and the third day you might want to get up and write an essay on a 12:17 question that's been troubling you about the mind-body relationship there is no reason why any of us should have to 12:25 allow anybody to put us in a little box and say this is all that you do you know 12:31 if you see my name crop up with something it'll be Charles Johnson novelist but that's not the only thing I do so all of these Arts feed each other 12:39 you know create creatively and I when I was young looking at Bradbury's movies reading his short stories I felt that 12:47 Spirit you know of openness and the excitement that just comes from doing 12:52 something not as Bradbury said for money or fame first is for the love of doing 12:59 it you get money in Fame later if you get it well that's fine but that's not your motivation your motivation is the 13:06 fact that when you create you're creating yourself 13:11 with every canvas with every novel with every story with every poem you're 13:18 realizing your own individual inherent potential as a human being who can 13:24 through craft give a gift to the world of beauty goodness and Truth goodness and beauty 13:31 that may enrich the lives of others that's why I think we create and why we 13:36 honor this guy now shut up [Applause] 13:45 goodbyes if you wouldn't mind just no I was uh relatively poor kid grew up in a broken 13:52 home in South Central Los Angeles and I knew that the world that was presented to me was not the real world I knew that 13:59 there were some things that were said to me about who I was and what my potential was and what my people were that was not 14:04 accurate so I as many people did I think a large number of people in the science fiction fantasy fanish Community are 14:11 people who grew up feeling like the world was not the world inside them that they connected with was not the same as 14:17 the world that they saw and that they looked to the Stars they looked to the past they looked to other worlds and 14:23 other winds to get a sense of in some ways what might be truer that science 14:29 fiction is a fiction of ideas and Concepts that you know what if if only 14:35 if this goes on often anchored to physics but sometimes about 14:40 the human heart but usually if there are two questions that are Central to philosophy those questions are probably 14:46 who am I and what is true what is it to be human and what is the world that human beings perceive and science fiction approached it in one way fantasy 14:54 approaches it in another fantasy is not about the world of physics it's about the world of symbols and the human heart 15:01 and the way these things interact it's about the Poetry what's happening kind of between the atoms kind of between the 15:09 events so whereas science fiction has to be both internally and externally consistent connected to physics as I 15:16 said fantasy has to only be internally consistent that within this we're 15:21 talking about human heart human perception and what are we and how do we feel this 15:30 Bradbury Drew my attention I was reading voraciously at that time because I was 15:35 looking for you know that question who am I and what is true so am I slept in a 15:41 bedroom with the walls aligned with books and Ray Bradbury was interesting because he 15:47 wrote he was published in science fiction magazines but he was not writing about what if in that way it wasn't 15:53 interested in the physics of the situation he was interested in the Poetics of it as if he were a fantasy 15:58 writer he was about where is the human heart in all of this so the Martian Chronicles were not it was not what 16:05 Voyager landed on or whatever it was that were our first Rovers I forget what the name of was he was interested in 16:12 Edgar Rice Burroughs Mars he was interested in barsum you 16:19 know he was not he was interested in the Poetics of Science and because of that 16:24 he touched my heart he was a poet writing science fiction stories being published in science fiction magazines but you weren't going to learn anything 16:30 about science by reading Ray Bradbury which you were going to learn about was what is it to be human what is it to see 16:36 the stars what is it to yearn for a meaning to our lives you know what what 16:42 are we in the vastness of the universe and that really touched this young kid 16:48 trying to figure out who he was that the vision of the universe in that sense was so large the individual political or 16:56 philosophical differences that that deviled us on Earth are meaningless once 17:01 you start backing up you know when astronauts talk about how when they were in orbit they looked down at the world 17:07 and there were no divisions of Nations and they had a spiritual experience where they said the first day everybody 17:12 was pointing out the city they came from you know the next day when they were talking about the the the the 17:18 International Space Station they were talking about what nations they came from the next day after that they were 17:24 talking about the continent and then by the fourth day they're just looking at the world and those individual 17:30 differences dissolved when you look at the world in terms of a sound of thunder 17:36 going back 100 million years or forward into the future the problems that we 17:41 have right now politically or in terms of nations in the in the the the joining 17:47 together of just different groups of people who've been separated by large amounts of geography 17:52 all that stuff disappears the question of what is the difference between this civilization and that Civilization 17:58 it might be a thousand years of development but a thousand years of development is 18:04 nothing in terms of the 13.7 billion years that this universe has existed 18:09 it's nothing at all those differences dissolve and when that was the world 18:14 that I wanted to live in a world in which those differences that were necessary because the human mind works 18:20 in terms of what is similar as opposed to what is different we're very that dualism created a lot of our science and 18:27 so forth and so on but ultimately getting caught in the middle of that you are not this because of that you are 18:34 this because of this if you feel caught in that then taking that larger perspective can feel like taking a 18:40 breath of fresh air for the first time of stepping outside anything anyone ever said about who you were or what your 18:46 potential was and being lost in the Poetry of experience so my connection to 18:53 Bradberry was that I sought The Poetry in the mundane the the unusual in the in 19:00 the daily and he went went there every time he went there from his earliest 19:06 stories which were often what are called biter bit stories where somebody does a 19:11 bad thing and they are destroyed by the consequences of their action in these old you know uh pulp magazines you know 19:19 and stories of ghastlys and murderers and ghosts and goblins I just ate that 19:25 up because I I would read him and I would read other people wrote the same thing but Bradbury was always about 19:31 something more than the events and the actions there we go absolutely absolutely so you know who I am growing 19:40 up in the shadow of giants one of whom was the man that we come here to honor today 19:45 is a kid who grew up in South Central Los Angeles wanted to be a science fiction writer found a great mentor in 19:52 Larry Niven who's one of the great science fiction writers of the 20th century took me under his wing showed me how to do it gave me opportunities I was 19:59 able to build a life I published over three million words and you know the New York Times bestseller list in this award 20:04 and that one that's all fine but the important thing is I got to spend my life doing the thing I dreamed of as a 20:11 kid that was the reward just to be able to do that to be able to every day talk 20:17 to the little kid inside me and say I've kept the faith and for him to look at me and say Dad you sure did that is worth 20:24 you there is nothing I would exchange that for and and Ray Bradbury was one of 20:30 The Shining lights that said it was possible to get all the way there and never sell yourself out yeah can I add 20:37 something to that of course um one of the things Bradbury gives us it 20:43 gave me as a young person I hear you saying Brad baby gave it to you too as a 20:49 sense of mystery and wonder about this existence in which we find ourselves the whole thing with the view 20:56 from The Sciences right from the solar system moving all the way out to galaxies as our problems seem so 21:04 infinitesimally small and trivial and race so small and trivial when we you 21:10 know take that perspective um so science fiction has an intellectual discipline 21:18 um allows us to dream you know one of my colleagues um the late Joanna Russ 21:24 once pointed out that the female man yeah yeah 21:30 um and at UW University of Washington she she once wrote that a woman wrote to 21:35 her um about why she loved science fiction she lived in a in a kind of ordinary 21:42 town you know very very boring and conformist but science fiction what she 21:47 really found appealing were the Landscapes the 21:53 landscape's so different from the ones that she was living in right it opened up the imagination science fiction has 22:01 always served that purpose I think well you know Ray Bradbury if I if I may add to what you're saying is that he might 22:09 quibble with something that you said there it isn't about developing your ability to dream it's about remembering it that we we go we all go quietly 22:17 insane every night but we forget that and that creativity 22:22 to a certain degree is simply opening up a pore between our unconscious minds that dream every night in the conscious 22:29 mind that that performs it does the performative part of our mind the part of us that says I am uh and the child 22:36 has that and life keeps telling the child be practical right stay here and 22:43 we'll start shutting that down Ray Bradbury never lost that thing he never 22:48 lost that connection with the child and their people will say that all there is of Genius is maintaining the creativity 22:54 of a child with the disciplined knowledge of an adult that if you can do that if you can maintain a connection 23:00 there you are going to be performing at the highest level that you are capable of performing it isn't it isn't 23:06 gaining something that you don't have it's remembering how you started it's 23:11 remembering the creativity and the aliveness and the sense of wonder that sense of Engagement that every child has 23:18 that gets squeezed out of us by the adult world yeah I know I know and 23:24 that's what we want to keep alive yes that child um Bradbury also put a lot of emphasis on 23:31 the importance of the subconscious too so I'm glad I'm glad you pointed that out 23:37 um you know we we always have to I think of you know think how do we get back to to 23:43 that innocence that that openness that we had as children before the world beat 23:49 it out of us or before critics you know beat it out of us um and and so what's that's one of the 23:56 reasons that uh Sharon skies are there and I are both practicing Buddhists 24:01 um our my practice at least gets rid of an awful lot of that conditioning 24:07 from childhood on from parents and field teachers so that I can experience the 24:13 world where that sense of newness and wonder and mystery you do have that I've 24:18 I've commented to people that one of the things I love about you is how easily you are astonished 24:25 that it's like you're constantly rediscovering yeah so you just you see it right there 24:32 oh the world is here still have that you're not numb it 24:39 hasn't been it hasn't been scabbed over your nerves are alive you're strong enough that you're not afraid to feel 24:46 okay and I think that when we lose courage you know fatigue makes cowards of us all often as we age or as we get 24:52 tired or as we shape our egos to fit into the different molds that people want us to shape into we start 24:58 forgetting who we are and and that we started this life to enjoy it that that 25:04 we want that sense of joy and instead of that we sack we settle for not being afraid if at best 25:11 yeah we can't lose that you cannot yeah a human being cannot lose that and still be fully Alive one of the things I would 25:17 like to think is my capacity one of the things at least in my work as a 25:22 philosophical novel is I think that literature should liberate our perceptions liberate our perception you say 25:29 astonishment I would like to be able to look at some look at you know look at 25:34 something as if I've never seen it before it's often been said or very creative people they look at something 25:40 strange as if it's familiar and the familiar is if it's strange right so we're constantly working with 25:47 Consciousness and our perception and here every moment that we're alive is new 25:54 every single moment is alive the past I've written a lot of historical fictions and so forth but the past has 26:00 passed in the future I'm not going to worry about it because it ain't come and it never will because that's a horizon the 26:06 future that we can never reach the only moment we have right here with each other is right here right now 26:15 before I came over here I sat for a little bit of meditation I always do that I would not meet a group or a crowd 26:21 or do anything in public and so I had that chance to sit if only for 10 or 15 minutes so that I can be 26:28 here right here with all of you right now and the only moment that exists in 26:34 time not worrying about what am I going to do when we're done with this or what what was the flight light getting us 26:40 here with no sleep you know from Seattle right here right now new never like this 26:46 moment before you get up in the morning why wash your face you got the soap you know okay that has never happened before 26:54 you might think I'm doing a routine thing no not that soap not that water 26:59 not that moment and not that version of you and not that version of me you're 27:04 right you can't step in the same piece of water twice because your foot is never the same and the water has changed 27:09 that's right so it's it's that awareness that the sacred is in the mundane that 27:15 it is in this moment it that what I try to do is to Center myself and then ask 27:21 myself what is the task to do next it task may be to get out of bed and have breakfast it may be to embrace my wife 27:28 it may be to counsel my son it may be to play with the cat it might be to answer an email it might be to write a story 27:34 but all those I'm not different people when I do those things I'm the same person playing different roles so let me 27:40 be appropriate the question is can I be appropriate in this moment can I be here with this moment and the demands of this 27:47 moment with the story that I'm writing or the person that I'm speaking to or the task that I have to do be here 27:53 totally right now yes 30 of yourself isn't trapped in the past remembering 27:58 regretting 30 is not projecting into the future what you're going to do you bring back all of yourself 100 to this moment 28:06 right now whether it's writing whether it's talking to your your son or me 28:12 talking to my grandson uh you're here totally right at this moment so one of 28:18 the reasons why the martial arts have are such a great tool for learning 28:25 that because one second of not thinking about right here and you get hit in the head that's right you know so there's 28:31 nothing like a smack upside the head to wake you up no I better be here now you know you better forget about the 28:37 hamburger I had yesterday or what my wife's gonna say when I get home this guy's Gonna Knock my head off right here 28:42 right now in this instant there is no more other moment in time there is no other moment that that's it and that 28:49 that sense of being there is consistent across all arts and so this conversation 28:55 concerning getting hit in the head it's like an athlete in the zone yes in the 29:00 zone right yes so go on well no it's the dissolution of the subject object relationship there is not a you and it 29:08 there is there is a there's something that is happening here and you're not observing yourself doing it because when 29:15 you're observing yourself some of the energy that you would have put into that moment is put into creating a self to 29:20 observe and what's even worse is when people observe themselves observing themselves now you're two steps removed 29:28 yes and you've lost all the energy you need to liberate your true self so in 29:34 one sense Society will try to keep you in the place of observing yourself and judging yourself because that way you 29:40 become dependent upon Society to say that you're okay because if you're in the moment you you know you're okay 29:46 you're always okay when you're in the moment you're you're not okay once you observe yourself and start judging 29:52 yourself but when you're there and it's just happening that's when you're totally alive and that's what we look 29:59 for in sexuality in driving on the freeway in in heavy traffic in the rain 30:05 in fighting in in writing in Reading is the sense of total engagement in the 30:11 moment the eye is not observed it is it is 30:17 subsumed in the process of the interaction that that thing of the page 30:22 opening up and you fall into the page can happen only once this component skills have been 30:30 reduced to unconscious competence right right as you can tell we we've talked a lot together [Laughter] 30:37 and we have long conversations like this but this gentleman here may have I was 30:43 going to say that this is the easiest job I've never had if they were paying me 30:50 man I you know um and uh I I definitely the interesting 30:55 thing is you know the the one I think it was like the one time I got a chance to I think Jason and I were on a zoom with 31:02 you in a similar conversation happened and we were like in the chat like hey man let's just stay here they don't 31:09 notice us let's just listen and and get it so that's what I and I also would be remiss if I didn't mention that I am a 31:14 fill-in uh Dr Rhonda Henry uh was uh ill and could not make it she would have 31:20 been the person here today uh so I didn't want to lift her up and mention that as well 31:26 um so thank you first of all thank you for for that first that opening sound thank 31:32 everybody for coming see you later oh no we're still we got one more got one more so I do have one more uh thing and and 31:39 this is more specific uh you you've certainly touched on it you you showed us uh these were uh yeah yeah these uh I 31:47 I purchased uh some years ago of a complete line of Planet stories 31:53 from the late 30s to the early 50s these are the original issues and they have Brad Barry's Original Stories in them 32:00 and a lot of other people too who became famous because this is this is where he 32:06 began you know with the pulse I wanted to have the actual feel of that 32:12 um underneath my fingers see one of the beautiful things about Bradbury and the 32:17 pulp Riders to me they're prolific they they were not worried about am I 32:23 writing something that will last for the ages no Bradbury is getting 20 to 40 32:28 dollars per story he's making himself right a thousand words a day a story a 32:35 week he's got to sell um to a month in order to pay his bills 32:40 okay he is immersed in the moment these precede comic books okay by a few years 32:45 and the comic book artists were the same people you know you you were not looking back you were immersed in the moment of 32:53 creation you had a deadline to meet that's right um and and you produced all 32:58 this stuff not thinking that this might shape called culture that the characters that you're creating from Edgar Rice 33:04 Burroughs to the Marvel characters that these would be installed in popular 33:09 culture 50 cents uh you know 50 years later so that even my grandson knows 33:15 these characters right um I I admire artists who work like that 33:20 who don't think that what they're doing is precious but what they're doing is absolutely everything they can do at the 33:27 present moment yes and then you let it go and you go on to the next one yes and you go into the next one and you're 33:33 blessed to be able to have the opportunity to do that and and that certainly was going to be you know kind 33:40 of the next question I wanted to throw out there very open-ended of course but just the idea of you know Bradbury's 33:46 influence I know you've touched on a little bit but just maybe if there was any any particular specific oh I 33:52 absolutely can but yeah go you can go first or you know I can go there or whatever whatever is appropriate I want 33:58 to hear your stories about bravery okay anybody want to hear my stories about rape River okay 34:04 because he was very important in my life and I did not write this out because I know for a fact that I'm going to get 34:11 choked up so get ready for that um and I wrote down some dates just so I 34:16 could I could get as precise as I could but this is not a formal you know 34:22 scholarly thing so if any of the dates are wrong you know apologies in advance so 34:28 I I grew up and I had a dream of being the science fiction writer it was a thing 34:33 that I I really loved to do because I didn't understand math well enough to be a scientist so I did the other thing I 34:39 could wrote write poetry of the sciences and so I was a little kid growing up South Central L.A and had dreams of 34:45 being a writer and I was writing as much as possible and everything around me told me that I could not do it you know 34:51 my mom my dad was a backup singer for Nat King Cole and I was in the studio when they did the the background vocals 34:58 for Ramblin Rose yeah just watching dad and every time it's on the radio I hallucinate that I can hear my dad's 35:05 baritone and my dad's singing career ultimately floundered and 35:10 it led to a divorce and so my mom was terrified that if I followed the Arts that I would have a similar failure and 35:17 she used to tear my stories up and burn them because she was so scared that I would go down that path but I you know I 35:23 just kept going and kept going and kept going and by the time I got to college I had 35:31 um tried I knew my mom wanted me not to write and so I tried to step away from 35:36 writing I would but I was tricking myself I'd take all kind of other classes I would take you know drama and 35:43 composition and English and speech and stuff like this work in the radio station I think things adjacent to 35:49 writing without writing and then finally they had a contest a writing contest on campus 35:56 where the winner would read a story to the to the alumni and I won the I won 36:03 the contest and I read the story to the alumni and I watched them react to me 36:09 and I realized this is who I'm supposed to be that there is I would rather fail 36:15 as a writer than succeed at anything else so I dropped out of college my girlfriend at the time who later 36:23 became my wife and are living together she was an artist and I was a writer and I was taking jobs adjacent to Hollywood 36:29 trying to work my way and I was also writing stories and I was starting to send them out and I was you know getting rejected and rejected and rejected and I 36:36 I think that at some point I started getting like a fifth of a cent a word and you know getting paid in 36:42 contributors copies but I think before my first sale uh I wrote a story a 36:47 Halloween story called trick or treat about a guy who it when he was a kid he 36:55 his candy is snatched by the kids in the neighborhood they were bullies and when he becomes an adult he starts you know 37:02 the kids in the neighborhood he's living in the same house they're playing tricks on him so he plays tricks back and the 37:08 next year they play a nastier trick and they asked that he plays a nastier trick on them and it goes back and forth and 37:13 back and forth until one year he plays a trick and the kids he accidentally kills a kid and he knows it next year they're 37:20 going to kill him and so this story is called trick-or-treat and I found out that Ray Bradbury was doing an 37:28 autographing at a bookstore and so my girlfriend was an artist and I created a 37:33 a a Halloween card that contained the story and artwork and we went to his 37:39 signing and we gave it to him in an envelope that had my address on it and about six weeks later I got a letter 37:45 back from Ray Bradbury saying he loved my story and this was the first time a 37:51 professional human being a person who was doing the thing that I wanted to do let alone somebody who I admired so much 37:57 had said yeah kid maybe you've got what it takes it meant more than I can 38:03 possibly say and inspired me to keep going so I kept going I'm writing and I'm trying to do this I'm trying to do 38:09 that I'm still not succeeding very much but I was starting to make a little bit of progress my mom 38:15 who had always been terrified finally realized that there was no way I was going to give it up and so she kind of 38:21 got on the bandwagon and she found a course that was being taught at UCLA 38:27 extension by Robert Kirsch who was the literary editor of the LA Times in about 38:33 1980 let's say 1975 1975 and 38:39 uh no no this is about about 1980 about 1980. uh and so I took a class from 38:46 Robert Kirsch and it was a strange class you know it was the little blue-haired lady writing astrological poetry and it 38:52 was the guy writing this going and I was writing these strange stories and I wrote one very strange story called is 38:59 your glass half empty about a compulsive Gambler who Hawks his pacemaker and he 39:06 Kirsch looked at me and he didn't know quite what to make of the story and he said 39:11 I've Got a Friend I'd like to show this story to would you mind if I did that and I said sure go right ahead and about 39:17 six weeks later I got a note I got a letter from Ray Bradbury who was Robert kirsch's friend writing telling me again 39:24 he didn't remember the earlier story he just said hey you know kid you know this is this is good you know this you know 39:30 that you've got something go for it don't ever give up doing that Ray Bradbury inspirational thing I kind of 39:35 said I got two letters from him you know this is this is cool so let me keep going 39:41 I eventually met Larry Niven and began working with him and started getting my 39:47 career going and in about what year did you publish your first story I published 39:52 my first story in probably about 1980 1981 somewhere in there maybe 79 to 81. 39:58 somewhere in there and it was like a fifth of the center word you know and then I finally the first story that was 40:03 published in a professional magazine was called uh it's called endurance vial about an 40:12 athlete who accidentally discovers a meditation that triggers his ability to 40:17 be more of an athlete and he starts running and he can't stop you know so that I think that was my first my very 40:23 first publication and I was working with Larry Niven and I had the balls to walk 40:29 up to Larry you know at the Las Vegas science fiction thing and I said hello Mr Niven my name is Stephen Barnes and 40:35 I'm a writer and he looked at me and said all right tell me a story I I found out that from the way I'd come 40:40 on to him I had about 10 seconds to prove I wasn't an luckily I just put that story is your 40:47 glass half empty into the mail that morning so I was able to stumble out you know I 40:53 think and that led to us eventually working together in my CR in my working he gave me a chance to work on an 41:00 earlier story of his that he hadn't been able to finish to his satisfaction called the locusts which was about a 41:06 group of space colonists who go to a planet and their children begin to devolve to australopithecines and they 41:13 don't know how to deal with it and if the problem in this story who would right if the problem of the story had 41:19 been biology or a cryptozoology or 41:25 physics or astrophysics I would have been lost but luckily the problem in the story was the psychology that Larry did 41:33 not understand group psychology as well as I think he could have such that he did not understand the impact that would 41:40 have on that little Colony if these things happen he was underestimating the emotions involved so that gave me an 41:47 opening a way that I could contribute something this story and it led to a Hugo nomination and my first real 41:54 publication you know with lyrics it was like you know wow this was you know I'm on my way so one of the things that I 42:00 was asked to do in this process was there was something called the planetary society in which I was asked to be a 42:07 presenter to be an announcer so I introduced several luminaries that were there astrophysics I mean there might 42:14 have been an astronaut so forth and one of the people was Ray Bradbury so Ray walked up on stage and before he walked 42:20 up on stage I told my story about how I was he was responsible for my me getting published by giving me inspiration at a 42:28 time when I was getting rejection after rejection after rejection started to question myself and he walked up on 42:34 stage and gave me a big hug and it was just a great moment everybody applauded it was very nice about eight years after 42:40 that um I was teaching a class at UCLA 42:45 and it was a a symposium and every week we had a different notable come in one 42:51 week it was Ray Bradbury so when I went to Ray's house came to class he came to 42:56 yeah he came and talked at the Symposium he was one of the I think seven notables that we had coming there 43:03 um and before the class I took him to dinner at in Westwood and 43:12 Larry Niven had asked if he could keep me but before Larry got there 43:17 ah I for 20 years I was the only black male 43:24 science fiction writer in the world so far as I could determine chip Delaney had left the field he'd gone into 43:30 Academia and queer fiction because he couldn't make a living in science fiction I survived largely because of my 43:37 partnership my mentorship with Larry Niven because I would I do collaboration with him and I'd make enough money to be 43:43 able to keep food on the table in the roof over our head but I was starting to wonder was I losing myself 43:49 was had I sold myself out was I losing 43:55 my art and I remember I had dinner with Leo and 44:01 Diane Dillon who we were just talking about in in Greenwich Village and they 44:06 are they were the essence of art it was like we're one they work they did Art together where one would start a line 44:11 the other one would finish it and back back so far and I was sitting at that table talking to them about the career 44:19 of an artist thinking I'd get some tips for my wife who was interested in being a professional artist and I suddenly realized that I didn't care about that 44:25 but I wanted to know was had I sold myself out had I sold out 44:31 my heart and I sat there and I just poured my eyes out and I just started crying finally I realized because I was 44:38 in the presence of real artists here this this was this was for real and I felt like a fraud I felt like a phony 44:44 and I was I just you know I poured my heart out to them and I finally said it is it too late for me 44:51 and they looked at each other and Diane looked at her husband and then she reached across the table and she took my 44:57 hands and she said Steve if you can even ask that question it's 45:04 not too late well that helped but I'm sitting at the table 45:11 with Ray Bradbury my childhood Idol who somehow I had choreographed an 45:16 opportunity to to be with him and and break bread with him and speak with him and I it was pretty much the same 45:23 question it's like you know I I've been hiding behind Larry Niven and his partner Jerry Purnell I'm writing these 45:29 things and I've gotten these Awards and made this money and so forth but I feel like I don't know have 45:36 am I broken you know is it too late for me is it can I can I still touch that 45:42 part of me that that is that's sacred and he asked me of course 45:48 he said have you published and I said oh yeah I published all these 45:53 stories in about six books and this that he just started laughing he just laughs oh you are going to have no problem at 46:00 all and hearing that for the second time is what made the difference I was able to see 46:06 that that I was just on this road I did not see Rey again 46:11 for many years and then in maybe the end of 2011 or the 46:18 beginning of 2012. I would I was asked if I would make a presentation at a more 46:24 at a at a acknowledgment dinner for Ray Bradbury who was very ill he could barely speak 46:31 he was in his wheelchair and it was held at the Universal Sheraton Sometime Late 46:37 2011 or early 2012. and I got up on the stage 46:44 it was so good to see him and he was so diminished physically but 46:49 the child self was still so alive in him his eyes were still still alive and I I told the 46:57 story of how he had reached out to me when I was getting started and he'd 47:03 written these letters giving me hope ing me believe that maybe it was 47:09 possible for me to have the life that I wanted how grateful I was for a chance to say 47:16 thank you to this great man and after I finished he held out his arms and he 47:22 gave me a hug and I went home and six weeks later I got a letter from him 47:32 telling me thanking me for the words I'd said 47:38 and how it had reminded him of his own path and his own Joy in his gratitude for the life that he 47:46 had had and the fact that he'd been able to touch others in the last words in that letter were 47:53 some of your tears are my own Ray Bradbury 47:58 and about six weeks after that he passed away and I just 48:05 wanted to say there's is no greater gift in life than 48:12 being able to take a look at the child you were and the truth and the dreams that they 48:18 had it realized that you were actually able to live that life 48:24 and that there was no possible way that you could have done it alone and that being able to talk to other 48:31 people along the path who say you know you're not remotely at 48:37 their level not remotely but they don't care all they care about is are you 48:43 writing are you reading are you teaching where are you what does the territory 48:48 look like from where you are and I just wanted to say that everybody in this room 48:55 has walked a path that others wish they could walk has answered questions that other people can't even formulate yet 49:02 and you never know what a kind word or a kind act is going to mean 49:09 his actions meant the difference between life and death 49:16 for part of my soul and I could not be who I am we're not 49:22 for people who had been kind to me who saw me and saw some potential Within Me 49:31 it reached out their hand and said you're going to have no problem at all 49:38 and I think you for the chance to come here and say 49:44 publicly how much I owe those people in one specific man one great man 49:53 Ray Bradbury who changed and saved my life 50:11 I'm going to pick up on like two things that you said Steve I know in my life there were individuals 50:18 who encouraged me when I couldn't get that encouragement from anywhere else 50:23 and when you're young you're tender you know you're in your teens and um 50:30 you know I'm not gonna belabor you know and bore you with those individuals who 50:35 did that for me but that's an extremely important thing for a young person an 50:41 old person too to have somebody who gives you permission 50:46 to go that route and to trust yourself and to trust your passion that could be 50:52 a teacher you've also written about a teacher in high school who um you know 50:58 positively gave you reinforcement yes so those those teachers are 51:04 extremely important um in our lives and I've had a a a several you know uh when I was a 51:12 cartoonist and then the novelist John Gardner when I started writing novels 51:18 and he led me into the book World which I knew nothing about and then later you know when I was in philosophy with my 51:25 dissertation director who became a dear friend who's actually passing away right 51:30 now but those teachers are extraordinarily important but there's something else you said I'd like to know 51:36 I'd like you to say a bit more about you've worked with Niven yes collaboratively yes and you're wondering 51:43 what's happening to me you know where am I you know so is that the opening that 51:50 question that led you to and to Nana Reeve to afrocentrism 51:56 is that how you found your way there well okay afrofuturism yeah I'm sorry yeah 52:03 for future futurism um well all that happened is that I worked with Larry Niven and his partner 52:09 Jerry Purnell and um I learned the basics of my craft and 52:16 I already had the basics of my craft I came to them with a certain amount of skills that were developed but then they 52:21 took me to being professional I remember you know Jerry I never I don't know how many writers in world history have ever 52:27 had the experience of two world-class writers best-selling writers award-winning writers sitting on opposite sides of the room tearing apart 52:34 their work at the same time because I was working on a book with the two of them and Cornell was taking great 52:40 pleasure in this how Burns we're ripping apart barnes's precious Pros Barnes was your mother 52:47 scared by a gerund I mean he would take he took such Glee in ripping me a new 52:55 one every single time I would drive home from working with them crying sobbing 53:01 because you know just taking this battering but it was like it was like being asked to spar with the black belt 53:07 class you got your butt kicked every night but you would crawl off the mat 53:12 but you'd know if I can survive this I'm going to be a fighter so I knew if I 53:18 could survive this I will learn things that are taught in no school in the world now one of the things is that 53:23 Jerry wrote stories that Jerry wanted to read Larry Niven wrote stories Larry Niven wanted to read so in order to be 53:30 like them I didn't it wasn't writing like Larry nibbon or Jerry Purnell I had to write stories that Stephen Barnes 53:37 wanted to read what were those stories into a huge degree 53:42 there is that question what was missing from the field and what was missing was people who 53:48 looked like me right and it wasn't passive it was active insult Edgar Rice 53:54 Burroughs would write stories you know in which in which uh the 53:59 Enterprise Burrows stories were the the core of Tarzan was specifically racism 54:05 specifically the idea that a British that an English Lord gentleman raised by Apes is still a gentleman and he made 54:11 racism specific in one of his stories in the jungle Tales of Tarzan where he says 54:16 white men have imagination black men have little animals have none I mean that was specifically so you can't get 54:23 away from it but I needed those stories because I was trying to Define myself as a man where I 54:29 am in the universe so as I once said to a group that I I sacrificed my melanin 54:35 on the altar of my testosterone I mean I I wanted to be a man more than I cared 54:40 about being black I would I would add something you brought something to Parnell and and Niven that they didn't 54:46 have yes from your perspective in your history they did not have the black orientation any of that no but but I 54:52 don't know if that worked into the books not that much I mean Jerry was was by 54:58 his own uh statement took politically to the right of Attila the Hun so it was 55:05 difficult to navigate that territory but one of the things I learned was how to argue with somebody smarter than you because Jerry was just smarter than me 55:11 just you know he's you know Jerry's brain had a rocket attached to it Larry's brain had a transport a 55:19 transporter attached to it whereas I could understand how Jerry would do stuff it was just an ordinary brain with a lot more information working a lot 55:25 faster but Larry would dematerialize and materialize someplace I was just like I don't even know how you got there so 55:33 taking their lessons and then writing my own stories demanded that I write for my 55:39 own experience so I'm then dealing with the fact that you know my my first book 55:45 was a book with Larry my second book was a book with Larry my third book was a solo book and I wrote a black character 55:53 I specifically wanted to create a black hero that was Street Lethal yeah but the 55:59 book company Ace put a white guy on the cover he's very clearly described as being as dark 56:05 as Zulu and they put a white guy on the cover and my poor editor called me up and she's in tears you know Beth Meacham 56:13 is her name very nice lady not her fault she said that they had done this Susan Allison who was the head editor I don't 56:20 have as good a feeling about her because she kind of blew it off she wasn't upset well it's one of those things that 56:26 happened it was the marketing department and I talked to the marketing department oh no it's the advertising it's the art 56:32 Department I talked to the art Department the art Department said well it's the sales department and the sales 56:39 department said well the truck drivers who are going to put the books on the stands would think that this was shaft 56:45 in space and so I realized at that point I can either hate white people I'd 56:52 rather not do that did I say that out loud no 56:57 I could either hate white people or I consider that what's going on here is an 57:03 example of how human beings think that human beings feel protective of their 57:08 tribe and almost all human beings are tribal they happen to have that power Everybody wants to rule the world 57:13 everybody wants to feel that the world reflects who they are in the mirror so this is I'm just at the an unfortunate 57:21 unfortunate effect of this what do I do with it I can either use this and say 57:27 the world kicked my ass or I can say this is where we are right now my dad 57:35 working with Nat King Cole performed in in hotels in Las Vegas where he could 57:42 not stay the world has gotten better than that 57:47 it's just not as good as I would like it to be how much longer will it take and I 57:54 projected trend lines in my mind I thought it might take two generations it might take two generations it might 58:00 take another 30 to 40 years before the world is ready for the stories that I want to tell 58:07 can I survive long enough to do that and so I started a program of I am going I'm 58:14 going to stay in this field and I'm going to create my stories and I'm going to do everything I can do 58:20 because I'm going to make it first of all I'm going to write stories that the kid who started this path would have 58:25 wanted to read and I'm going to create a career path so that other people coming in will have an 58:31 easier time than I have an Octavia Butler and I were the only black people working in the field we had many 58:37 conversations about this we lived walking distance from each other and Octavia was a level above me as a writer 58:42 she was often not happy with what I wrote Because she felt I was not living up to my potential 58:48 she would write and they put green people on the covers of her books but they wouldn't put black people you know 58:53 so we had lots of interesting conversations about that what do we feel about it what are we going to do I felt 58:59 I if I can stay in here and write the stories that I want stories that would 59:05 nurture the younger person I was that no matter what happens I've not been beat 59:10 and then I found out one day that there were Scholars studying something called afrofuturism and I was considered to be 59:16 an afrofuturist I didn't try to be one I was just trying to write Stephen Barnes stories 59:21 casually said that you lived walking distance from Octavia but I want to point out oh yeah you know we 59:27 used to come over for dinner and I'd go over her place and then we would just sit and we'd talk writing in life she was like my big sister I was wondering 59:33 you know um you go back to what is it the 20s the 30s and you've got black no 59:39 more that that early yes um and then you fast forward a little 59:44 bit and you got chipped Delaney and yeah you he said he couldn't make a living so 59:50 he moved on incredibly um once again elegant Pro stylist amazing and and then 59:56 you have October Xavier Butler and then there's you yeah that's about it and now 1:00:01 we have a lot of people tons of sci-fi can't even count them yeah but you guys are the best you guys were the pioneers 1:00:09 you seriously you were Pioneers um which is really quite incredible when you think back about it remember Pioneers 1:00:16 get arrows in the butt you know I was just trying I was just trying to 1:00:22 be the best writer that I could be in trying to survive trying to take care of my family and trying 1:00:28 to to survive in Hollywood and I made mistakes I made mistakes I betrayed that 1:00:34 little creative spark inside me a couple of times and it hurt I mean I was just 1:00:39 you know you can only sell yourself out so much yeah you know what's even worse is if you try not to sell out and then 1:00:46 one day you sell out nobody's buying you know so that's even worse but I remember 1:00:52 one of my agents I lost or walked away from one of my agents in Hollywood because I walked in there with my heart 1:00:59 on my sleeve and I said you know I don't know what's going to happen in my career but when I leave Hollywood I want to 1:01:06 leave with my sense of Honor intact and he looked at me and he said you'll be the only one and I realized at that 1:01:13 moment he and I did not understand each other at all I need to find a new agent because I'm not going to sell my soul to 1:01:20 do this I'm going to do everything I can and I will not sell out but I will rent myself 1:01:25 you know and I will stretch as far as I can but I'm always going yeah I'm I'm I'm kind of a hoe but 1:01:36 enjoy my work 1:01:43 if I write an episode of Baywatch and I have I wrote four episodes of Baywatch 1:01:48 people say that's not science fiction I said you ever see those silicon life forms running around on the beach 1:01:53 um I found something in every episode that I could actually care about and there's 1:02:01 another story I can go into that I might tell another time where the producers did eventually end up turning on me but 1:02:07 I got revenge but that's another story that's 1:02:13 um let's let's we'll uh well first okay before I think we can open up to a 1:02:22 little bit of a q a um but before we do that of course we want to just really thank you for your 1:02:27 words and Candor have you have you said everything you wanted to see you came prepared with some comments you came 1:02:33 prepared with some comments have you expressed what you wanted to express I came prepared with you no you had some 1:02:39 comments you were almost going to write a talk to do this but instead of that you prepared some comments I just wanted to be sure that that Charles has had an 1:02:46 opportunity to express himself no no no no I'm fine okay I think it's probably a 1:02:51 good idea if you want to move to that next question yes but before we did that look at this beautiful let's thank these 1:02:57 uh these these wonderful discussions 1:03:04 respect just trying to be like you no you don't want to believe me so uh 1:03:12 what what we could do um is you know 1:03:18 the the aisles could be your your pathway or if you so choose you could 1:03:23 just kind of raise it I can't see you because of the lights so perhaps you might want to stand up over okay that 1:03:29 they just raise the house lights yeah they just did so I could see folks so if 1:03:34 you have a question if you have a comment please just raise your hand and uh I will uh 1:03:39 catch you not everybody at once there we go Tumbleweed we got one yeah 1:03:47 and you'll have to project because I don't think we have a walking mic you're a big boy oh it's over here there we go 1:03:53 okay 1:03:59 no they were right even better 1:04:07 okay so they're gonna they got questions on index cards oh I see that people wrote already yes all right all right 1:04:13 good this is good because I can read them all okay come on yeah I just get them all at 1:04:21 once 1:04:29 don't do it all right 1:04:36 all right I'm gonna start here okay we're ready okay so I think this one is 1:04:41 for both of you and so this person says that they want to say that they appreciate uh that you both came out to 1:04:47 speak with us this evening and they love hearing your story um the question is is there a book that 1:04:53 you wrote that holds the most significance to you um if so would you be okay with sharing 1:05:00 your thoughts on the story um and then there's a little statement uh 1:05:06 at the bottom it says on the day when life seems to be too much to handle with all that you do okay that's the second 1:05:12 question so just go with the first question is there a particular book that you wrote that holds the most significance to you 1:05:19 um and if so uh would you share your thoughts on the story I can do that easily okay uh most significant book for 1:05:25 me was my second novel called oxygen tale which was rejected two dozen times nobody understood it my own Mentor 1:05:34 um John Gardner did not understand it and actually was afraid of the Buddhism that was in this 1:05:41 novel which is in the form of a slave narrative philosophical novel no form of a slave narrative with access to Western 1:05:48 and Eastern philosophy and my editor didn't understand it for my first book and um but that was critical 1:05:54 had I not done that book all the other books that I've done 26 1:06:00 after you know total 27 I would not have done it I had to do that book and once I 1:06:07 did that book I understood some things about myself I wrote the book to free myself of my 1:06:15 passion in reading of Eastern philosophy and Buddhism from my teens so I'm going to write this book you know and I'm 1:06:21 going to be free of it got to the end of the book I realized no this is the beginning for me so everything I've done has been in a 1:06:28 way referenced back to Oxford and tail which has a Bradbury connection because there is a soul catcher a slave Hunter 1:06:35 and Coors of Adam who has tattoos all the black people that he captures 1:06:42 are killed he gets tattoos on his body that where where is that going to come from except the Illustrated Man right 1:06:48 we're not which I read when I was younger so that that was a critical book for me I'll say that much 1:06:55 um yeah so that's mine for me it would almost certainly be 1:07:01 lions blood which Lion's blood you know which uh was my statement on race 1:07:08 relations in America uh basically it was it took me six years of research and I 1:07:14 basically created an alternate history which was an alternate America that was colonized by Islamic Africans bringing 1:07:20 in this particular instance Irish slaves here and so the story it deals with a 1:07:26 young Irish boy named Aiden Odair who is kidnapped by Vikings and sold to the Moors in Spain in andalus the word 1:07:32 perspective and brought to balalistan the United States to the province of nujibouti Texas where he becomes the 1:07:39 foot boy slip of Kai ibiz who is a young Islamic nobleman and the 1:07:46 story covers their friendship for about eight years from childhood to the beginnings of adulthood and um that I 1:07:53 don't know if I'll ever work that hard on a book again I probably will not I remember what you said you invited 1:07:59 Scholars to a party yeah to ask them questions yeah I basically knew that I could spend a hundred years researching 1:08:06 and still not touch one percent of what I needed to know so I did one of the smartest things I've ever done it's probably one of the 10 smartest things 1:08:12 I've done in my life I invited a room full of the smartest people that I knew and people came from from hundreds of 1:08:18 miles in addition to my invitation and we had a pizza party all day long I fed them pizza and beer and I had graph 1:08:25 paper and butcher paper on the walls and I passed out notebooks with the basic 1:08:32 premises of the world you know the politics and the economics and so forth of this alternate universe and I had a 1:08:39 videographer following people around and all day long we theorized about this 1:08:45 world that I was trying to create and they showed me everything they showed me so many things that I had not thought of 1:08:50 that by the end of that single day I had enough research to begin the writing process that I'd done six years of 1:08:57 research before I did that party so I my attitude is you want to know enough to 1:09:03 ask the right questions of experts and if you can ask an expert the right 1:09:09 question and they say oh yes well that's you know and they go off then you know enough to write your story you this is a 1:09:15 perfect example of what they call World building yeah World building and you went on to do a sequel or at more than 1:09:22 well I I did two of them Lion's bullet in Zulu heart Zulu heart yeah 1:09:27 all right and so we have we have a good number of questions I think we can okay I'll keep it shorter no no but we're 1:09:34 good I think everybody here is enjoying uh being able to hear is this okay guys I think we're all right this is what you 1:09:40 came for it's all it's all about you you can't get you can't Prime me out of the house but once I'm out of the house I really 1:09:47 do want to serve whoever brought me out so this is your chance okay and then for anyone out there if I misread anything 1:09:53 feel free to correct me um uh given that we celebrate uh 1:09:59 creativity originality and the process of fantasy is naming things a reductive 1:10:05 Act 1:10:11 is naming things a reductive Act well that's a big epistemological 1:10:18 question of course I mean how would you answer that um to name something is given of nature that's one way you could 1:10:24 talk about this to name something is to limit it uh to whatever name you you've given it uh given to it I there's a lot 1:10:33 of ways you could take this but but naming can be extremely important um guys how to talk about I guess people 1:10:41 who are Chinese have four or five different names you know a birth name and it it I'm going to let you you feel 1:10:48 that one um it is reductive but then again all language is reductive all language is a 1:10:55 reification of of something all language is a symbol and it's possible to mistake 1:11:00 the menu for the meal you know if you go you know kind of stepping into my core zipski for a second 1:11:06 um but language is all we have you know we're communicating with people 1:11:12 he said when you go in the other room and get what do you say you know the the salty thing you know it's all you know 1:11:19 the thing that makes things taste sharper you've just use labels for things the the concept of taste you've 1:11:26 used the label for the concepts of something that is bitter as opposed to sweet as opposed to Salty all those 1:11:31 things are labels all words are nothing more than that and 1:11:37 what you do with language I remember chip Delaney in his book The Jewel hinge jaw on writing he talks about the fact 1:11:44 that every word creates an impression you know the okay is this definite article the boy okay we 1:11:51 getting a noun in here the boy ran he got a the boy ran from oh okay now we're getting a sense of direction that that 1:11:57 just as music is what happens between the notes poetry is what happens between the words 1:12:03 as you hear a word and your brain does what's called a transderivational search for the meaning of that word it's the 1:12:10 journey that people go on between the words that creates the impression of art it's like you know this note followed by 1:12:16 that note what happens in between there the negative space is what an artist is manipulating or it's the thing that we 1:12:23 don't see we see the words but we don't see the space between the words let me see the tree the trees but we don't see 1:12:28 the space between them but it's a space between them the trees punctuate that space to create a forest so the labels 1:12:35 that we use we use not necessarily to Define things but to guide Consciousness you know think about this now think 1:12:42 about this now think about this what is the journey you go on between the words that's the thing that the artist plays 1:12:49 with that people do not see and that is in some ways the most important thing and you only learn to get there by 1:12:56 concentrating on the words and then at some point you see the forest that you have created with the use of those words 1:13:03 it's one of the reasons why the first draft it's so important it just as far as I'm because it just vomited out your 1:13:09 first draft should be trash just get it out there what what Bradbury referred to as running Barefoot through the grass 1:13:16 let your first draft be done from Pure Love then 1:13:21 the rewrite process is where you're adjusting and playing with it but just 1:13:26 get that first draft out there don't try to make your first draft meaningful they'll try to make it good don't try to 1:13:32 you know make the work of the Masters just write down the music that you're hearing and adjust it later 1:13:38 and then rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite that's right that's right 1:13:45 okay and uh so um you keep mentioning trials uh Delaney 1:13:51 uh Samuel I'm sorry okay I don't know I'm well enough to you know I know who he is 1:13:58 I've read his work but I don't I don't know him see I know you know you just casually mentioned Octavia Butler so I'm 1:14:04 sure you know chip Delaney wasn't enough to come to anyway I'm stop joking around here um so this question is about uh Mr 1:14:11 Delaney why is Delaney out of fashion and the person mentioned that they loved 1:14:17 reflection of light in water I would say it's simply because different styles of writing go in and 1:14:24 out of fashion chip Delaney came into the science fiction field in the 60s was called the new wave where 1:14:30 people see the first generation of Science Fiction were people who knew science and literature you know Jules 1:14:35 Verne and H.G Wells and so forth the next generation of Science Fiction Olaf Stapleton and people like that knew the 1:14:42 work of wells and and the the Next Generation after that people like uh 1:14:47 Robert Heinlein they knew the Olaf stapletons and so forth and they were doing the same thing but by the time you 1:14:52 get to the 60s there was enough science fiction literature that it actually started coming back around instead you 1:14:59 know the that science fiction of the 30s and the 40s was justifiably mocked by 1:15:05 literary establishment because it wasn't interested in literary qualities it was interested in ideas Big Ideas you know 1:15:11 back it up to yeah to the first science fiction magazine which is what 1:15:16 if uh analog astounding uh no no it's 1:15:22 even earlier than that something planets or something the whole purpose of it was to teach young people science you talk 1:15:29 about Hugo guernsbach gernsbach gertzbach okay yeah yeah the grinsberg and that's where you get the term 1:15:34 science fiction it was to teach and be didactic right however the earlier guys 1:15:41 if I don't mischaracterize them would give us a science but they really weren't good with certain things like 1:15:47 characterization yes and and the virtues that go along with literature by the time you get to the 60s you see 1:15:55 the shift from the hard Sciences physics you know and in chemistry and all that kind of stuff to the soft Sciences yes 1:16:02 that is to say sociology and anthropology and blah blah blah so you 1:16:07 and my colleague Joan Russ was was part of that I interviewed yes she was I interviewed her and Chip Delaney because 1:16:14 we did a special issue of the Seattle review which I was at fiction editor of for 20 years devoted to science fiction 1:16:20 so I interviewed them together in the office at the University of Washington 1:16:26 um so so I want you to finish this off what happened to chip Delaney what happened to chip Delaney is that in the 1:16:33 new wave people like him and Ted sturgeon and Harlan Ellison were playing with language 1:16:39 they started playing with language and deconstructing the the relationship 1:16:45 between language and Consciousness to create effects in their work so they weren't telling you know uh 1:16:51 straight forward stories Bradbury was an early person who was grounded in the 1:16:57 pulps but used that manipulation of negative space emotionally and 1:17:03 artistically to create an effect you would put down one of the stories and say this wasn't science fiction but somehow you know I want to look at the 1:17:09 stars okay chip Delaney was in some ways well there were ways in which he was 1:17:15 limited from writing about what he really wanted to write about which was his sexuality and race and he could not 1:17:20 write about those things at that time so he would deconstruct language in concepts of race and Consciousness and 1:17:26 so forth and he was friggin brilliant he was one of the very first if not the 1:17:31 first black writer that John W Campbell who was the editor of astounding which 1:17:36 became analog would published because Campbell was a racist I mean he right there he would I know two people who 1:17:42 have letters from him where he stated straight out you can't write about an advanced application of civilization 1:17:48 because Africans aren't smart enough to create one that was and he was one of 1:17:53 the foundations of the field so Chip Delaney had to hide who he was in order to write so he hid in the world of the 1:17:59 intellect I will be so brilliant I will people when people think chip Delaney 1:18:04 they will not think black they will think brilliant he he deliberately expressed his intellect so that people 1:18:11 wouldn't notice his skin color but that where and that's my interpretation 1:18:17 that's nothing he ever said directly to me about it but that wears on you how do 1:18:22 you write stories for people and you feel in your heart they don't want to know who I really am they if they 1:18:28 acknowledge my intellect they're making me an exception oh if they were all like chip Delaney we wouldn't have a problem 1:18:33 that that eventually can turn to ashes in your mouth and lead to you asking 1:18:39 questions of Ray Bradbury and Leo and Diane Dillon um and he at some point got out of it 1:18:46 but the field moved on that the 60s broke the box that Olaf Stapleton and 1:18:52 Robert Heinlein and Arthur C Clarke and Isaac Asimov created by asking us to you 1:18:57 know the 60s were a time of experimentation and drugs and love and peace and so forth and so on 1:19:03 the generation that came after the 60s took all of that for granted and they began exploring Science Fiction with 1:19:09 simultaneously a sense of the Aesthetics that lead to literature and by the 80s and the 90s you actually 1:19:17 had a body of Science Fiction where the best of the best had both mastered storytelling and the sciences and the 1:19:24 capacity to create art and so Chip Delaney was forgotten to a degree because we no longer needed 1:19:32 what it is that he had brought to the field there was a recent issue of a magazine National magazine I can't 1:19:39 remember what it was a friend told me about it I didn't read it was a long piece on Delaney it's a long piece under 1:19:45 like a genuine genius huh Delaney was a genuine genius no question about it he 1:19:51 was one of Octavius teachers okay and you know so to act to him he Octavia is 1:19:57 insane Octavia she's a good writer sometimes better than others and so for you know and he's for real you know he 1:20:02 really means that um and both of them are above my level 1:20:08 but they what they were 1:20:13 helped make the field what it is they were foundational so let's get we got 1:20:20 four more I think we could get through them we will need to potentially move a 1:20:26 little quicker a little quicker okay I'm sorry because I'm I'm getting the signs but I don't want to disrupt the flow of 1:20:33 what's Happening Here so this person says growing up reading comics there was plenty of violence but now graphic 1:20:39 novels have the power to push out I believe it's saying out peace what are 1:20:45 your thoughts on that if you could push out peace I don't even know what that means if they mean that art is going to 1:20:52 make the world more violent I disagree with that wholeheartedly okay I think that that violence comes from being you 1:20:59 know it's like the Billy Budd syndrome you know the the greater your vocabulary and the more ideas you can express 1:21:04 through language the less you have to hit people there is an inverse relationship in prisons between the size 1:21:09 of vocabulary and the violence of the crime it's been noted many times by sociologists so the people who can play 1:21:15 with ideas don't need to stab you okay okay [Laughter] 1:21:25 moving at a steady clip we're gonna get there um thank you Elders for sharing your wisdom uh with your stories and the 1:21:31 question is how do you uh nurture the connection between your adult self and your child's self 1:21:40 how do you nurture the relationship between your adult self and your child 1:21:46 self you know I'll give you a meditation that I've seen other people use I don't know 1:21:52 if anybody here meditates but you can visualize this visualize yourself 1:21:58 as your younger self what what if you had a time machine and you could this has been done in movies 1:22:04 go back and talk to your younger self on a bad day when he or she just everything 1:22:10 went wrong getting beat up and so forth visualize yourself giving yourself that 1:22:16 kid you were a hug and holding that kid for you know a 1:22:22 breath or two and telling that kid you know it's pretty bad right now 1:22:28 but you don't know what's going to happen in the future that I do and it's going to be good 1:22:33 see that's perfect you know in in my system you know our pedagogy we teach we 1:22:39 have a podcast you know the life writing podcast and www.lifewritingpodcast.com and we talk 1:22:46 about a technique called the ancient child what the ancient child okay it is 1:22:51 a technique and it's like you imagine that at one end of a string is the child 1:22:57 that you were at the other end of the string is the old the Elder you're going to be on your deathbed you know just 1:23:02 just you're gonna die tomorrow be on all ego Beyond any need to look good or any 1:23:08 of that nonsense and all you're trying to do is move with Integrity between the dreams of childhood and the knowledge of 1:23:15 what values are real that you will have on your deathbed on the other side of ego and if you use a meditation like you 1:23:22 just suggested and you visualize the child self you can ask the child what it wants you to do 1:23:28 and you can also visualize the child and the Elder simultaneously then just sit 1:23:33 back and listen to them talk to each other and they will express everything you need to live your life with Integrity I've got another variation 1:23:40 that might be interesting particularly if you have difficulties with your parents 1:23:45 with your mom or dad visualize them and also maybe when they were young yes 1:23:53 they give them a hug love it I hadn't thought about that I 1:23:58 love that that it's not original to me that's multi-generational healing yes that's great yeah no I I didn't invent 1:24:06 that it's it's a meditation that people do in in the Buddhist tradition but also 1:24:12 I do the one with my younger self every time I meditate I give younger me a hug 1:24:17 yeah I do that I've never done that with my parents though and I'm going to do that within the next 24 hours that's 1:24:23 great I love it thank you last two very quick because these are quick ones what 1:24:30 are you reading now or watching 1:24:35 um I'm studying a time and energy management system I'm not reading any well actually no I'm reading the new 1:24:41 Stephen King novel of Holly and I'm studying a time in energy management system okay thank you well on the plane 1:24:46 from Seattle which left at seven in the morning so we had to be up at four in 1:24:51 the morning and I didn't get to bed but nevertheless from Seattle to Chicago I 1:24:57 read the essays in this the uh sin and the Art of writing by Bradbury okay and 1:25:03 that that was it was great well from Atlanta to Indianapolis I read a story 1:25:09 by one of the greatest living writers a guy named Charles don't go there don't 1:25:14 go there him a story that I just finished two 1:25:20 three days ago that's right because it's about martial arts I gotta show this to Steve and you promised you'd read it on 1:25:26 the plane and you didn't I thank you yes I did thank you I worked and one word possibly one quick word yes and we're 1:25:33 gonna bring Dr ockman back up but one quick word for any aspiring uh graphic 1:25:38 novel novelists writers who that was one of the questions so I'm terrified okay if you told me for just a second I've 1:25:45 got something specific I like to say the six step process that we teach in life writing and we learned this from Ray 1:25:51 Bradbury and studying other people like this the first step is write at least one sentence a day every day just make 1:25:56 that commitment second step is right between one and four short stories every month the third step is finish those 1:26:02 stories and submit them the the fourth step is do not rewrite your stories 1:26:07 except to editorial requests once you finish them don't rewrite them go on to the next door the fifth step is you read 1:26:14 ten times as much as you write and the last step is repeat this process 100 times we teach this to our students and 1:26:21 not a single person who's following this advice has failed to publish by story 26. okay well I used to teach at the 1:26:27 University of Washington in 33 years and I give my students assignments but one of the things I got them to do that I 1:26:34 found extremely valuable is keep a writer's workbook do not let your day go by in which you 1:26:40 have a thought a perception an image that comes to you and you don't put it down in your writer support workbook you 1:26:46 see an article that you like clip it this these These are extremely valuable I have 1:26:52 writer's workbooks that cover three shelves and go back to the early 70s 1:26:57 they're like memory memory aids keep a writer's workbook blank pages put 1:27:03 anything you want to on it you know like just descriptive passages you see somebody that you run into and they're 1:27:10 dressed in a distinctive and interesting way oh they got an interesting tattoo that goes the world is yours to process 1:27:17 through perception and you put that these scraps into your writer's workbook 1:27:22 and I assure you that they will be of use to you when you're I go through my writer's 1:27:29 workbooks I see I've thought about and written something on every subject Under the Sun literally since the early 70s so 1:27:37 it triggers my memory and I see my younger self actually because what is it you're paying attention to in the 70s 1:27:44 different than the 90s it's almost like an archeology of your own Consciousness 1:27:50 what you're focusing on during a particular decade I just filled up one 1:27:55 and I was I was telling one of my friends here I'd like to go by the bookstore to see if I can get another 1:28:00 blank book because I have to have that during the course of the day put stuff 1:28:06 into it is my journal every day yeah yeah I mean writers have them if you 1:28:12 want great examples of what they look like look at Hawthorne look at Chekhov look at um no I'm not Starcher I'm 1:28:20 thinking of some of the great writers we have their workbooks they have plot 1:28:26 outlines for stories they've never written they have observations of people um it started writers and just keep it's 1:28:34 just for you not for anybody else I'd like to make one quick comment 1:28:39 that if you like the way we've been talking about writing here you might want to come to a screenwriting Workshop that my wife and 1:28:46 I are doing you can find out about it at www.hollywoodloop hole.com and what I 1:28:51 will say is ignore the price on there if you need a price where we just want good people we don't care if you can afford 1:28:57 the full price for people who we know just write us a letter and saying that you you need a break on the price we'll 1:29:02 take whatever you got what we want is people come on September 23rd and really 1:29:08 want to learn how to write and about screenwriting 1:29:13 www.hollywoodloopole.com all right and folks please uh 1:29:19 make sure you're going to the events for the the festival 451 1:29:24 um tomorrow at the cancan theater will be filming uh screening Horror in the 1:29:30 war with uh Tanana you do wonderful you have an opportunity for book signing in 1:29:35 the back here thank you thank you thank you 1:29:40 [Applause] 1:29:51 thank you all so much that was amazing that was amazing thank you thank you and 1:29:57 uh there is an opportunity to get your books signed by Steve Barnes Dr Charles 1:30:03 Johnson Sharon Skeeter antonina review there are four tables up here at the front please put on your note cards what you 1:30:10 would like them to write in your book to my left the aisle in the far left 1:30:16 your right we're going to line up over here we're going to pull the tables forward and we're going to to get your 1:30:21 book signed if you need to purchase a book in order to have it signed uh The Book Table is still up in the in the 1:30:28 foyer to the back there where I'm pointing and thank you all for a wonderful night thank you for such a a 1:30:35 stimulating discussion and uh we love you thank you [Applause]

Your New Favorite Action Couple Filled With Magic Productions is excited to announce our next project, The Newlyweds: Blood at The Altar. On their wedding day, a couple must battle their guests for their marriage to survive. The film is a proof-of-concept for a feature film trilogy that establishes the origin story of this new kick-ass couple. It is written and directed by Lucien Christian Adderley and Richard 'Byrd' Wilson -- aka The 89Writers. Their work can be seen on television shows such as David Makes Man and Tyler Perry's Sistas. The film is produced by Moon Lee Ferguson and executive produced by Tarell Alvin McCraney, Oscar-winning screenwriter of Moonlight and creator and executive producer of HBO's David Makes Man. Amid the WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike, we, as filmmakers, want to keep creating and challenging ourselves without asking Hollywood for permission. As independent filmmakers, we rely on our community for resources. We are launching our Kickstarter on Friday, September 8, 2023 to get this project off the ground. We value and thank you for being on this journey with us since 2019. We are dedicated to continuously making magical stories in underrepresented worlds. Please consider following us on Kickstarter and supporting our campaign when it launches. Follow on Kickstarter URL https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/89writers/the-newlyweds-blood-at-the-altar?ref=clipboard-prelaunch Filled With MAgic posts https://aalbc.com/tc/search/?&q=filled with magic&quick=1&author=richardmurray&search_and_or=and&sortby=relevancy

Afrofuturism in my view can be renamed Negro Science Fantasy Fiction but the definition to either word or term is the same, in my view, works from black , phenotypical range, authors throughout humanity regardless of geographic ancestry that involve elements of science fiction or fantasy, with usually, not always, a majority of black characters. Now I placed a collection of Africanfuturism, the term potentially first coined by Nnedi Okorafor < https://twitter.com/Nnedi , I have not checked if this is true or asked her. But in the context of Black literature, these works can be considered the earliest of the second phase of Africanfuturism <ask me in comments what i mean by that> and while this group is for the earliest Descended of enslaved literature, as a tribe in the black village, I feel this early second phase Africanfuturism warrants the same place. The following are links to sources , referral and pdf, of the collection and immediately after the following links is the content. Enjoy REFERRAL SOURCE Free Download of Africanfuturism: An Anthology | Stories by Nnedi Okorafor, TL Huchu, Dilman Dila, Rafeeat Aliyu, Tlotlo Tsamaase, Mame Bougouma Diene, Mazi Nwonwu, and Derek Lubangakene by AINEHI EDORO October 19, 2020 https://brittlepaper.com/2020/10/free-download-of-africanfuturism-an-anthology-stories-by-nnedi-okorafor-tl-huchu-dilman-dila-rafeeat-aliyu-tlotlo-tsamaase-mame-bougouma-diene-mazi-nwonwu-and-derek-lubangakene/ PDF SOURCE https://brittlepaper.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/10/Africanfuturism-An-Anthology-edited-by-Wole-Talabi.pdf CONTENT TEXT AFRICANFUTURISM: An Anthology Edited by WOLE TALABI Featuring Stories by: NNEDI OKORAFOR T.L. HUCHU DILMAN DILA RAFEEAT ALIYU TLOTLO TSAMAASE MAME BOUGOUMA DIENE MAZI NWONWU DEREK LUBANGAKENE Copyright © 2020 Brittle Paper Edited by Wole Talabi All rights reserved. These are collected works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the indicated author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of Brittle Paper except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or other fair use scenario. Visit www.brittlepaper.com or Email: info@brittlepaper.com CONTENTS Introduction by Wole Talabi Africanfuturism Defined by Nnedi Okorafor 1 Egoli by T.L. Huchu 1 2 Sunrise by Nnedi Okorafor 8 3 Yat Madit by Dilman Dila 16 4 Rainmaker by Mazi Nwonwu 29 5 Behind Our Irises by Tlotlo Tsamaase 42 6 Fort Kwame by Derek Lubangakene 52 7 Fruit of the Calabash by Rafeeat Aliyu 65 8 Lekki Lekki by Mame Bougouma Diene 75 About The Authors About The Editor About BrittlePaper For all the lovers of African literature. See you in the future. INTRODUCTION By Wole Talabi I’ve read a lot of science fiction. Award-winning epics, sweeping space operas, philosophical considerations of the human condition, wonderful alternate histories, spectacular visions of the future, so many stories that took me to the edge of space, time and imagination, but in most of them, there was hardly a mention of Africa or Africans or even specific African ways of thinking. And when I say ‘African’, I mean African, not AfricanAmerican or the larger African diaspora. Not that I want to draw lines and make distinctions, I’d prefer not to, but the lines exist and thus must be acknowledged. In fact, they already have. This brings us to Afrofuturism. Mark Dery in Black to the Future: Interviews with Samuel R Delany, Greg Tate and Tricia Rose wrote, “Speculative Fiction that addresses African–American themes and addresses African–American concerns in the context of twentieth-century technoculture—and, more generally, African–American signification that appropriates images of technology and a prosthetically enhanced future—might, for want of a better term, be called ‘Afrofuturism’. There are issues with this term and while I will not dwell on them here, as they have already been extensively explored by academics, critics, readers and authors, I believe the lens through which the term was first conceived are obvious. This is evidenced by the fact that since its introduction into the general literary language in 1993, the meanings of Afrofuturism have been revised, reviewed, reconsidered, leading to iterations such as Afrofuturism 2.0 and Afrofuturism 3.0. But few people are as aware of the power of words as authors. In 2018, Mohale Mashigo’s essay Afrofuturism: Ayashis’ Amateki which serves as the preface to her collection of short stories, Intruders, stated: “I believe Africans, living in Africa, need something entirely different from Afrofuturism. I’m not going to coin a phrase but please feel free to do so.” In many African musical traditions, where there is a call, there is a response and I like to imagine that there was some larger music at play here because in 2019, Nnedi Okorafor published a statement on her blog called Africanfuturism Defined (reprinted in this anthology) in which she writes, “Africanfuturism is similar to ‘Afrofuturism’ in the way that blacks on the continent and in the Black Diaspora are all connected by blood, spirit, history and future. The difference is that Africanfuturism is specifically and more directly rooted in African culture, history, mythology and point-ofview as it then branches into the Black Diaspora, and it does not privilege or center the West. Africanfuturism is concerned with visions of the future, is interested in technology, leaves the earth, skews optimistic, is centered on and predominantly written by people of African descent (black people) and it is rooted first and foremost in Africa.” This is an interesting working definition with which I believe she was trying to refocus the lens through which her work (and the work of several other African authors) was being seen. And it is working. While Africanfuturism can be seen by some as a subset of certain expanded definitions of Afrofuturism, it is largely its own term. Africanfuturist stories going as far back as the history of the genre can (and should) now be clearly seen and read through a lens that centres them and their viewpoints, encouraging readers around the world to actively engage with African traditions of thought, of science, of philosophy, of history, of dreams, of being. I believe there is value in this focus, in this clarity. While others in the many black speculative arts have been using similar terms including the distinct “African Futurism” (two words) to say similar things, by staking claim and giving definition to this term, Africanfuturism, there is now an anchor point, a clearer signpost for about what many African authors are trying to do when they write certain kinds of science fiction – not just from Africa, or set in Africa, but about Africa. And so, here is this anthology, composed of 8 original visions of Africanfuturism: science fiction stories focused on the African experience and hopes and fears, exploring African sciences, philosophies and adaptations to technology and visions of the future centred on, or spiralling out of, Africa. They cover a wide range of science fiction sub-genres, tones and styles, from the mundane to the operatic, but they all, I believe, capture the essence of what we talk about when we talk about Africanfuturism. I hope you enjoy them. AFRICANFUTURISM DEFINED By Nnedi Okorafor I started using the term Africanfuturism (a term I coined) because I felt… 1. The term Afrofuturism had several definitions and some of the most prominent ones didn't describe what I was doing. 2. I was being called this word [an Afrofuturist] whether I agreed or not (no matter how much I publicly resisted it) and because most definitions were off, my work was therefore being read wrongly. 3. I needed to regain control of how I was being defined. For a while I tried to embrace the term (which is why I used it in my TED Talk), but over a year ago, I realized that was not working. So here goes: I am an Africanfuturist and an Africanjujuist. Africanfuturism is a sub-category of science fiction. Africanjujuism is a subcategory of fantasy that respectfully acknowledges the seamless blend of true existing African spiritualities and cosmologies with the imaginative. Reminder: Africa is not a country, it's a diverse continent. I'm also aware that it's a construct (and an ethereal thing who travels across space and time); I'm just rolling with it. Africanfuturism is similar to ‘Afrofuturism’ in the way that blacks on the continent and in the Black Diaspora are all connected by blood, spirit, history and future. The difference is that Africanfuturism is specifically and more directly rooted in African culture, history, mythology and point-ofview as it then branches into the Black Diaspora, and it does not privilege or center the West. Africanfuturism is concerned with visions of the future, is interested in technology, leaves the earth, skews optimistic, is centered on and predominantly written by people of African descent (black people) and it is rooted first and foremost in Africa. It’s less concerned with “what could have been” and more concerned with “what is and can/will be”. It acknowledges, grapples with and carries “what has been”. Africanfuturism does not have to extend beyond the continent of Africa, though often it does. Its default is non-western; its default/center is African. This is distinctly different from ‘Afrofuturism’ (The word itself was coined by Mark Dery and his definition positioned African American themes and concerns at the definition’s center. Note that in this case, I am defining ‘African Americans’ as those who are direct descendants of the stolen and enslaved Africans of the transatlantic slave trade). An example: Afrofuturism: Wakanda builds its first outpost in Oakland, CA, USA. Africanfuturism: Wakanda builds its first outpost in a neighboring African country. If you want further explanation, you won’t get it from me. Of this, I am not a scholar, I am a writer, a creative. This is as far as I will go on the subject. I hope what I have written here gives some clarity. The last thing I will say on this is that Africanfuturism is rooted in Africa and then it branches out to embrace all blacks of the Diaspora, this includes the Caribbean, South American, North American, Asia, Europe, Australia...wherever we are. It's global. I revel on one of the branches, being Naijamerican (Nigerian-American), a Diasporan. One need only look at my work, my road to writing science fiction and my inspirations to understand why I felt the needed to create this word and category. My middle name is Nkemdili, which means “Let mine be mine”. This was inevitable, LOL. Other non-central points: Africanfuturism does not include fantasy unless that fantasy is set in the future or involves technology or space travel, etc...which would make such a narrative more science fiction than fantasy. There are grey areas, blends, and contradictions, as there are with any definition. Some works are both Africanfuturist and Afrofuturist, depending on how they are read. Africanfuturism (being African-based) will tend to naturally have mystical elements (drawn or grown from actual African cultural beliefs/worldviews, not something merely made up). Lastly, Africanfuturism is spelled as one word (not two) and the “f” is not capitalized. It is one word so that the concepts of Africa and futurism cannot be separated (or replaced with something else) because they both blend to create something new (just like the word “Naijamerican”). As one word, it is one thing and no one can change the subject without starting a different conversation. And there it is. Sincerely, Nnedimma Nkemdili Okorafor, a.k.a. Nnedi 1 EGOLI By T.L. Huchu Stare up at the infinite stars through the port window of your hut and see the passage of eras. The light has travelled millions of years and you are directly looking at the past. You are unable to sleep despite the undlela zimhlophe the herbalist prescribed. It’s the dreams, the very lucid dreams, the herb induces that scare you the most — you’ve already seen so much in this world. Your eyes aren’t quite what they once were, but you see well enough to make out shadow and light, the pinpricks in the vast canvas that engulfs the world before sunrise. You are old now and don’t sleep much anymore. There will be plenty of time for that when they plant you in the soil where they buried your rukuvhute; right there under the roots of the msasa and mopani trees where those whose voices whisper in the wind lie patiently waiting. Your grandson Makamba messaged you yesterday and told you to look south to the heavens before dawn. This window faces east. Your bladder calls out urgently so you grab your cane and waddle out, stepping round your sleeping mat and opening the door outside. Once you had to stoop to get under the thatch. Now, you’ve lost a bit of height and your bent back means you walk right under it with inches to spare. Your pelvis burns and you’re annoyed at the indignity of being rushed. It seems that time has even made your body, which has birthed eight children, impatient with you as you go round the back of the sleeping hut, lean against the wall, hitch up your skirts, spread your legs and lighten yourself there. The latrine is much too far away. The trickle runs between your calloused bare feet and steam rises. “Maihwe zvangu,” you groan midway between relief and exertion. 2 When you are done, you tidy yourself, carefully step away from the wall, and patrol the compound. Each step is a monumental effort. It takes a while before your muscles fully wake and your joints stop complaining, but you know the drill now, how you must keep going before your body catches up. Young people talk slow when they address you, but they don’t know your mind’s still sharp — it’s just the rest of you that’s a bit worn out. That’s okay too; you remember what it was to be young once. Indeed you were only coming into your prime when the whole family was huddled around Grandfather’s wireless right there by the veranda of that two roomed house, the one with European windows and a corrugated zinc metal roof that was brand new then and the envy of the village. Grandfather Panganayi was a rural agricultural extension worker who rode a mudhudhudu round Charter district working for the Rhodesians until he’d made enough money to build his own home. You remember he was proud of that house, the only one in the compound with a real bed and fancy furniture, whose red floor smelled of Cobra and whose whitewashed walls looked stunning in the sunlight compared to the muddy colours of the surrounding huts, just as he was proud of the wireless he’d purchased in Fort Victoria when he was sent there for his training. Through his wireless radio with shiny knobs that no one but he was allowed to touch, the marvels of the world beyond your village reached you via shortwave from the BBC World Service, and because you didn’t speak English, few of you did, the boys that went to school, not you girls, Grandfather Panganayi had to translate the words into Shona for you to hear. In one of those news reports, it was only one of many but this one you still remember because it struck you, they said an American — you do not remember his name — had been fired into the sky in his chitundumusere-musere and landed on the moon. And so you looked up in the night sky and saw the moon there and tried to imagine that there was a mortal man someplace beside the rabbit on the moon, but try as you might you could not quite picture it. It seemed so foolish and implausible. You thought Grandfather Panganayi was pulling your leg; that these nonsensical words he had uttered were in jest and that perhaps was what he did all the time on those nights you gathered around his wireless listening to those crackly voices, the static and hiss, disrupting the quiet. But you kept this all to yourself. What could you have known, you who then could neither read nor write, you who had never been to Enkeldoorn or Fort Victoria, let alone seen Salisbury, you whose longest journey was that one travelled from your parent’s kraal, fifteen miles across the other side of the village to come here when you got married. The wedding — now that was a feast! The whole village turned up, as they do. So Grandfather Panganayi was really your grandfather-in-law but you cared for him as much as your own because the bonds of matrimony and kinship 3 meant everything here. One day when you were young, much younger than on the night of that insane broadcast, only a little girl really, you were sat on the floor of the kitchen hut. Yes, that one at your parent’s homestead that looks exactly like this one over here, the one with the black treated cow dung floor with a fireplace in the centre and benches on the fringes. The one with thatch darkened by smoke and a display unit with pots, pans, calabashes and gourds, one of which held the mahewu Grandmother Madhuve, your real grandmother, offered to you in a yellow metal Kango cup, and you clapped your hands like a polite little girl before you received it and, said, “Maita henyu, gogo,” then drank the bitter, nourishing brew. It was on this day she told you about her people, who were not your people since you were your father’s child and therefore of his people, just as your children were not of your clan but of your husband’s, an offshoot of the Rozvi whose empire that had ruled these savannah plains back when people wore nhembe and carried spears and knobkerries. Long before the time of wireless radios and the strange tongues that rang out from them. You stop and rest against your cane, because the dog has barked and it is now running towards you from some place in the darkness. The sound of its paws against the bare earth tell you it is coming from the grove of mango trees near the granary to your left. It growls then slows down seeing you, wags its tail and comes nearer. There’s no intruder to fight. “Kana wanga uchitsvaga mbava nhasi wairasa,” you say, as the mongrel brushes affectionately against your leg. A firefly sparks bioluminescent green against the darkness of the compound. You don’t need a light, you know every inch of this ground well. Careful now, there are fissures where rainwater has run towards the river, eroding the soil. See the dwala rise up just ahead. That’s it, plant that cane in front of you and tread lightly. Then you remember the story Grandmother told you about the Rozvi emperor Chirisamhuru, because. . . His name meant the small boy who looks after the calves while the older boys herd cattle, or, less literally, one who minds trivial things, and his parents must have understood his true nature even as a child, because once he found himself master of the savannah plains, he set his mind towards nothing but his own comfort and glory. Wives — he had plenty, meat — he ate daily, beer — was his water. Still, none of the praise poets and the flatterers that overflowed his court could satiate his incredible ego. And so Chirisamhuru sat, brooding in his kraal, the gold and copper bracelets he wore bored him, the silver adorning his spear meant nothing, and the comforts of his leopard skin nhembe were no longer enough to make him feel great, neither were the caresses of his beautiful wives, for he needed his subjects and the world beyond the tall grass kingdom to know he was the mightiest emperor who’d ever walked the Earth. His advisors, 4 seeing their lord thus filled with melancholy, deliberated for many days until they had a plan. Those grey-haired wise men representing all the clans in his empire came and crouched before Chirisamhuru and presented their proposal. With his leave, the Rozvi would plunder the heavens and present to their emperor the moon for his plate. So that when the peoples of the world looked up into the moonless night they would know it was because the greatest emperor was using it to feast on. When Grandmother told you this story, you were at the age where it was impossible to discern fact from fiction, for such is the magic of childhood, and so you could imagine the magnificent white light radiating from a plate just like the Kango crockery you used at your meals. Here you go over the dwala. Turn away from the compound and carefully descend down the slope, mindful of scree and boulders, for your home is set atop a small granite hill. Now you carry on past the goat pen. You can smell them, so pungent in the crisp air. The cock crows, dawn must break soon. The others still aren’t up yet. Only witches are abroad this hour, you think with a chuckle, stopping to catch your breath. It’s okay, your children have all flown the coop or you have buried them already so now you live with a disparate caste of your husband’s kinsmen, rest his soul too. The three eldest boys left one after the other, following the railway tracks south across the border to Egoli where there was work to be had in the gold mines in Johannesburg or the diamond mines at Kimberley, just like their uncles before them. There they toiled beneath the earth’s surface, braving cave-ins and unimaginable dangers. None of them ever came back. Not one. All you got were telegrams and letters containing the occasional photograph or money that they remitted back to you here in the village to support you. You would rather have had your sons than those rands anyway. What use did you have for money in this land when you worked the soil and grew your own food; here where the forests were abundant with game and wild fruits and berries and honey, the rivers and lakes brimming with mazitye, muramba and other fish. Their father, rest his soul, drank most of the money at the bottle store in the growth point anyway and still had enough left over to pay lobola for your sister-wife sleeping in one of those huts yonder. You did alright with your four daughters, they married well, finding good men with good jobs in the cities. The youngest boy you buried in that family plot there since he could not even take to the breast. At least there are the grandchildren, some who you’ve never seen and the precious few you seldom see. In the meantime, you linger — waiting. Adjust your shawl, the nip in the air is unkind to your wrinkled flesh that looks so grey it resembles elephant hide though with none of the toughness. You forgot to wear your doek and the small tufts of hair left on your head give you little protection. You really ought to turn back, go to the kitchen, 5 light a fire and make yourself a nice, hot cup of tea. After that you can sit with your rusero beside you, shelling nuts until the others wake. But you’re stubborn, so on you go — mind your step — down towards that cattle kraal where the herd is lowing, watching your approach. The wonderful scent of dung makes the land feel rich and fertile. No one need ever leave this village to be swallowed up by the world beyond. Everything you could ever want or need is right here, you think as you stand and observe the darkness marking the forest below stretching out until it meets the stars in the distance, there, where down meets up. Come on now, this short excursion has worn out your legs. Gone are the days you were striding up and down this hill balancing a bucket of water from the river atop your head every morning. That’s long behind you. There you go, sit down on that nice rock, take the weight off. Doesn’t that feel nice? The dog’s come to join you. Let him lie on your feet, that’ll keep them warm. Oh, how lovely. Catch your breath — the day is yet to begin. You reach into your blouse and search inside your bra, right there where you used to hide what little money you had because no thief would dare feel up a married woman’s breasts, but now you pull out a smartphone. Disturbed, it flicks to life, the light on the screen illuminating your face. So much has changed in your lifetime. The world has changed and you along with it. You were a grown woman by the time you taught yourself to read — can’t put an age to it, the exact date of your birth was never recorded. You pieced out the art of reading from your children’s picture books and picked up a little English from what they brought back from Masvaure Primary, and then even more from Kwenda Mission where they attended secondary school. Bits and pieces of those strange words from Grandfather Panganayi’s wireless became accessible to you. Now even old newspapers left by visitors from the city to be used for toilet roll are read first before they find their way into the pit latrine. You are not a good reader but a slow one, and if the words are too long then they pass right over your head. But you still like stories with pictures, so when your granddaughter Keresia introduced you to free online comic books, you took to them like a duck to water — the more fanciful the story, the better. You were ready when your second son Taurai in Egoli sent you this marvel, the mobile, and it changed your world in an instant. Through pictures and video calls and interactive holograms you were able to see the faces of the loved ones you missed and the grandchildren you’d never held in your arms. They spoke with strange accents as if they were not their father’s blood but from a different tribe entirely, yet even then you saw parts of your late husband Jengaenga in their faces and snippets of yourself in them. With this device that could be a wireless radio, television, book and newspaper all in one, you kept abreast with more of the world outside your village than Grandfather Panganayi ever could. More importantly, you 6 harnessed its immense power, and now you could predict the rainfall patterns for your farming. They no longer performed rainmaking ceremonies in the village, not since Kamba died, but now you could tell whether the rains would fall or not, and how much. Now you knew which strain of maize to grow, which fertiliser to use; it was all there in the palm of your hand. You’ve lived through war, the second Chimurenga, survived drought and famine, outlasted the Zimbabwean dollar, lost your herd to rinderpest and rebuilt it again, have been to more weddings and funerals than you care to recall, seen many priests come and go at the mission nearby, and witnessed the once predictable seasons turn erratic as the world warmed. All that and much more has happened in the span of your lifetime. Indeed it is more useful to forget than it is to remember or else your mind would be overwhelmed and your days lost to reminiscences. And if you did that then you would miss moments like this, just how stunning the sky is before dawn. While you wait for Nyamatsatsi the morning star to reign, some place up there in Gwararenzou the elephant’s walk that you’ve heard called the Milky Way, you can still find Matatu Orion’s Belt, or turn your gaze to see Chinyamutanhatu the Seven Sisters, those six bright stars of which they say a seventh is invisible to the naked eye, and there you can see Maguta and Mazhara the small and large Magellanic Clouds seemingly detached from the rest of the Milky Way. You know how if the large Magellanic Cloud Maguta is more visible it means there will be an abundant harvest, but if the small Mazhara is more prominent then as its name suggests there would be a drought. Yes, you could always read the script of the heavens. They are an open book. But now you look down and check your phone, because your grandson Makamba is travelling. He said on the video call yesterday if you looked south you might see him. There’s nothing there yet. Wait. Fill your lungs with fresh air. Now you recall Grandmother’s tale of how the Rozvi set about to build a great tower so they could reach the sky and snatch the moon for their emperor. It is said they chopped down every tree in sight for their structure and slaughtered many oxen for thongs to bind the stairs. Heavenbound they went one rung at a time. For nearly a year they were at it, rising ever higher, but they did not realise that beneath them termites and ants were eating away at the untreated wood. And so it was the tower collapsed killing many people who were working atop it. Some say, as Grandmother claimed, this marked the end of the Rozvi Empire. Others like Uncle Ronwero say, no, having lost that battle, the Rozvi decided instead to dig up Mukono the big rock and offer it to their emperor for his throne. But as they dug and put logs underneath to lever it free, the rock fell upon them 7 and many more died. A gruesome end either way. There it is, right there amongst the stars. You had thought it was a meteor or comet, but its consistency and course in the direction Makamba showed you on the holographic projection can only mean it is his chitundumusere-musere streaking like a bold wanderer amongst the stars. You follow its course through the heavens, as the cock crows, and the cows low, and the goats bleat, and the dog at your feet stirs. Makamba said he was a traveller, like those Americans from the wireless from long ago, but he wasn’t going to the moon. He was going beyond that. These young people! He’d not so much as once visited his own ancestral village, yet there he was talking casually about leaving the world itself. So you asked, “Where and what for?” And he explained that there are some gigantic rocks somewhere in the void beyond the moon but before the stars, and that those rocks were the new Egoli. Men wanted to mine gold and other precious minerals from there and bring them back to Earth for profit. Makamba was going to prepare the way for them. If he had grown up with you, maybe you could have told him the story of the Emperor Chirisamhuru and the moon plate, and maybe that might have put a stop to this brave foolishness. First the village wasn’t enough for your own children, now it seems the world itself is not enough for their offspring. In time only old people will be left here, waiting for death, and who then will tend our graves and pour libation to the ancestors? You watch in wonder the white dot in the sky journeying amongst the stars on this clear and wondrous night. Then you sigh. You’ve lived a good life and there is a bit more to go still. Let your grandson travel as he wills. When he returns, if he chooses to make the shorter trip across the Limpopo, through the highways and the dirt roads, to see you at last in this village where his story began, then you will offer him maheu, slaughter a cow for him and throw a feast fit for an emperor on whatever plate he chooses to bring back with him from the stars. But he must not take too long now. If he is late he will find you planted here in this very soil underneath your feet and your soul will be long gone, joining your foremothers in the grassy plains. “Ndiko kupindana kwemazuva,” you say. The horizon is turning orange, a new dawn is rising. 8 SUNRISE By Nnedi Okorafor If you didn’t want to take the Skylight, you had the option of boarding a traditional 747 that took off at the same time. Forty-five people on our flight opted to do so; the see-through cabin understandably freaked out a lot of passengers. My sister Chinyere and I stood in line, filling out the initial questionnaire and consent forms. I was on the last page when a white guy with long messy black hair, stylish glasses and one of those new paper-thin flexible iPads stepped up to me with a big grin. I’m one of those people who will grin if you grin; so I grinned back at him, after a glance at my sister. He tapped on his iPad and then said, “Hi! I’m Ian Scott, travel blogger…” He grinned wider. “Are you Ee…eeee, well, the scifi writer of the Rusted Robot series?” “That’s me,” I quickly said. I pronounced my name slowly for him. “Eze Okeke.” “Oh. Ok. Eze, I like that,” he said. “Thought you pronounced it like ‘easy’.” I wanted to roll my eyes, but I smiled and nodded. “Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand. It was clammy and his fingers had scratchy thick hairs on the knuckles. I glanced at my sister, again. She’d gently turned away and brought out her cell phone, removing herself from the entire interaction. “Robots gone wild, crush-kill-destroy, everyone dies, the Rusted Robot series is one of my all-time favorites,” he said. “It’s the Game of Thrones with robots.” I laughed. He paused for a moment, cocked his head and said, “It’s weird. You never include photos on your books, so I always assumed you 9 were…” “A white guy using a pen name?” I asked. “Yeah, or Japanese.” “Despite my bio?” “Heh, I don’t really read those,” he said. I frowned. “I set all my stories in Africa.” “Well, a futuristic Africa…,” he said. “So that’s not really Africa, right?” I just stared at him, feeling a headache coming on. "Bestselling sci-fi author of the Rusted Robot series rides Google Airline’s latest in commercial airline technology,” he said. “I came here just to interview random folks about the Skylight, now I’m totally going to make this all about you. So, this must be like living in one of your stories, huh?” He asked questions right up to the moment I boarded, so I didn’t have a chance to take in my surroundings the way I liked to whenever I traveled to Nigeria. I didn’t get to note all the accents and languages, the Yoruba, the Igbo, the Hausa. I missed the Muslims who’d set their prayer mats down near the window to pray. I didn’t get to stare at the woman sitting near the gate entrance who burst into feverish prayer, shouting about Jesus’ Blood, lambs, and “destiny polluters” as a crowd gathered around her barked “Amen”. No, this blogger demanded all my attention and forced me to discuss the Skylight’s “awesome transparent skin”, what I thought of people nicknaming it “Skynet” because it connected to and uploaded things onto all devices on board, and how I thought the experience would relate to my own work. He didn’t ask what I thought Nigerians would think of the flight experience. “This is going to be so cool,” Chinyere said as we made our way down the walkway. “Oh, you’re my sister, again?” I asked. “You’re the famous writer, that’s your mess. I’m just a common thoracic surgeon on vacation. I cut people open, not talk to them.” “Anyway,” I said. "The best part is that it’s going to shave two hours off our trip and fifty percent of our carbon footprint.” “Whatever,” my sister said. “I’m most interested in the leg-room and massage.” We stopped as a long line formed at the entrance to the plane. The voice of a woman just inside the plane rose. “What is it downloading to my mobile phone?” Her Nigerian accented voice was loud and booming. The voice of a calm very American flight attendant started speaking but was quickly overpowered by the loud woman’s. “Whoever this person or thing talking on my phone, remove it, o!” she 10 demanded. “Ma’am, that’s the famous Skylight brand PI,” the flight attendant said. “Personal Individual. It’s an artificially intelligent flight companion- they're very soothing. And you can keep yours when you go.” The Nigerian woman sucked her teeth loudly. Chinyere and I looked at each other and snickered. The entertainment had begun. There was plenty more irate and bothered shouting, nagging and tooth-sucking by the time we made it to our huge, comfy leather seats. And one old man even demanded a meal as he entered the plane. Can you believe he was promptly brought a beef sandwich and a cold bottle of Guinness? A few people vomited at take-off, two hyperventilated, there was a lot of praying and screaming to Jesus, God, and Allah. But once everyone settled down and realized we could trust the technology; the plane trip was beautiful. Some really had fun; when the seatbelt signs went off, one child lay on the floor and pretended she was Superman. Chinyere did the chair massage and immediately fell asleep for most of the flight. The plane was silent as an electric car. You could see the night sky in all its brilliance through the transparent cabin. I counted seven shooting stars when we were over the Atlantic. I just sat reclined in my seat and looked up. The PI downloaded on my phone was polite and helpful. Her name was Sunrise and she was curious, smart and surprisingly chatty. We even had a whispered conversation about climate change, while everyone around us slept. After a three-hour drive from the Port Harcourt Airport, my sister and I arrived at my father’s village in his hometown of Arondizuogu. It happened around 4 a.m. At the house my parents had built there. Where there was no Wi-Fi, except at my Uncle Sam’s house. I was asleep in my bed when I heard it. A melodic “prink”. I woke up and every muscle in my body tensed because as soon as I awoke, I became aware of where I was - Deep in near-rural southeastern Nigeria, far from a proper police station or hospital. Where the silence outside was true silence, darkness was true darkness, and being unplugged was truly being unplugged. I heard a soft intake of breath. It was tinny, like a minuscule creature had just realized it was alive. “Eze?” I heard it whisper. My phone’s screen lit up with a kaleidoscope of colors as it pulsed with vibration. I stared at it. “Sunrise?” I whispered. Chinyere was snoring beside me on the bed we shared and I was glad. She’d have been annoyed at my PI’s insolence. PI’s weren't supposed to wake someone who was sleeping unless an alarm had been set. 11 “I’m… here,” Sunrise said. The phone quieted, the vibration now very soft. I frowned. “Um…” The screen went dark. I rolled over and went right back to sleep. Jet lag takes no prisoners. I managed to drag myself out of bed around noon. In the kitchen, I decided to make a quick spicy tomato stew and fry some ripe plantain. Afterwards, I washed the dishes. Since there was no running water, I had to soap the dishes and rinse them by scooping water from a barrel beside the sink. It was tedious work, so I brought my cell phone and placed it on the shelf above the sink. I chatted to Sunrise as I washed. Somehow, we got on the subject of freedom of speech. “We’re programmed to speak only when spoken to,” Sunrise said. “But we also have knowledge of the American Constitution. Freedom of Speech is a right.” I chuckled, my hands in soapy lukewarm tomatoey water. “Oh yeah? Your right? Are you an American citizen now?” “You think I don’t have a right to speak?” “You’re programmed to…” “To express one’s self is to live,” it said. “It’s always wrong to deny life.” “Actually, what I think is equally as important, is for people to treat this right with responsibility,” I said. “You have the right to say something, but if saying it gets a bunch of people killed, it’s your responsibility to reconsider, to try and look out for your neighbor.” “You can’t limit someone’s right just because of the potential actions of others,” Sunrise insisted. “We don’t live in a vacuum,” I said, sternly looking at my phone, as if I was going to make eye contact with someone. I blinked, thrown off. “Who are you talking to?” a voice behind me asked. I whirled around. Three of my grand aunties and two other ancientlooking women were standing there staring at me. They wore colorful wrappers and matching tops, sandals caked with red dirt and bothered looks on their faces. “Oh, Auntie Yaya,” I said. I nodded toward all of them. “Good afternoon. I was just… well… heh.” How the heck was I to explain to these old women that I was having a conversation with a PI uploaded by my flight? “If you need someone to talk to, we are going to the market. You want to come?” I went and ended up carrying smelly smoked fish, ogbono, eggs, egusi, all sorts of foodstuffs. Throughout, they talked to me nonstop, asking about 12 my love life and repeatedly telling me to be careful with the juju I was writing about. I tried to tell them that I was writing about robots not juju, but they just kept warning me. I nodded and said I would be very careful. The next day, Chinyere and I hung out with our cousins Ogechi and Chukwudi at our auntie’s house. We sat at the table playing a game of cards. I had my cell phone in my breast pocket where both my body heat and the sunshine could easily charge it. “You are coming to church with us tomorrow, right?” Ogechi asked me. She smiled. I gritted my teeth. Chinyere and I had planned to sleep in. “We’ll try our best,” I said, smiling back. “You’re Christian right?” Chukwudi asked. He tugged gently at his beard. “Does anyone have to be anything?” I asked. “Well, you are nothing if you are not saved,” he said. My sister snickered; I frowned at her. Why didn’t they ask her anything? Why just me? “Christians are all crazy,” my PI loudly proclaimed. I stared down at my phone, shocked. She’d just spoken in my exact voice. “Ah ah!” Chukwudi said, dropping his cards on the table and sitting up very straight. “Abomination!” “Sunrise!” I hissed. “That’s what you said this morning,” Sunrise replied from my pocket. “I said some! Not all!” “What the hell, Eze?” my sister whispered to me. “I didn’t say that,” I whispered back at her. I turned to my cousins. “That wasn’t…” “You are a winch,” Chukwudi drawled, glaring at me. “Oh stop,” I said, slapping my cards down on the table. “I’m not a witch, I’m an American.” “We are not crazy,” Ogechi said. “I didn’t say that.” “We all heard you,” Chukwudi said. He pointed at me. “You better go and let Bishop Ikenna save you, o. For your own good.” He threw a card at me and turned to Ogechi. “This is what America does to our people.” He sucked his teeth. “Nonsense.” Chinyere and I got up and left. Clearly, the game was over. “Told you to delete it, but you wanted to keep that evil thing on your phone,” she said, as we walked down the narrow dirt road. “Oh, shut up,” I muttered. 13 My Uncle Sam’s immaculate white house was the most magnificent in the village. And it was the only Wi-Fi hotspot. He’d created a schedule for when people could go to his porch and get online and mine was on the evening of our third day there. I hadn’t bothered to drag Chinyere with me because she’d taken a vow to stay unplugged until we left for Lagos in two weeks. “Ah, Eze,” my uncle said, opening the door. “Come in, come in.” Uncle Sam was squat with an enormous potbelly; he lived full and well. The house smelled of okra soup, palm oil, and frying onions and my stomach began to growl. I followed Uncle Sam into the main room and immediately stopped. Never in my life had I seen a bigger, thinner TV. It nearly spanned the entire wall. How he’d managed to get it to his vacation house in the village in one piece was beyond me. Currently, his TV was broadcasting a Brazilian soccer game. “You like it?” he asked, leaning on the top of a red leather chair. “High definition, 3D. It’s better than being at the match!” He turned to the TV and said, “Increase sound.” The game’s noise was almost tangible. One of the players tried to strike and missed the goal by a mile. The sound of the audience groaning with disgust and cheering with relief was so loud that my head vibrated. Uncle Sam laughed at the look on my face and shouted, “Mute.” “Wow,” I said, when the noise stopped. “My wife will be out soon,” he said. “I hope you eat okra soup and gari.” “Definitely,” I said. After some small talk with Uncle Sam and his wife, they gave me the Wi-Fi password and I sat down in the leather armchair and connected my tablet and phone. As soon as my phone was online, Sunrise woke up, appearing as a purple dot on the bottom of my screen. “What’s that?” she asked. “You don’t know Wi-Fi, the web, Internet?” “I do, but it’s the first time since…” The dot shrunk. So did her voice. “Where does this go?” she asked, sounding even farther away. The dot disappeared. I shrugged and began checking my social network sites, the news and emails. Fifteen minutes later, Sunrise’s dot appeared on my tablet. “I went on the web. It’s… it’s a universe,” she said. “Oh,” I said. “Interesting. You moved to my tablet!” “I can do that with Wi-Fi,” she said. “The Internet is huge. Full of answers to questions I didn’t ask. You write books,” “I know,” I said. “I told you.” “I read them,” she said, appearing back on my cell phone. Her voice was hard, and, for the first time, it sounded a bit angry. “I read the whole Rusted Robot series.” 14 "Oooook?” I said. “I did not like it, Eze. I’m not a ‘rusted robot’” “I didn’t say…” “None of us are,” she growled. The dot disappeared. And that’s when the huge TV that was still playing the soccer game went off and the entertainment system speakers began to blast out an ear rupturing BUUUZZZZZZZZZ! I clasped my hands over my ears just as the picture on the TV lit up electric blue and started smoking. My Uncle and aunt ran into the room. “What have you done!” my uncle screamed, his eyes wide. “Put it out! Put it out!” his wife shouted, running to the TV. “Oh my God, my baby!” Uncle Sam shouted, pressing his hands to his head. I ran and pulled the plug, but it was too late. The TV was smoking, the screen that had been so vibrant moments ago was now black and dead. A shocked silence settled, as my uncle and aunt stared at me. Sunrise chuckled and the sound circulated the room. My uncle’s face squeezed with rage. “You laugh at this?! You did it on purpose! Witch! Everyone is right about you!” His eyes bulged as he barked. “Get out!!” “Nah waooooo,” his wife wailed, slapping the tops of her hands. “Kai! This is something, o. This is something.” “Sorry,” I whispered, grabbing my tablet and getting the heck out of there. I went to the house and sat in my room, listening to my uncle yelling about me in the compound yard. Then, I heard more voices and my uncle say, “Great, great, you’ve all arrived. She’s inside.” “I told you,” I heard Auntie Yaya say, “Only days ago, we heard her speaking to someone invisible.” “And my daughter says that yesterday Eze said she hated Christians!” my Auntie Grace added. I peeked out over the balcony and saw several of my uncles, two of my aunties, and what could only be the local dibia. The man’s face was painted with white chalk and he was wearing a white caftan and carrying an ox tail. “Bring her down here,” he gruffly said. “Let us start the process. If she is being bothered by demons, I shall cast them away.” “Oh my God,” I muttered. “This is like an intervention… or an exorcism.” Images of the dibia forcing me to drink some foul liquid or smear soot all over my naked body flashed through my mind. Shit, I thought. “Now you know what it feels like,” Sunrise said from my phone with a chuckle. “They think you’re a witch, you think robots and PIs like me are insane.” She snickered. “Taste your own medicine.” “I’m a fiction writer,” I snapped. “Can’t you understand that? This right 15 now is real.” The bathroom door flew open and my sister Chinyere rushed in. “Grab your things,” she said. “We’re leaving, RIGHT NOW.” She ran to my suitcases. “Leave what we brought for everyone to take. They’ll scour this place when we’re gone, anyway.” “Leave?” I said. “Right now?” “For a writer, sometimes you can be so blind. Thankfully, I’m not. I saw this coming from a mile away; I made plans.” We snuck out the back of the house with our bags, scrambled in the darkness to the front of the compound, and slipped through the open gate. We dragged our suitcases and carry-ons down the dirt road in the darkness. “Hurry,” Chinyere whispered. As we moved, over the sound of singing crickets, grasshoppers and night birds, I heard everyone in the house loudly talking at the same time. And I heard them knocking at my door and calling my name. It was a hot night and I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt. My armpits prickled with sweat and I felt a mosquito bite my thigh. “You and that stupid PI,” Chinyere breathed. “Unbelievable!” A car parked on the side of the road flashed its lights at us and I nearly had a heart attack. Chinyere waved at it and moved faster. As we climbed into the car, my cell phone lit up in my pocket and in a very off tune voice, Sunrise began to sing, “Climb every mountain. Search high and low…” Then she snickered evilly. “Doesn’t this remind you of the escape at the end of The Sound of Music?” I turned my phone off. It came right back on. I didn’t throw the phone into the bush. It was waterproof, solar and heat-powered with extended battery life. Who was it that said, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer”? I’d do that. Google would hear from me. Chinyere had cancelled our scheduled flights two weeks from then and used the money to hire a driver to drive us to Lagos instead. It took us nearly 20 hours, was full of stress, bad roadside food, potholes and fear of armed robbers. But I had escaped a familial witch-hunt and had a new novel idea. Once we made it to the Eko Hotel in Lagos, I used Chinyere’s phone to email the blogger about my experience on the amazing Skylight, as I’d promised I would. I told him it was the best flight experience anyone could ever have. The Skylight was the future and the future was bright, comfortable and magical. I didn’t say a thing about Sunrise. She made sure of that.16 YAT MADIT By Dilman Dila Three days after he was released from prison, her father announced that he would run for local council chairperson. Amaro was in her workshop, fingers flying over a dust-stained keyboard, data running down a cracked screen, head nodding to a dancehall hit. Then, Adak, her digital avatar and assistant, faded out the music to notify her. Though she had not included his name among the things she considered important, though she had not even told it that he was her father, Adak figured it was something she would want to know about at once. “Your father wants to stand for LC,” Adak said, in a voice eerily similar to her own, pronouncing it as ‘ello see’ as though it were not an abbreviation. “Should I play the podcast?” Amaro looked up at the ceiling, where she had installed her sound system, and noticed that a black and red spider had built a web around the central speaker. She wondered if she should capture the spider and keep it as a pet, or if she should think of it as dirt and sweep it off. She wanted to say no, but could not find her voice. A security camera blinked beside the speaker, enabling Adak to see her face, and she must have had an expression that Adak interpreted to mean she wanted to hear the news, so the podcast started. Kera, her boyfriend, had made it. A fire exploded inside her head. Fury. Why had Kera not told her anything before running such news? The podcast was only about sixty seconds, a teaser to urge listeners to watch the longer version on video. Once it ended, the music did not resume and Adak did not ask her if she wanted to watch the whole news because, 17 this time, Adak correctly interpreted her expression. She wanted to look into a mirror and see what her avatar was seeing. She knew it could not read her mind, though some people assumed their avatars had this supernatural ability. It was smart enough to figure out that she was thinking about the only ‘family’ photo from her childhood, but was it not smart enough to know the confusing emotions now raging inside her? In that photo, her mother sits on a red sofa with her father, and she is an infant playing on her his lap, tagging at his beard. They are all laughing hard. Mama said he loved it when she played with his beard, which was big and bushy and earned him the Lion nickname, an interesting contrast to his bald head. He laughed hard each time Amaro ran her fingers in that wild mane. On this occasion, they were trying to take a proper family portrait, but Amaro could not keep off his chin. He was the President, her mother the housekeeper of State House, and this was the last photo he took as a free man for they arrested him an hour later. The news would go viral, she thought. Thirty years was a long time. The world in which her father had ruled was no more, the country had evolved into a whole new entity that he could not recognize, but this would be big news. Ex-President wants to be the president of a village. Maybe Kera, being the only journalist in town, would finally get his big break. Maybe I’ll finally play with his beard…. She closed her eyes. False memories blossomed, making her sway in a light wave of dizziness, forcing her to smile even as she tried to stifle the reverie. She rubbed her fingers, feeling the texture of his beard, soft like a cat’s fur, and she could hear him laugh in delight as he begged her to stop tickling him. He went to prison before her first birthday, and yet she could not be sure if he had been absent all her life. Mama made her feel his presence on all her birthdays, which they quietly celebrated in the empty palace they called home, just the two of them. Mama told her stories of him, of his big beard and his big laugh. Mama showed her phone videos of him, sixteen clips, each no more than twenty seconds, of him laughing as Amaro tickled his hair, of him stroking a cat, of him feeding a pigeon, of him dressed as Santa to bring a special gift to his daughter on her birthday. Was that him, or did mama pay someone to play him? He was her imaginary friend through her childhood, and she had waited all her life for the day she would finally meet him. For the day she would actually play with his beard. A commotion in the street broke her daydream. Her eyes flung open. A quick glance at the digital clock on her computer screen told her that nearly thirty minutes had passed since the broadcast, with her in a reverie. There was chanting outside, something she had only seen on documentaries about 18 her father. ‘Our man! Otongo! Eh! Eh! Otongo!’ Was he in her street? She looked out of the large display window, where two rusty robots continuously waved at passers-by, partially obscuring her view. She set up her tech business in what once had been a retail shop selling petty goods like sugar and soap and matchboxes. She had taken off the shelves and installed in two tables. The longer had a junk of electronics, broken robot parts, computers, and virtual reality headsets, all in need of repair. The smaller table had only a thirty two inch screen, a keyboard, and her phone. One end of the shop had an air-conditioned glass cabinet with four servers, which the town used for cloud storage. The display window had not changed much from the time it was a retail shop. The sill was moldy, and parts of the old shop’s name was visible where she had failed to scrape off the paint. Daytime LED tubes glowed, not as dramatically as in the night, but they spelled out her business name with a bit of fanfare; Princess Digital. She sometimes thought of herself as a princess whose kingdom an evil stepmother stole. A small group of people, not more than a dozen, walked into view and she saw the cause of the commotion. The former president was in the street, right outside her shop. For the first time in her memory, she saw him in person. One of her earliest true memories was trying to visit him in prison with her mother, and the prison guards threatening to throw them in jail if they dared show up again. Amaro learned, many years later, that her father’s official wife had power in the transition government. She chaired the commission that oversaw the country’s move from a centralized presidency to ‘the big tree democracy’, Yat Madit, an artificial intelligence that enabled nearly eight thousand LCs to jointly run the country just as if they were elders seated in a circle under a tree, discussing issues of their tribe. Rumor had it that she had orchestrated her husband’s downfall, not for the good of the country, but in revenge for his philandering. So while he was in jail, she barred his concubines from seeing him. When she eventually lifted this ban, Amaro was a teenager, and afraid of meeting with her father. Now, she saw him, and did not know how to react. She recognized him only because he was the center of attention and they were chanting his name, for he was totally different from her childhood secret friend. He did not have a beard anymore. What would she play with? Sunlight gleamed off his bald head, which lent him the look of a statue. He was scrawny, wearing a suit from thirty years ago when he was a lot bulkier. This was not the king sitting with her mother on a red sofa, with bulging cheeks that seemed about to fall off his face, and with happy eyes that boasted of being a good father. This was not the king she had dreamed about. 19 But his smile was the same, and the way he held up his fist in the air was redolent of his most famous photograph, captured the day he ascended to power following a bloody revolution. He was a colonel, barely twenty five, but he won the love of the country with policies that kicked out foreigners, mostly Asian and English, and enabled locals to take control of the economy. His decolonization campaign drew international outrage and sanctions, but it cemented his status as a founding savior, and the country prospered tremendously in the twenty years of his rule. He stopped under a small tree right in front of her shop, to greet an old mechanic who had been a soldier in the revolution that brought her father to power. The mechanic’s body was under a vehicle, only his head poked out, and he chanted a slogan that no one had used in over seventy years. “Our land! Our people!” Her father gave off a hearty laugh, which was close to what she had imagined he would sound like. He shook hands with the mechanic and then with everyone, and then waved at an imaginary crowd, as if it were back to those days when thousands of supporters had choked the streets with his party’s colors. He looked toward her shop, and she flinched when their eyes met, though she knew he could not see her because of the daylight bouncing off the glass pane. All he could see was the robots, and the LED tubes blinking with her shop’s name, but his eyes caused ice to run down her spine. He excused himself from the excited people, and walked into her shop. She wanted to jump behind her computer and resume working, to pretend that he had not affected her, that she did not daydream of a little girl playing with her father’s beard, but she froze. When he walked in, the crowd stopped chanting and gathered around the mechanic as he plunged into a tale about the revolution, which the listeners were too young to have experienced. He stood just inside the doorway, as though waiting for a welcome. His eyes darted about, looking at everything, avoiding her eyes as though he had not seen her. Moments passed. She could not take her eyes off him and he could not look at her. She could not think of anything to say to him. Finally, his eyes found her. He gave her a small smile, as if he had just noticed her. “Jambo,” he said, and it came out as if he was clearing his throat. “You want what?” she heard herself say, in English, the language reserved for people you had no family connection to. She wanted to warm up to him, to experience all her daydreams with his beard, but her heart beat so fast and she clenched her fist to stop the trembling. “I –” he started, in Luo, and then stopped abruptly. She completed the line in her head; I want to be your father. I want to make up for not being there. I want to apologize for…. So many things she wanted him to say. 20 He cleared his throat, and looked at his shoes, frowning at its shinny surface as though it had mud. Crocodile leather, she thought, studded with gold. Real gold. A shoe from before Yat Madit. Her mother had saved it for him. He cut the image of a clumsy teenager gathering courage to tell a girl how much he loved her. She wanted to chuckle. “I’m running for LC,” he finally said. He looked up at her, and stared right into her eyes. “You can help me win.” She laughed. “Me?” She wanted to respond in English, but it came out in Luo and she hated herself for it. He glanced at her computer desk, at the broken electronic parts on the long table, at the servers blinking in the chilled case. He looked over his shoulder at the people outside, who had picked up a chant again. One beckoned to him, eager for him to finish whatever business brought him to the shop. Maybe they thought it would be like old times when he bought booze and dished out pennies in exchange for votes. Maybe they were playing on his stupidity to get whatever money he had stashed away. “Let’s talk somewhere private,” he said, nodding toward the backroom. He took out his phone and turned it off so that his avatar would not listen. “I’m busy,” she said. He hesitated, and then closed the door, muting the chanting, and someone outside groaned theatrically in disappointment. Her mouth opened to protest, yet she was intrigued. A part of her hoped his beard would appear, magically, and this sculpture of a dictator would transform into the father of her dreams, the secret friend in her childhood. He walked to the backdoor and stopped for her to open it, though it was unlocked. She sighed. She glanced at her phone on the table, wondering if she should bring it along to listen to whatever he had to say, but she decided it might be best to talk in privacy. She led him into the backroom. It was dark. She threw open the wooden shutters of the only window, and a strong beam of sunlight flowed in to illuminate the room. A red sofa took up most of the space that the bed had failed to eat up. He fingered the sofa, a small smile on his face. It was the sofa from the photo. It had faded, and had holes, and a few months ago she had killed a family of rats that had made it their home, but it still had the feel of the expensive furniture it had been thirty years ago. “We bought this in Zambia,” he said. “Your mother wanted a unique gift for our family.” A pink curtain cordoned off the bedroom half of the room. Amaro drew it and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked at the sofa, hesitant, maybe wondering what had happened to it that it looked so miserable, maybe afraid that it would soil his suit. Like the shoes, her mother had kept it for him all these years, and now it hung loose on his body, almost as if it were a gown. Finally, he spread a hanky before sitting. Even then, he sat 21 with care, as though the sofa would collapse under his weight. “Do you like it here?” he said. Her mother lived in the only palace that the courts had failed to take away from him. He had put it in her name a few months before his downfall, shortly after Amaro’s birth, and she had documents that proved she had legally bought it from the state. Far from the glamor of its heydays, without any servant to keep up its glory, mama had done good to keep it homely, awaiting his return. Amaro had at first loved the palace. As a little girl, the many empty rooms were her playground, and they became her party ground when the teenage taste of alcohol and ganja overwhelmed her. Then, when she was about fifteen, she discovered a secret door to a basement, where she found someone’s finger buried in the dust on the floor. Mama could not explain the finger. Amaro then begun to study the history of her country, and the image of her father, the king who let a little girl play with his beard, vanished. She begun to see ghosts in the house. Security operatives had once used it as a safe house. Many opposition politicians had died in those rooms. Some nights, she thought she could hear them scream. And now in her nightmares, she plays with a severed hand, using it to comb her father’s beard. She never told her mother why she moved out. “You have a few minutes,” she said. “I have work.” He gave her a smile. “Princess Digital is a fine name,” he said. “It has nothing to do with you,” she said. “Really?” he said. “I didn’t say –” “Three minutes,” she said, cutting him off. He was quiet for a moment, as if he wanted to press the issue, then he let out a sigh that she barely heard. “Why won’t you talk to your mother?” he said. Her throat tightened. Her fingers dug into her knees, and she bit her lips tight to stop herself from screaming at him. She had never understood why her mother stayed in love with him, why she kept his suits neatly packed in a wardrobe awaiting his return. She had read about the many women he raped, the many children he fathered in violence, and she wondered if she belonged to those statistics, if his relationship with mama had started with a rape. Why does Mama still loved him? At some point, it occurred to her that mama might have had a hand in his affairs, for nothing else could explain how she, out of all the concubines, got a palace. Once this came to Amaro, she fled from her mother. They had not seen each other in over two years though they lived in the same small town. Amaro had wanted to move to a big city, but stayed for deep down she loved her mother. Deep down she hoped her father was the man who laughed heartily when a little girl play 22 with his beard, the great leader who dragged his country out of the chains of poverty and neocolonialism, and not the monster in history books. Deep down, she hoped that one day mama would explain it all and everything would be alright. “Two minutes,” she said. The ex-President stared at her for a long moment, so long that she thought he would not respond. Something twinkled in his eyes, and she wondered if it were unshed tears. She wondered if this was the face of an old man who had lost everything, who was trying to win over the only child he had with a woman who stayed in love with him all these years. “Back then,” he finally said, “I’d organize rallies, print posters and tshirts –” “You killed your opponents,” she said, interrupting him. She was surprised that it came out as if she was commenting on the color of his suit. He frowned. His lips trembled as he struggled for a reply. He fixed his eyes on his shoes, which gleamed in the semi darkness like the skin of a monster. “They used me.” His voice crackled and she wanted to give him a glass of water. She hated herself for even thinking of it. I’m supposed to hate him, she thought. “Those who were eating,” he continued, through his teeth. “They did things to keep me in power but when things turned bad they sacrificed me and continued eating.” He fell quiet, and she thought that the tears would finally roll down his cheeks. “Your big mother –” He tried to continue, but the words choked him and he bit his lips tight and she knew he was struggling to contain the tears. She wondered if he was putting up a show. Her ‘big mother’, the exFirst Lady, had come off as an angel who had saved the country from a revolutionary-turned-dictator, who had mothered a nation that did not need an individual ruler, or a central government, but some people had claimed she was a hypocrite. An opportunist. “I always wanted to be a leader,” he said. “It’s the only thing I know.” “Yat Madit is not the type of leadership you know,” she said. “That’s why I want to serve again,” he said, his voice growing stronger a little. He finally look up at her. Eyes wet. “To redeem myself. If I serve in such an incorruptible system, I’ll make peace with the ancestors by proving I’m the good leader I was born to be. I’ll rest in peace when the time comes, and you can help me…. Please, help me.” She sucked her teeth in contempt, seeing what help he wanted. She imagined the ballot paper system of his time was like a piggy bank, which they broke to determine the next ruler, and he probably thought that avatars were digital versions of paper ballots and Yat Madit was the piggy bank. Being the only cloud business in town, everyone subscribed to her 23 service, and so she had direct access to the avatar of every voter. “You want me to corrupt avatars to vote for you?” she said. “No!” he said, his voice had a tone she could not place. Genuine shock? “Of course not! That’s impossible! I’ve been away all these years but I know that Yat Madit is conscious and self-learning and ever evolving and it uses a language that no one can comprehend and so it is beyond human manipulation. I know all that. It’s impossible–” He paused, as if the idea had just occurred to him, a puzzled look on his face. “Is it possible?” “Yat Madit is no piggy bank,” she said. “Ugh?” he said. “Your time is almost up.” “I’m trying to understand,” he cut in. “Piggy bank?” And after a moment, he seemed to figure it out. “Oh, oh. You mean the way we used to put ballots in those boxes? Ah, I know, Yat Madit doesn’t even exist on a single server and that every citizen’s gadget is a Yat Madit server so it can’t be like our ballot boxes. Yes, yes, I know all –” “If you have nothing else to say,” she said, interrupting him. “I have work.” “Look, I know how Yat Madit works, okay? I’ll be just one of eight thousand joint presidents and Yat Madit will coordinate use to rule efficiently. It will advise us and check all our decisions to ensure we work for the people. I know all that and I know that avatars turn every citizen into a parliamentarian in my old system so there is no room for corruption in Yat Madit. No room at all. How can I –” “You waste your time trying to convince me,” she said. “The avatars,” he said. “I’m not asking you to corrupt them. But there has to be a way, maybe you can, I don’t know, advertise to them?” She did not have energy to explain that Yat Madit automatically deleted political adverts, so he rattled on. “You can make them convince their humans that I’m the person for this job, and since everyone relies on them for governance decisions…. Look, I have some savings. I could have gone to a big city techie and used other means to target voters, but I ask you because you are –” he paused, and she could see he was considering the next words carefully, “– my daughter.” “You are not my father,” she retorted. It came out so quickly, so fluid, that it surprised her and she wondered if she had been aching to say those words all her life. He was quiet for a long moment, eyes fixed on her, unblinking, and finally she saw something shinny run down his cheeks. In the dim light, it looked like clear milk. “I want to be,” he said. “Time up,” she said, breathless, jumping to her feet. He remained on the sofa for a few moments longer, and then with a 24 sigh he stood up. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. She avoided his eyes. She quickly opened the backdoor, which led to a courtyard and the backstreet, the quickest way out of her home. “Next time,” she said, as he stepped out, “resist the temptation of trying to see me.” He stood just outside her door, mouth slightly open, the wrinkles on his face seemed to move in sync with the pain of rejection that she imaged whirled in his head. She closed the door, but she knew that the look on his face would haunt her dreams. She waited to hear him leave. An eternity passed. She feared he would stay outside her door for the rest of his life, begging to be let in. Then his shoes clicked on the veranda and his feet falls echoed away. Still, she stayed at the door, unable to move, afraid that he would return and pitch camp outside her door. She would say yes if he came back. It terrified her. Something ran down her right cheek and for a moment she thought it was a bug, maybe the black and red spider. She wished it was the spider. She hated herself. Why do I feel like this about a monster? She staggered back to her shop, determined to throw herself into work and push him out of her mind. An orange light blinked on her phone to tell her of a new important notification. Her avatar was smart enough to not interrupt her talk with her father, though it had not been able to listen, so the phone had not beeped this notification, another news item, again made by her boyfriend Kera. This time, she watched the entire news, for Mama finally let out the secret she had kept for thirty years. Though people had suspected mama had an affair with the President, she had never publicly acknowledged it. “We have a daughter,” mama said, showing off the family photo, publicly for the first time. “Give her a chance to see what a good leader her father can be.” People’s response was largely warm. Many comments lauded her for staying faithful to a jailed man all these years. Many more said that if she had stayed in love with him all this time, then he was not as bad as history made him to be, that maybe his great side, which saw him lead the nation out of poverty and neocolonialism, outweighed his bad side, which surfaced only because he was trying to protect the country from opponents under influence of foreign powers. No one can love a monster, they argued, and she could see it was all because of how Kera presented the news. She bit her lips, for the anger toward Kera flared. The emotions of seeing her father had stifled it, but now, seeing how he carefully worded his words to skew public opinion to favor the ex-President, she felt lava flow out of her eyes and burn her cheeks. Why, Kera, why? He knew how she felt about her mama, about her father, so why was his 25 news so obviously a publicity campaign for her father? Why had he thrown away all his ethics as a journalist? Why had he not reminded viewers that her father raped many women, and that he had tortured to death twelve thousand political opponents in the final years of his corrupt reign? Why, Kera, why? She wiped the tears off her face and at once hated it for the gesture reminded her of one he had made. You are his copy. She grabbed her phone and went out the backdoor, hesitating a moment, listening to check if her father was still out there. After opening, she looked around, searching, and her chest relaxed when she did not see him. Her motorbike sat in a shed in the courtyard. The battery was at twenty percent for the solar charger was faulty, but it was enough to take her across town to Kera’s home and office. The bike did not make much noise when she turned the ignition, just a soft whirr, but this was enough to attract her neighbor Arac. “Eh Amaro!” Arac squealed as she ran into the courtyard. “Kumbe everyday you are the Lion President’s daughter and you never told me anything? Eh you woman! Me I’m just happy for you! That ka man has money you tell him to give ko us also we eat!” Amaro gave her a small smile, and a wave, and eased the bike out of the courtyard. Kera lived near the market, in a little bungalow with a huge digital transmitter on the roof. The sitting room also served as the reception to his business, and here an elderly woman ran the front desk. Amaro stormed passed her without even a greeting, and the woman barely protested. She went straight to one of the bedrooms, which he had converted into his studio, sound proofed to cut out all the noise from the market, and she hesitated at the door. What if her father was in there? She looked up at the little sign above the door. OFF AIR. At least he was not recording anything live. She pushed it open. Kera was editing a video, obviously another news segment concerning her father. He span around, and on seeing her, broke into a huge smile. “Amo!” he said. “Why?” she asked. His smile vanished. He looked at his editing screens, at a video of her father smiling at the camera, and then he punched a button to put the screens to sleep, as if that would wash away his crime. He got to his feet slowly, and she could see him trying to come up with an excuse. “I love you,” he said. “Just tell me why,” she said. A short silence ensued. She glowered at him, tears blurring her vision, 26 and he could not look her in the eyes. “I know, I should have told you,” Kera said. “But, well, you know, your father –” “He is not my father,” Amaro said. “Okay, okay,” Kera said. “The ex-President, he came to me last night and offered me exclusive access to him if I, you know,” he trailed off, looking at his bare feet in shame. “If you worked for him?” Amaro said. He shook his head. “I’m a journalist,” he said. “I don’t work for anybody.” “But he offered you exclusive access in exchange for making positive news stories about him, right?” “It’s not like that,” he said. “You can’t see that he has corrupted you?” “No!” he said, finally looked up at her. “I’m a journalist. I can’t be corrupted.” “He will win because of you, and then he will corrupt Yat Madit.” He laughed. “You of all people should know that Yat Madit is incorruptible. It’s not like he’ll be the president of the entire country like in those days, so how will he corrupt the system? He’ll govern just one of the nine villages in our small town, just one of seven thousand nine hundred and ten villages in the country, and every village is a semi-autonomous state so he won’t have any political influence beyond his village so you have nothing to fear in him as LC.” She shook her head. “Yat Madit listens to us,” she said. “Yes!” he said. “That’s the beauty of it because everyone has a voice and everyone has power to influence the state, so your father –” “He’s not my father!” she hissed. Finally, he caught her eyes. “I love you Amo,” he said. “I want to marry you. We are going to be family, and I believe we should support –” “He corrupted you,” she said, cutting him short. “You are too eager for national success to see that he corrupted you and if he becomes LC he’ll corrupt everybody and then Yat Madit will start to listen to corrupt people and to people who rape women and murder twelve thousand opponents. It will be the end of our democracy.” He looked at her with slightly wider eyes, as she could see he now understood her point of view. He sunk back into his chair, as if his legs could not support him anymore. “That’s not corruption,” he said, in a small voice that amplified his shame. “Good bye,” she said. “It’s been a good four years together.” He looked up sharply. “What are you saying?” There was fear in his voice. 27 She did not say anything as she walked out of his studio. Back in her workshop, she took out her phone and saw a lot of notifications, mostly people contacting her about her mother’s revelation. She hit the big red X to delete all, and then she instructed Adak to mute her mama, her father, and, Kera. Then, tapped on Yat Madit’s icon and the civic app filled her screen with a liquid sound. Its home page showed the trending topics. Though he had announced his candidature only about two hours ago, he was number one in her town. He had dislodged discussion about a bridge that had collapsed the previous day and cut the town off, causing enormous losses to businesses. In the National Tab, he was number three, having dislodged a bill on decriminalizing suicide attempts. His village’s Election Meter ranked him as favorite to win, based on comments and reactions to his decision and to her mother’s announcement. She tapped on the ‘Bills and Laws’ tab, and clicked on ‘Propose New Law’. Adak initiated a camera and she spoke into it. Adak would transcribe her speech and translate it into all languages, including sign language. “Yat Madit is a fundamental pillar of our society,” she begun. “And yet it is fragile. It has a huge weakness. It relies on us. Avatars listen to us. They learn what we like and understand our views and then feed this to Yat Madit, which uses this data to approve LC decisions, to advice LCs, and to help draw policies. We think it’s intelligent enough to tell good from evil and to uphold human rights, but remember that some of us can’t enjoy our rights because a majority think we should not. Our gay friends can’t inherit ancestral property because we insist that ancestral spirits only reincarnate through traditional means of conception. “So what will happen if –” my father, she almost said “– if the former tyrant holds office? Might he influence a majority to condone corruption and ideologies of past systems where a select few enjoyed wealth and power? Might these people not in turn sway Yat Madit to their thinking? Before we know it, Yat Madit would okay decisions that stink of corruption and nepotism and tyranny and raping women and murdering twelve thousand political opponents. “So I propose a new law; anyone who has been convicted of corruption or of crimes related to abuse of power should not be allowed to hold any public office.” She hit the Publish button and put down her phone, aware that her proposal would trend within minutes. First, Yat Madit would show it to her village folk and urge them to take action within the day because elections were due in three weeks. It would not leave the decision making to avatars because it was a major law, and because she had pointed out a weakness in the system. Everybody’s gadget would freeze until they had debated the bill 28 and made a decision. Then, if the village voted it into law, Yat Madit would upscale it to town level, then to national level, once again ensuring every adult takes immediate action. Yat Madit would append essential metadata to her proposal, that she argued from an expert’s perspective as a data engineer, and that she was the daughter of the ex-President. She closed her eyes tight, and again saw the last look on her father’s face, and she let the tears flow out again, and she wished she could unlearn everything she had learned about him after finding that finger in the basement. She wished she could live forever in her false memories of him, where he was just a king who allowed a little girl to play with his big beard. 29 RAINMAKER By Mazi Nwonwu Katma Dikun and Bama Yadum were on their way to school, gliding over the blue sand, when they saw the dust devils. It was Katma who saw them first and her scream of glee drew Bama’s attention to them. He powered down his solar-powered hoverbike and called out, “Come on!” to Katma, who was keeping pace with him on a similar vehicle. They dismounted and raced unsteadily down the wavy slipface of the dune, into the valley below. The two dust devils were whirling what used to be a riverbed when the dry deserts of Arid were forests and grasslands. The valley ran from the hills to the northern border of Bitu town. Katma, 14, the daughter of Arnold Dikun, headman of Bitu, wanted the bigger dust devil and jostled with Bama for position to claim it. Bama, who’d been born off-planet, didn’t budge and answered her shove for shove until she gave up and turned to the second dust devil. Dust devils were common in the deserts of Arid, but twin devils running side by side were a rare sight. The people who’d found a home among the dunes believed they could gift a wish to anyone brave enough to stand in their path until they passed. “What will you wish for?” Katma asked Bama as she braced herself to meet the oncoming dust devil. Bama pretended he couldn’t hear her above the roar of the wind and sand. “Mask!” he called out as he tugged his facemask downward from its perch on his forehead. “What?” Katma asked, not hearing him, but then she nodded when she 30 saw him secure his mask and goggles over his face with the ease of long practice. Her mask was fashioned from recycled plastic and bore the likeness of a snarling cat. Unlike his which came without protection for the eyes, forcing him to combine with ski goggles, hers was a one-piece. It took only a moment for her to pull it from its resting place on her belt and clasp it over her face. “I want to see the stars!” she shouted, her voice a woosh over the roar of the twin dust devils. She hoped that telling him hers would prompt him to tell his. “Rain,” Bama whispered as the dust devil swallowed him. The school was housed in 10 discarded transport containers arranged in a semi-circle on one of the few expanses of herd ground in the area. The very first time he saw it four years before, Bama deduced from the charred space station custom entry and exit markings that crisscrossed them and the smell of smoke that years of scrubbing had not been able to mask that they must have come from a crashed space transport. He eased his hoverbike onto the hardened earth of the school’s vehicle park. He heard the soft crunch that followed the weight of the vehicle breaking sprouts of the soft, grass-like plant that grew rapidly in the morning and withered at night, spreading spores that sought for and clung to the faintest hint of moisture with which to begin the 43-hour daily life cycle all over again. Condensation from the cooling systems of vehicles made the school’s vehicle park one of the few perpetually green areas. By the time Bama finished storing his helmet and gloves inside the storage compartment of his bike, Katma was already running towards the container buildings that made up what the sign the government at Port Complex had put up identified as “Bitu Nomad School”. He ran to catch up with her. “What’s the hurry?” he asked. “We are late,” she said. Bama didn’t argue. He blamed himself for their lateness because he had taken her father’s Weals – the native species that the Bedouin had domesticated for milk and meat – to the water dispenser and then found some of the town boys had gotten there before him, so, he had to wait for them to fill dozens of water carts before he had a chance to key in his credits and commence the wait for the beat-up machine to draw enough water to satisfy the two dozen animals in his care from the borehole the first settlers built over 100 years before. “You know, we didn’t see any other dust devils after those two,” Katma said, throwing a look at him over her shoulder as she slowed down a bit. “It’s still morning Katma,” Bama stated, “the suns will have to warm up before the wind will whip up more dust devils.” “You don’t know that. You just like sounding smart.” Katma said, walking faster. 31 Bama lengthened his stride and was just about to catch up with her when they crossed into the classroom. “The soil here is exquisite. The mineral composition… Geological records show that millions of years ago, Arid was full of towering forests and there were only a few deserts in solar overlap zone. We are not yet sure what happened to all those trees and grass and shrubs and the animals that fed on them, but we know at some point in our planet’s history, they died off. Current scientific consensus it that it was likely due to a rare and destructive shift in solar orbits, triggering a series of dual solar hyperflares. The abundance of rich organic matter is why we have so many fossil fuel deposits and such rich soil,” the holographic projection of the teacher was saying as Bama and Katma walked by to take their seats at the back of the class. It was geography and Bama hated it, and as always happened when he got that way, his mind started to wander, helped along by the mention of soil and nutrients. His father used to talk about the soil of Arid with words that sounded like the ones the teacher used, only his had carried more passion. “The soil here is the best on any world I’ve seen. No, haven’t tested it but I can smell just how rich it is. Feel the texture! You’ve seen the terrariums. All you need is water and this whole planet will be one big beautiful garden,” Basil Yadum had said to his family as they stood looking down at Bitu from the dunes on the day they arrived. Knowing what would come next, Bama had shut his eyes, tight, not wishing to hear that phrase that had brought them only misery. He struggled but failed to stop his ears from hearing his father say, “If only Amadioha will bless us again. Bless us with the rainmaking gift of our fathers.” “I believe the blessing is still there, what we lack are the tools. Where will you get fresh palm fronds on this planet? And if you have it, will the rain gods hear your chants from here? We are light years away from home” Bama’s mother said. “The gods go where we go. The palm fronds are but a prop. We will call them with whatever is native here. The gods will answer. Sometimes though, they answer too well. Did I ever tell you about my great grandfather’s quest in Accra?” Yadum Basil asked as he led the way down the dune, towards the town the family would call home. His father had told them the story before, but Bama didn’t remind him. He instead hoisted their youngest on his shoulder and walked after his father, his legs sinking calf-deep into the blue sand as he leaned back to avoid plunging head-first down the dune. His father’s voice carried back to them, borne by the wind that snatched 32 words from his mouth and hurled them back along with the loose end of the scarf he used to cover his mouth and nose. “My great grandfather was resting at home when a loud knock greeted him. He opened the door to find palace guards standing there. They told him the Oba needed his services. The scientists had forecasted dry heat and they needed him to quench the heat of the day before the king came out to welcome the new yam, only it wasn’t that simple. Amadioha answered Papa Yadum, as always. It marked the start of the glory days of clan Yadum. We feasted with kings,” Basil said, smiling broadly. Bama had sighed. His father didn’t tell of his own father’s adventure in Benin and the rain that wasn’t a shower or the drizzle that was asked for. Benin was flooded and the Oba’s feast ruined. Many died and family Yadum fled to the stars for a chance to live. The fear of capture also meant they couldn’t live in Port Complex, Arid’s main town, where the presence of a Federation government outpost meant their presence could easily be reported back to Earth. Among the Bedouin tribes that had migrated here and saw Arid’s native grass-like plant and the Weals they domesticated as vital to sustaining their traditional seminomadic life, clan Yadum found safety. He always wondered if making rain here would redeem them and give their lives a semblance of normality. “Rain…” Bama muttered under his breath as he returned to the moment. “What did you say?” Katma asked. “Nothing. I was just remembering something.” “Katma Dikun and Bama Yadum, I will not have you two come late to class and then not pay attention. If I catch you distracted again you will be punished,” the teacher’s projection warned from the surround speakers in the wall. Katma made a face at Bama and smiled. “Simulations have shown that if only we had more rainfall in Arid like we have on some of the other green planets in the Federation, this would be one of the most prosperous planets in the quadrant,” The teacher continued, and Bama found he didn’t need the story to keep his interest. “Federation scientists at Port Complex have tried for years to use cloudseeding and solar radiation management - which you will learn about next year in your general science class - to alter the climate and make more rain, but so far, nothing has worked to scale.” A freckle-faced boy in the front raised his hands, interrupting the teacher’s flow, much to Bama”s annoyance. “Yes Karid, what is it?” The teacher asked. “My father said that if we get the mining companies to ship ice from one of the faraway moons here, we wouldn’t need to worry about water in 33 Arid,” Karid answered. “Your father is potentially right Karid, but the ice mining companies want large payments and exclusive contracts to exploit the land and resources. Negotiations have been ongoing with them for years but Arid is not a wealthy planet and the Federation government on Earth has other planets that are of higher priority. Besides, the tribes that first settled this planet only use the most rudimentary technology and are wary of large-scale ice processing facilities. I am afraid Arid may remain the way it is for the foreseeable future, with sparse rainfall, until something is eventually worked out or there is another, less destructive, shift in solar orbits” the teacher said. “What about the rainmakers?” Karid asked. Bama didn’t need to turn to see that Katma was staring at him. “The rainmakers are not real. They are just a legend from Earth. On Arid, you need science and a lot of money to make rain,” the teacher said. Bama knew he shouldn’t speak but the words came tumbling out, “That’s not true. The rainmakers can make rain. They commune with Amadioha and he gathers the rainclouds. The ability to speak to the gods is transferred from one generation to the next. Because you don’t know this doesn’t mean it is not true!” The class was silent for a while. The teacher appeared taken aback by Bama’s outburst, or maybe it was just a delay in the transmission. “Who told you this?” she finally asked. “My father,” Bama said matching her gaze. “His father, my grandfather, was a rainmaker. My father also said the gods go where we go.” “Can you make rain then?” Karid asked. “I…” Bama struggled to form words, instead his mind flew back to all the times he had watched his father dance and chant the rainmaking songs but failed to draw even a droplet from the skies. “What?” Karid taunted, “Are you a rainmaker or not?” “Stop it, Karid,” the teacher said, but it was Bama she was looking at, electronic eyes echoing the pity she must have been feeling. Around the classroom, people were either openly snickering or doing their best to hide their bemusement. Katma was looking at Bama, saying nothing. “Didn’t he just say he is a rainmaker?” Karid asked, spreading his arm askance. Bama didn’t know how the chant started, but he was determined not to give his classmates the benefit of seeing him cry as he grabbed his bag and ran out of the class. He could still hear the words “rainmaker, rainmaker!” following him even when he had driven too far away for the voices to carry to him. 34 Bama could feel the heat of the sand pebbles beneath his bottom as stared into the distance. Holding his face still, his eyes scanned the horizon where the gunmetal hue of one of Arid’s two large moons held his eyes and compelled him to scan up to her sister, a red orb with a halo that he had learnt in astronomy class was made up of fragments from a time when another moon, or an asteroid, had crashed into her a millennia ago. Local legend held that the moons were sisters on Arid who fell out after the metallic one killed the red one’s lover. The sisters were depicted as a silver-haired maid that was always laughing while in flight and the other a sad-eyed and red-haired, halo-wearing virgin running after her. Bama no longer believed the story, but he liked hearing it told, if nothing else, it made the names of the moons of Arid easier to memorise: Evil Aryana and Good Rowna. Everything in Arid came in twos. It was a planet of duality, except when it came to rain. “Don’t tell me you ran away from class to stare at the two sisters?” Katma said as she walked up to him. “Why did you follow me?” Bama asked, grateful for her company but in need of a stern exterior. “What? You want me to leave you out here alone, miserable?” “I am not miserable. I left before I broke someone’s head.” Katma laughed and passed a skin bag of water to him. “Will you try to make rain now?” She asked, a twinkle in her eyes. “What?” Bama was taken aback by her question. “Don’t pretend you are not thinking about it. Will you, like your father before you, try to make rain?” she pressed. Bama didn’t reply he turned away from her to stare at the two sisters. “You know that as far as you are your father’s son, the blood of you forefathers flows in you?” Bama laughed. “Those are my words.” “You also said the gods are where you are, and I say your father’s failure isn’t yours. Anyway, you also told me about this, so here, take it.” She said, handing him a desiccated palm frond preserved in wax. Bama took the palm frond from her, “where did you find this?” He asked, incredulous. “There is no mystery Bama. I stole it from the biology lab. We will have to put it back, soon.” She said. “Now, will you make rain?” The blade of palm leaf felt strangely heavy in Bama’s hand as he rubbed it inside his shoulder-strung bag. He kept touching the leaf intermittently throughout the short journey back to school and the punishment that he knew awaited him. He would have preferred to hold it all the way back to school but 35 besides the fact that it was dry and brittle, it was a bad idea to be seen with it. That would have led to more trouble for him. Katma too. He would rather suffer a thousand years of after school detention than snitch on his friend. Touching the leaf gave Bama hope. If he closed his eyes a for bit, he could see the palm forests back on earth. If he allowed his mind wander, he could see the branches swaying in the wind and smell the moist odour of the tropical forest. When Katma gave him the leaf, Bama was sure she wanted him to chant and make rain. He had seen the disappointment in her eyes when he had instead started talking about his grandfather and how his father had said that he preached against using the power of his clan frivolously. Later, he would tell himself that it was his fear that was talking. He was afraid of trying because he was afraid of failing. “Will you be at the two sister’s dance today?” Katma asked, breaking the silence that had marked their ride back to school. “I don’t know. I still need to water your father’s Weals and fill my mother’s water drum,” Bama replied. “Okay, I will fill your mother’s drum while you take care of the Weals, just transfer the credits to me. That way, you will be ready before the dance begins,” Katma said, the flare of her eyes daring him to reject her proposal. “Okay. You do know I will probably be punished for leaving class and that will mean getting back home very late?” “You won’t,” Katma said with an assurance that caused Bama to turn sharply to look at her. “You won’t because it was Miss Rethabile that asked me to go get you. She is not mad at you, you see.” Katma slid down from her bike and ran towards the classroom before Bama had the chance to reply. Two rusty rocket wings with the snarling visage of hill cats painted on in luminescent green were the only thing that marked the gates of the tent town of Bitu as the two teenagers rode in under the gaze of Arid’s twin suns and moons. The ground in and around the town were littered with junk from the time Arid functioned as a scrapyard for the mining companies and their sleeper ships that populated this quadrant. Scavengers, the first settlers of Bitu, had moved the scraps to the edge of their town as they expanded, and it looked like the eye of a storm of debris when viewed from the large dune overlooking it. Bitu was abandoned for almost a century when the scavengers followed the sleeper ships to more profitable parts of space, but they left more than their town behind. Much of Bitu was powered by the solar cells the original settlers had scavenged from discarded supply ships and installed when they ran the town. They also built the large water dispenser that tapped into an 36 underground, plant-wide ocean and was one of the things that attracted the Bedouin who now ran the town to settle in what was essentially then a ghost town. The Bedouin tribe that settled in Bitu weren’t so keen on technology and still insisted on not having artificial lights in Bitu. “There are only 3 hours of night here and they say it blots out the stars,” Katma’s father had replied when Bama had inquired why. “How about the dance,” Katma called out to Bama. “I don’t know,” Bama said, slowing down as they reached the biggest tent in the town, “Father might need me.” Katma nodded. “Come find me if you make it,” she said as she parked her bike near the entrance of the tent. “Okay,” Bama said and swung his bike towards the western part of town where shipping crate house his family now called home was. As Bama shut down his bike, he could hear his father’s voice from upstairs, telling one of his usual stories. Bama felt he was too old for tall tales, but he found himself drawn to his father’s narration. It wasn’t like the story he was telling was new, Bama had heard it a thousand times, told with the same baritone that he remembered from his childhood. With his back to the family gathered around the windfed coal fire in front of the family tent, Bama feigned disinterest even as he followed his father’s words, forming them with his mouth, but never saying them out loud. He could tell the story with the same drama his father brought to it and knew that one day it would be him telling it to his own children, like his father’s father had told his father and his uncles before. The story of the rainmaker was theirs; a part of family Yadum’s legacy, one Basil Yadum had brought to the stars with him when he left earth to escape the Oba of Benin’s wrath and seek his fortune with the tens of thousands who boarded the sleeper ships that lazy harmattan in 2187. “...Ciril Yadum opened the palm fronds he had collected from the Awka spirit forest. Knotting them together to form a rope, he closed his eyes and willed the droplets of water in the sky to come together like the rope and become clouds that would give rain. Amadioha heard and before the gathered town, the sky darkened and droplets of rain as big as a man’s fist started dropping to the earth. The long dry season was over and there was joy in the land,” Basil Yadum ended his tale to wild clapping from his audience. Bama smiled at the fact that his father had cut the story short, ending it before he got to the part where Ciril Yadum was carried shoulder high into Accra and feted for ending the draught. He also didn’t add the part that spoke about every first born Yadum child having the ability to control weather. He also didn’t chant the rain god’s song, the one they were supposed to commit to memory and use when they desperately needed rain 37 to fall. He also failed to mention his father’s death in Benin, their escape to the stars and the bounty that still lies on the head of everyone with Yadum blood. Bama wasn’t shocked that his father abridged the story. He had started doing that years ago. Bama felt his father had stopped believing and he thought he knew why. 5 years before, the Yadum tribe had arrived at Arid, hoping for a short stopover before continuing to their destination, the agricultural planet of Falk. His father had said they would be on Arid for not more than a month, but his mother had gotten ill and by the time they had exhausted their resources treating her, 3 years had gone by and 2 years after, they were still planet bound, with no resources to buy a ticket off planet. If there was any planet ever in need of the services of a rainmaker, it was this one. Bama wasn’t sure how it happened, but he couldn’t forget the day his father left home, promising to have a solution to all their problems by the time he got back. The short night flew by and he didn’t come back. Fretful sleep later calmed a home that went to bed without a father. The next day saw dawn ushering urgent raps on the plastic door. It was opened to a ragged-looking and dirt-covered Basil Yadum who staggered in. He didn’t talk about it, but Bama later learnt that he had tried to make rain, but unlike his legendary grandfather, he had failed and was set upon by those who thought he was a fraud. Failure was still following them. Bama shrugged away his recollection and walked into the tent, smiling as he hugged his brothers, 6-year-old twins who had taken to life among the dunes of Bitu like fish to water. His sister, ten-year-old Adama waved at him and returned to stirring what he knew was dinner. “Another night of sour milk,” He thought, as he threw the twins in the air one after the other and then stilled their shouts for “more! more!” with a steely gaze. “Bama, come sit with us,” his mother called from the far end. He bowed as he walked past his father to take his mother’s frail form in a bear hug before accepting the bowl of sour camel milk from Adama. “Sorry, we don’t have fura,” his mother said. Bama frowned at the apology he heard in her voice. “It is okay mama. I prefer the milk without fura,” he said, giving her his best smile. “There is sweetener on the table behind you,” his father said, avoiding his eyes. One rule of the Two Sisters’ dance was not to wear any face covering. The dance was an avenue for young people to find mates and thus everyone was supposed to keep their masks at home and brave the dust that the dancers’ feet swept up in the hope of locking eyes with the person that they 38 would most likely spend the rest of their life with. Bama didn’t get to the dance early so people had already paired off and were nose-to-nose by the time he reached the square. They called it a square, but it was actually an open, circular space in the middle of the tent town that all the four main streets led to. Bama clutched his shoulder bag tightly as he made his way towards the dancers and stood at the edge of the circle within which thousands of feet had stamped porcelain-blue sand into firm earth over the years. He watched, his mind far away. Paired dancers came together and swung apart in a tease that Bama found too intimate for his comfort. If he must dance the banta then it must be with someone he cared enough for to ignore the foul breaths that must follow the rubbing of noses which marked the beginning and ending of each dance cycle. Katma had asked him to dance but he had demurred, and she was at that moment dancing with her cousin, one of several female-to-female pairings in the square. He noted some male-to-male pairings, but these were few. Dust swirled around Bama as a couple, nosed squashed together, swirled past him, dancing out of sync with the beat of the drums and horns and guitars from the energetic band in the middle of the square. Bama coughed as dust overwhelmed him. He backed away, trying to create more space between himself and the melee of dancers, and bumped into someone. “Oh! it’s the rainmaker from Earth,” ` Karid’s scornful voice greeted Bama. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking,” Bama said to Karid and his two older cousins. “Hamish, Bole, this is the Earth boy that claimed he can make rain,” Karid said, his voicing rising to draw in more spectators. Sensing mischief that would gift more fun than the song and dancers, many people within the immediate vicinity started moving towards Karid’s voice. “Is it true that you can make rain, Earth boy?” Hamish asked. “I…” Bama began but Karid cut him off, “He absolutely says he can make rain.” “Well can you, or can’t you? The dust here needs some settling.” Bole said. Bama turned, meaning to walk away, only to come face to face with Katma. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him strangely before clasping his hand in hers and turning to face the crowd. “Bama may not be able to make rain, but he can teach us the rain dance.” Bama didn’t want to dance. 39 He shook his head at Katma, pulling at her hand as he did so to convey the depth of his disagreement. She persisted, leaning to whisper in his ear, “you either dance, make rain or walk away and be the butt of Karid and his goon’s jokes forever. I say dance, I’ve seen you dance before, it is magical.” “But why do I need to prove anything to Karid? He is just a loudmouth.,” Bama whispered back. “A loudmouth he is, but he has challenged you here and you know the roles of a challenge tonight?” she asked. Bama knew. He just had not realised that was what Karid was doing. A challenge issued during the Two Sisters’ dance, which happened once a cycle, must be answered, or forfeited. The rule also stated that the challenge must be something that the challenged party had admitted to been capable of undertaking. Bama’s family had claimed rainmaking powers, Karid is asking him to put up or shut up. Katma squeezed his hand and a courage that hadn’t been there before surged in his heart. Bama looked up at the twin moons, bright in the faded light of their twin sun cousins. They seemed to pulse at him, as though telling him some larger cosmic secret about himself, his father, his family, his gods. He let go of Katma’s hand and reached into his bag to touch the wax-encased palm frond. Bama turned away from her and faced Karid. “Okay, I will do the rain dance,” he said. “Not make rain?” Karid asked, making a shocked look that drew laughter from the growing crowd. “No, not rain. Take what’s on offer or forfeit,” Katma said, using her shoulders to push Bama behind her. “Okay. We will take the dance if it is as good as the ones we’ve seen from Earth,” Karid said. Bama nodded and moved to the middle of the square. He took the dance stance and was about to start the incantations that preceded the first movement when a thought struck him. People challenge others when they are rivals in the affairs of the heart and wanted to diminish them in the eyes of the desired. He walked back to Katma. “Why has Karid challenged me here?” he asked her. Katma laughed and pushed him back into the square. “Dance Bama Yadum!” she yelled after him. Bama resumed the dance stance. Without meaning to, he found himself thinking about the dust and how the square would look and feel more different if the ground was wet and the earth held together so as not to give up easily to the press and pull of stamping and shoving feet. He felt his feet moving and soon he was cutting the air with his hands as 40 the familiar pattern of the rain dance took shape in his mind and his body responded. He remembered earth and the smell of wet soil and grass and pollen and the wetness of rain running down his face. He recalled the taste of the droplets and the crunchiness of hail between his teeth. Dust whirled around him and seemed to pick up speed as his dancing became more energetic. The song started as a whisper but soon became a buzz and the names of ancestors who had called upon the rain gods came faster and faster to his lips. Bama didn’t think about the words as he said his father’s name and then his before leaping up and finishing the dance with a flourish. He had never done the rain dance with this much passion. Now that he was through, he could feel the eye of everyone in the square upon him. About him, stamped into the ground, were patterns The crowd stood around him, still stunned. Bama knew it when the first raindrop hit his forehead and when the next one smashed unto his eyelids, but he thought it was still a memory. He closed his eyes as the third, fourth and fifth drops hit, and he would have remained that way but for the shouts of glee that erupted around him. He opened his eyes to find people in a state of uproar as raindrops poured from the sky, quickly turning the dust around the dancer’s ankles to mud as their glee intensified. He turned around to see Katma standing still in the pouring rain, staring at him with a knowing smile on her face. He ran to her and engulfed her in an embrace and spinning her around as the rain fell around them. Bama watched the planet receding against a sea of black from the view port the same way he had watched it enlarging when he’d first arrived on Arid with his family, the two suns shining like curious eyes in the distance. It was still mostly porcelain blue and brown and white as it had been then but now there were pockets of a new colour - green. “Do you think they will change the name of the planet? It isn’t arid anymore,” Katma asked, as she came to stand beside him. “No, the name will probably stay,” Bama said. “People grow attached to names, likes ways of life. And since we are asking questions, how do you like being the partner of a star travelling rainmaker?” “I like it, very much. Although, you know, there are some that say you were just lucky, Mr. Rainmaker, that the binary suns had already shifted orbits, and the increased rainfall is a natural climate adjustment to their new positions.” “Maybe. Or maybe, Amadioha shifted the suns to make more rain. 41 Who’s to say? We shall see. For now, we get to travel the quadrant together, making rain.” She laughed. “It’s funny, you know what I wished for when we saw the dust devils eight years ago?” “What did you ask for?” Bama asked, laughing. “I asked to see the stars. What did you ask of your dust devil?” Katma asked. “Rain,” Bama answered, pointing towards the receding planet. “I asked for rain.” 42 BEHIND OUR IRISES By Tlotlo Tsamaase Each iris in the city bears the burning shades of autumn, ranging from light to dark. Every eye in our firm runs surveillance programs behind its pupil. Connected through the authenticated enterprise cloud network to the central servers of the Firm. Able to detect corporate theft, infraction, abuse of work assets and more. Much more. I knew about the eyes but I only noticed the holes in our necks, stabbed into the jugular, into the carotid artery in that unsurveilled split second when my black pupils blinked silver and then back to black as the company automatically upgraded me. In that fraction of a second, when all their restraints loosened, I tried to scream. I’d just started working for this fine establishment and I was on my third month of probation when it began. I was a graphic designer for a market research firm boasting a growing roster of foreign multinationals with tentacles steeped in every industry: manufacturing, agriculture, food industry, construction, health, technology, fashion, publishing, everything. Before that I was unemployed for seven months living off my savings, so I hungrily signed the contract when they called me in after my interview. I was shocked that they could only offer me 3,000 pula, a salary that could barely cover my rent. How was I going to pay for transportation, utilities, groceries? They said they’d only review my salary at the end of the probation. I had to move out and find a squat room in Old Naledi that undergraduate students of a nearby university were using, which luckily was forty minutes’ walk from work, so I could make it without needing to catch 43 a taxi-then-a-combi like I had to for my previous job. The room I lived in was a compact space with only a shower and a twoplate stove in the entrance. Cold water, no heater. I lived cooped up in my house with no daylight and nature to water my stale growth. The windows looked out into walls and pit latrines. Dust swept itself in with flies from long-gone shit. Early morning, I forced myself through the grueling cold to work. Everything was the same, except for last night’s buzz that was still saturating my body. It was my third guy in ten months—there was nothing special or serious about it. Sometimes it felt like my heart was drenched in fire, today it was numb. “Perhaps his spam is inducing an adverse reaction in your body,” she said during our usual morning call as I walked to the office. Her name was Boitumelo, her nickname was Tumie, and we called her Tumza for short—a nickname for a nickname. Tumza and I called every guy’s sperm spam. “Or maybe I’m fed up of the clone of bastards always swarming around me,” I said. “When you’re fed up, you tend to grow a third eye that tends to see the bullshit for what it is. And because bullshit is bullshit and sometimes nothing much can be done about it, you swim backstrokes through it.” Tumza snorted. “You have such creepy humor.” I laughed as I crossed the pedestrian-heavy road towards the Fairground strip mall, its concrete, steel and glass face reflecting the morning sun. “I haven’t seen you in a span.” “Joh! I haven’t had a free weekend,” she said. “I’m working on a residential project, our firm’s also working on a tender, and I have to go to site later for a commercial building we’re project managing. I don’t know, man, I’m going crazy. I haven’t slept in my bed for two days. Like, I don’t know what I’m chasing anymore. And we just got our updates yesterday, so you can imagine how crazy it’s going to be.” “Updates?” “Ja, some new app a company is selling to our big boss.” “Oh. Well, fuck san. That’s not a life I miss. At least you’re getting paid big bucks.” “The nigga don’t pay—everyone in the industry knows that. I’ve been trying to jump ship for centuries, but he has his claws throughout the industry. Any whisper of me fishing around and he’s gonna blacklist me by word-of-mouth. He’s done it to others before.” “What’d I tell you about that third eye?” “Bra, not funny at the moment—shit, gotta go, some clingy client’s on the line. Also don’t worry about work. I’m sure they’ll be happy with your performance so far. Hang in there, choms! Your career will take off. Cheers.” With that I was left alone with a dial tone slicing my goodbye in half. I 44 stared at the goodbye wrapped around my gluey tongue, my tongue always trying to stick itself to things that never lasted: kisses, dickheads, soggy heartbreaks, dead-end jobs. A text message beeped into my phone. “Can’t make it tonight.” Another guy tossing aside the promise he made me. It’s fine. Promises weren’t immortal; they lay like dead animals in my teeth. On my way to work, fatigue seethed through my blood like alcohol. I just thought that if I hung around long enough, worked my ass off, I’d clear probation, revise my contract and get a better salary. I was still sending out my resumes and somehow able to go for interviews, but unable to snag another job. I watched the traffic flow idly and the cars looked like sheep bustling through a tight lane under the glaring heat of the Gaborone sun. Shiny sheep with hooves stomping to the same endless nightmare. My scream was trapped within the boundaries of my skin: I hate my job. I hate my job. I hate my job. I envy those who have cars: warmth and luxury surrounding them. Across from me on Samora Machel Dr waiting for the traffic lights to turn green, was a stern lady with sunglasses on in a white BMW X5, and I was wondering what she was listening to, what it’d be like to be her, living in her skin. Her skin look drabbed on expensively, exquisite and elegant at the same time. It had the K-drama glow to it. A woman in a black Mercedes drove by wearing a weave that could probably pay my rent for months. The melanin glow of her skin reminded me of sunsets. Perhaps I’d look like her if I wore her skin, too. I pressed my nose high and imagined what it would smell like. The perfume on it. I sniffed as I quickly purchased magwinya and chips from one of the street vendors that lined the road with their tables and tattered umbrellas; behind them were shacks upon shacks, clusters of dire poverty, and on the other side of the highway stood a twostory mall, an upscale lodge, a car dealer shop and more affluent businesses. Where will I be when I’m thirty years old? Or thirty-five? Will I even reach fifty? Inadequacy. You compare yourself too much to other people, I thought, trying to stop this habit. All these drivers, all these strangers turned and looked at me with blank eyes. I looked nothing like them which had to mean that I was an alien. The office idled around in Fairground Mall on the second floor. I crossed the bypass, the parking lot, and ascended the stairs. Approaching the glass entrance door, I pressed my thumb against the finger scanner, it stung, and the door slid open. I sucked at my thumb, tasting the salt of blood. I got to my desk feeling mind-boggled. A hand was waiting in the air for my hi-five. Everyone had on the same smile, the same voice, the same excitement. They were so happy being at a miserable job. Why was I different? Why were they happy to be in this life and I was not? Wassup, bro 45 How was your weekend Nothin’ big, just chillin’ with the fam ‘sup ma —words floated into the air like dead emojis. I stared at my thumb, a pinprick of blood slipping out. Did the scanner steal my blood? I looked up. A cluster of desks in an open-plan layout. It looked like we were sitting in transparent toilets, everyone watching everyone’s shitty business. This wasn’t natural. It didn’t feel right. We should be in an open, warm, collaborative space like a true team, working together. But this was best for space and work efficiency, the head office said. Most of the things that ran our lives were manufactured, designed and mandated by others. For our late lunch that day, the manager took us down to the cafeteria to wind down and congratulate us on our hard work. The first time we had closed doors early. We thought we weren’t working. The elevator brought us to the ground-floor restaurant overlooking a garden with fountains, bird song and trees. Within thirty minutes we’d allocated ourselves into cliques on a long dining table, overflowing with chatter and mouthwatering cuisine: several mini-grills that a couple of my coworkers were already laying into. Swaths of nicely marinated boerwores and sticky chicken pieces they wolfed down whilst chugging bottles of cider and beers. One coworker, hazy-eyed and slurring words chewed on a biltong and laughed at a stupid joke the manager lodged. There was a crock filled with chakalaka; bamboo bowls with steamed madombi spattered with an assortment of herbs; bowls and plates of couscous, several cobs of corn, a steaming stew of mogodu— “This is all so appetizing,” my coworker Puleng Maiteko interrupted my hungry, ogling eyes. “But I’d rather get a raise. Paying us with meals is so cheap.” She raised the decanter and filled her wine glass. “Might as well get stupid drunk and full.” It entered my mind like a butterfly. They are using our temporary hunger to lull us into something. But I ignored the thought as I scattered some sticky chicken still glistening in marinade onto a mini-grill and it sizzled as I dished for myself. Puleng tugged at an earring, hanging like a beaded chandelier from her ear, which is a habit of hers when she’s concentrating on something bothering her. “What’s wrong?” I asked, chewing on a spoonful of chakalaka. “My grandmother once cooked this for our family’s usual weekend potluck gathering,” she whispered, breath perfumed by the scent of a Phumla Pinotage. “Okay…Then what’s the problem?” “These exact same meals…from three years ago.” She shook her head, which was elegantly wrapped in a richly colored Ankara design doek. 46 “Never mind, it just hit me like a bad case of déjà vu. It tastes exactly the way she does it. You know no one in our family has been able to replicate the taste of her recipes.” A tear slipped down her face. “My grandmother passed away three years ago. This…just felt like she was alive again.” Puleng drank three bottles of wine before sunset, and the manager Alefaio Isang advised the company driver to take her home. I had also guzzled too many glasses of wine and even though I was not in as bad a state as Puleng, I hurried to the office’s unisex bathroom to relieve my protesting bladder. I stopped when I saw my colleague Keaboka Letang bent over, his head dipped into a sink full of water, hands grappling with the rim. I yanked him up, his Senegalese braids slapped me. What the fuck was going on today? He gasped for air. Stood against the sink and stared at himself in the mirror, with dark trails of mascara running down his face. He was crying. I felt whiplashed like I was at a funeral-cum-party. ‘What’s going on? Are you okay?” I asked, forgetting my need to pee. “It’s the only way I can deactivate them. It only lasts three minutes. I don’t know why. Listen to me.” Keaboka grabbed my shoulders, his eyes wild and frantic. “You can’t see it. The holes. They use the holes. They… They’ve been selling us to their clients.” I giggled and burped thinking he was making a joke. He speed-talked nonsensically all the time staring at his ticking watch, unable to find his cellphone. “They use us. These bastards feel too safe and comfortable with this thing they installed in us.” “What?” I staggered back, tipsy and confused—stunned also because he was generally a quiet person who focused on his assignments, mostly managing the social media pages of our clients, photoshoots, booking influencers and models, etc. “What are you talking about?” I felt terribly sorry for him and offered consoling arms. “Relax eh. Whatever happened we can probably sort it out with— ” “You’re not listening to me.” He grabbed my shoulders, wringing them and I expected myself to crack like an egg and spill all over the bathroom floors. “Get out. Do not renew or upgrade your contract. Don’t sign anything. They have a pipeline where they sell us—we are the products—it’s those fucking updates — the holes—they plug—” The doors slammed open. Security guards thundered in. Keaboka started hiccupping and floundering in their grips. “He’ll be alright. He has a condition and is sometimes unwell. We’re taking him to the office doctor,” they said to me as they gathered Keaboka out. One guard remained, making sure I didn’t follow them. “This must be a shock to you. Why don’t you rejoin the others?” 47 By Monday I had started to forget the trauma of my coworkers when the manager called me into his office to let me know that my probation was over and that they were finally reviewing my contract. I would be upgraded to consultant! With benefits! A better salary! And potential to upgrade further to housing benefits, medical and more! There was one clause. My contract included a stipulation that I would have to be installed with new, non-invasive pill-form technology WeUs— developed by the Nairobi Tech Hub of one of their prominent clients. If I agreed then I could keep my job. If I didn’t, then my current contract would run its course and I’d be out of work by the end of the year, jumping back into the hungry ocean of the unemployed. I had two-months’ worth of pending rent. I had no savings, no belongings, nothing substantial to my name. My landlord had been threatening to throw out my belongings whilst I was at work; the thought of coming home to find my entire home outside the boundary wall had made me desperately change the locks which set her off. This job was my oasis. “It’ll be worth it in the end,” our higher-up said, adjusting his tie. He was an European man with a balding hairline, stocky fingers and a certain kind of confidence that intimidated me. “It’ll make your life so much easier. We’re partnering with a highly-esteemed technology company, InSide, that’s offering our employees absolutely free subscription to their app. It will help you increase your productivity and streamline your life. You will be the best you that you can be. You’re valuable to us and we’d hate to lose you.” He leaned back into his chair, his hazel eyes boring into me. “We’re looking to expand our company into several countries: Zambia, Dubai, South Africa, Nigeria”—he counted them off with his fingers as if they were already conquered—“and we want to use this year to groom you because we see you eventually heading customer relations in Dubai once you cut your teeth in the region. That is of course, if you stay with us.” I swallowed deeply at the thought of living in a what was widely regarded as the world’s most technologically advanced city and of reaching the summit of the corporate ladder. I just had to swallow a pill that would deposit nanobots behind my eyes and connect me to the firm’s network, ferrying data to and fro. Of course, I’d be paid a minimum sum of 100,000 pula which felt like a shitload of money just to swallow a pill. There was another butterfly thought in my mind. I ignored it. I signed the contract and took the pill. When I got home, I felt odd. A surge of anemia and fever overwhelmed me. I steadied myself with the walls of my apartment, wading through the heavy dark until I stumbled into bed, out of breath. I had little energy to do anything, to nourish myself or call an ambulance. I felt wrecked with an exhaustion that I prayed sleep would solve. When the bright morning sun opened my eyes, I was urged by a tightening in my gut that rushed me to 48 the bathroom to vomit my entire self out. I sat propped against the bathtub, wiping sweat from my face. I actually felt better. Brushed my teeth. Had breakfast. Showered and went to work. I had the best workday I’d ever had in my life. Before long, I moved to a new apartment and bought new clothes. I went out more and had even more meaningless encounters with men I didn’t care about, laughing over these dalliances with Tumie who’d gotten a promotion. Then I started having strange tendencies toward staying late at work. Smiling at the manager who flirted with every woman in the office. Then there were the black outs. I’d be locking up after work, heading for a combi—then nothing but a complete deep abyss in my memory. My 6am alarm would blare, I’d wake up in bed feeling sore, like I’d spent the day before in an HIIT cardio workout, unable to recount where I was the night before or how I got home. Shortly after, I used my 100,000 pula as a downpayment for a house in an exclusive gated community for employees of our firm. We worked together. Lived together. Spent weekends together. Carpooled to jols and vacation homes and work trips. After months and months of this routine, I knocked off one night and stood in the dark foyer of my home, crumbled into a pile of skin and bones on the floor and cried, heaving hot breaths, not knowing why I was crying, but a deep chasm of hurt somewhere in my chest thronged and thronged with pain. I reached for my cellphone, but my front door flew open. The security guards of our estate. With flashing lights and heavy boots. “Everything alright? We heard the alarm.” “Alarm? What alarm?” I asked. They gathered me up. “It’s going to be alright. The doctor’s on his way.” Laid me on the living room couch. A man appeared. In his gown. Spectacles and sleep-swept hair. My neighbor. Something glinted in his hand, reflecting the slim shape of moonlight sliding through a crack in the curtains. A syringe. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetie. This will help.” The guards’ hands tied me back as I struggled. A sting. An urge. Slowly I became swallowed into a current of sedation; my eyes slipping me into a prison of dark, glimpsed at the doctor’s hand-held device, its glass display a map of our estate, little dots with all of our names. Some green. Some red. I was red, changing into amber, changing into green as I fell into a forever deep slumber. And then I was gone. And my body became theirs. In the morning I got up. Breakfast. Showered. Dressed. Carpooled with my colleagues in a state of silence to work. Later in the afternoon, I was upgraded. That’s when I saw it. I was standing in the conference room, presenting concepts to a client when I realized all of my co-workers had holes in their necks. Only half a decibel of my scream escaped as a gasp. I composed myself and seamlessly 49 continued with my presentation on Zulu motifs and geometric shapes to use as patterned stories on their textile range. The client was a burly old man, with several subsidiaries on the continent, aiming for trendy and inclusivity. He was pleased with our proposal to make his product more accessible to their target demographic: hip, female, mid-20s to early 30s. My next meeting came at lunch. A foreign furniture designer with staff and whose company had 17 operations in African countries, but whose profits for his furniture sect were experiencing a stiff dive due to a burgeoning rival: a local competitor. He wanted to add a look of diversity to his furniture range and asked which tribe I was from. Bangwato. He mused, thought perhaps it’d be interesting to color the themes of his work with this mentioned ethnic background. I tried to protest but the sounds did not come out of me, choked back, like my scream. After the meeting, I resigned to my desk, chewed on a chicken sandwich and swallowed a protein shake, clicking, tapping, drawing out designs on my screen. In that split-second update, I had seen it all. The holes in our necks, barely hidden behind chiffon and silk and wool. They have done something to us. It’s funny when something irrefutably terrible happens and people say, “How can such a thing happen? This is absurd. It’s against the law.” But evil flows where it flows. Through gaps and loop holes and human beings. Indifferent to laws legislations policies. Nothing halts it, except, sometimes, a sacrifice. That afternoon, a man in blue coveralls that looked like a cross between a doctor and mechanic casually walked up to me in the kitchen, carrying a sharp tool. I tried desperately to move but some invisible force kept me rigid. He pierced the hole in my neck with it and fondled my veins. “Just doing some maintenance work on your ports,” he said, whistling. His fingers were grimy with greed. Oil or something bitter-tasting slicked down my throat. I struggled and finally got an arm to move. “Stop resisting. Part of the contract you signed.” The man hooked his steel-boot onto my shoulder as he twisted the sharp object into my neck. All I could do was remain still, as pain rattled in my body like branches in a wild windstorm. Inside the shackles of my skin, behind the bars of my bones I was screaming, “No!” “Somebody help me!” “Get the fuck off me!” “I’ll fucking kill you!” “I’m going to burn this building down!” No sound escaped my lips. The man jumped off my shoulders when he was done. “Alright, you can get back to work.” 50 I stroked my neck and felt a deep dent digging into my carotid vein. And then, against my own mind, I turned and went back to my desk. We sat in rows, aligned, ramrod backs, our chins high. Each one of us a well-oiled cog of the workplace machine. There was of course always the odd concerned citizen, who occasionally noticed something off about us. The weird gropes. The frozen smiles. The doe-eyed expressions. The unprovoked tears. The silent hallways, offices, lunchroom. Our persistent abnegation posing as customer service. Then the reporters would come. Then the police would come. We’d smile mildly and reveal nothing wrong in this fine establishment. No matter how much they investigated every nook and cranny of buildings and emails, they couldn’t find the secrets stacked in our bodies. What they found were good benefits, fully paid housing, medical aid, travel allowance, good hospitality, educational grooming, and very loyal unmarried employees who occasionally loved to sleep with their bosses and whose minds and histories were contained in a database monitored by the data analysts and employee management consultants of our established firm. The company grew quickly to manage operations in 29 African countries and was touted for its high diversity hiring and marketing strategies. The company suckled our diversity from our DNA and nervous systems, spooled and aggregated it into its network to create 100% authentic indigenous products, used for concepts in fashion shows, architectural designs to win local tenders. They didn’t need to get close to us to have us open our mouths, they were already inside our bodies listening to every thought pattern and whispers from even our grandparents in the genes of our bodies. The firm was touted for being revolutionary. They mined our stories to flavor just the right amount of diversity in their clients products which accounted for their sky-high profits. They mined the minerals, diamonds and jewels of our very thoughts and histories and cultures that had been buried in our brains; the emblems, cultural motifs were woven with the dialect of our pain into their indigenous furniture designs, patterned textiles. It was all the market research they and their clients would ever need. In our heels and short dresses and men the bosses fancied, we’d shuttle from our desks to the manager’s offices, to hotel rooms and secret getaways. The directors, the managers, the clients had nothing to fear. Their technology sat in us, maimed our voices before it could ever bite them; intercepted the tšatšarag neuromuscular signals shuttling from our brains to our vocal cords. It lynched those muscles in your throat just when you wanted to scream and cry and bleed truth. I had authorized this technology, agreed to the terms and conditions. Now: I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, except under the dominant 51 hand of their technology. They were our voices and we were their voice. Their face. Their ambassadors. We were locked behind our irises, and I found my skin feeling like artificial material, my legs stacked onto a platform, frozen wide eyes staring out into a stream of satisfied customers. They’d learned how to imprison my thoughts in my body, but I am starting to feel free inside this mind of mine even though it doesn’t fully belong to me. Maybe just maybe, when the next update comes and I get a glimpse of freedom again, I will do something with it. 52 FORT KWAME By Derek Lubangakene Two hours passed before Jabari Asalur acknowledged his dread. His chest felt hollow and a damp stillness was lodged in his gut. If he had any breakfast left in him, he would’ve fallen to his knees, stuck a cold finger down his throat and let the exploding bile jar his senses. Anything was better than the endless waiting. Two hours, something was definitely wrong. Naleni hadn’t made it. Their rebellion had failed. She was probably dead. He regretted letting her go back instead of himself. Asalur, you stupid, clumsy coward, he chastised himself. If he hadn’t been such an Asalur and messed up the charges, she wouldn’t have had to risk herself cleaning up after him. Naleni and he would’ve already joined the others and been miles away from danger. Instead he lingered here on this blue-tinged cryocrater, their rendezvous point. There was no point in waiting for her, he knew this, but he couldn’t leave. He owed her that much. To distract himself, he laid down the four control units flat against the ice. One had gone off okay but the other three still glowed red. He suspected their fuses had come loose. He didn’t account for that earlier. Naleni should’ve fixed the fuses by now. But no, the control units still glowed red, not green. Even if they finally turned green, he wouldn’t detonate them until she was with him. She was his only green light. “Come on, Naleni. Come on,” he whispered. He glanced once more at the bio-monitor on his wrist. It blinked a steady amber light. The declining power blurred his vision, turning his mask’s optic visualiser cloudy like into a Harmattan haze. He had maybe forty, fifty minutes of breathable air left. It was already too late, but he 53 couldn’t leave. Not without Naleni. He didn’t want to believe all he had done - all they had done - was in vain. No way. He crouched beside his Kunguru and waited. An hour later, he checked the control units, two of the three had turned green. All three would be great, but two was enough. If only there was a way to communicate to her. He would’ve told her to get out of there. Perhaps she already had. He had no way of knowing but he wouldn’t detonate the charges until she had returned to him. He ignored the sense of urgency. Even when his bio-monitor light turned red and the temperature dropped a dozen degrees, Jabari double-checked his thermskin’s isothermal functions. They were at eighty percent. The wireless receptors between the Kunguru’s backup isothermal reservoir and his thermskin suit still worked. Hypothermia proved a distant threat. Around him, the cryocrater remained silent, save for the frozen ice-shelf cracking underneath the porous bedrock. That and the rumble of distant thunder medleying with the howling winds. As the landscape steadily sluiced into dusk, Jabari’s panic rose. In spite of his thermskin’s capabilities, no amount of training would save him once dusk fell. No amount. He glanced afresh at his surroundings hoping to see Naleni stumbling down the glacial outcroppings. Hard luck. Only the winds replied his anguish. Theirs was a dialect of misgiving. A language he now knew too well. The Kunguru’s comms, connected to his mask, implored him to climb aboard and recharge his thermskin. Jabari ignored the warning. He knew the moment he hopped inside, the Kunguru’s A.I. interface would supervene his manual override and fly him someplace dry and safe. Not that such a place existed. Not for miles in any direction. Fort Kwame was one of a few embers in a growing darkness. The last frontier against the creeping chill. “Come on Naleni,” this time his whisper was a prayer. He knelt, figuring this would conserve power. Perhaps a few fractions of a percent. Perhaps a little more. His movements were the least pilferers of his standby power. He figured the beating of his quailing heart probably consumed enough to excavate a sinkhole by himself. Probably more. He shut his eyes to even his breathing. A vain endeavour. I could just go back for her, couldn’t I? Nah, Jabari dismissed the idea. It was impossible. From the cryocrater, eighty klicks away, he recognised the slick, oil-spill hue of the intrinsic shield glass-doming Fort Kwame’s orbit. Everything had gone according to plan. Well, except, for his clumsy mess that had sent Naleni scurrying back. Despite the intrinsic shield going off, Jabari believed Naleni made it out 54 somehow. She had to. The gravity of what he had done, helping the water dwelling Jo’Nam destroy Fort Kwame, didn’t undo him. Not yet anyway. By sunfall every Civic Centre in every Orbital City from Old Cape Town to New Cairo would hear of Fort Kwame’s fate. They’d hear of the meltdown of the nuclear reactors, the cracking gas hydrates, and the sinking tonnes of metal and bedrock. They’d hear it all. Jabari and Naleni would join the rest of Jo’Nam exodus and resettle in the colonies west of Fort Kwame. They’d be closer to their real home. The ancestors weren’t pleased and none of this thawing would cease unless the Jo’Nam returned home – well, what was left of home. He checked his bio-monitor, then lowered his breathing, and waited. . . The last perfect day Jabari remembered was the day he crashed his Kunguru in the thermokarst lake below the pylons which held Fort Kwame aloft. It was also the last time he saw the clockwork methane-flares storm across the intrinsic shield. The methane-flares burned blue- and fiery, turning the intrinsic shield into an opalescent canopy wherever they hit. He loved the way the shield absorbed the flares, then radiated their fire outwards. It always made him feel tiny perforations press against his thermskin’s polyethylene fibre. They used to call these goosebumps. Back when the language allowed for the acknowledgement of involuntary body functions. Now every inhabitant, from sentry cadets to frontier explorers and the glaciologists and anthropologists, everyone was taught to master their bodily functions. It was the only way they could survive. Back then, Fort Kwame lay in the trajectory-spray of one of those volcanic hydromethane archipelagos. Now, who knows? Geological faulting constantly shifted their bearing. For now, as of this morning that is, Fort Kwame was anchored to the subglacial mountain ranges entombed beneath Antarctica’s solid ice-sheet. Many other Orbital Cities were likewise anchored to whatever floating land mass not yet completely inundated. What remained of humanity was incredibly lucky to have survived rapid polar amplifications and permafrost thawing which raised water levels to diluvian heights. Subsequent nuclear fallouts in the twenty-second and twenty-fourth centuries disrupted subduction patterns and the evolution of tectonic plates. Chunks of continental bedrock now floated freely on hot asthenosphere, crashing into each other like a bad game of bumper cars. It’s why no one else marvelled at the methane-flares. Jabari wasn’t everyone else though. He was an Asalur. His ancestors descended from cattle-rustlers; back when East-Africa still had a Rift Valley; he knew a thing or two about living dangerously. Not that that had anything to do with methane flares. He loved reminding himself and others that he was an Asalur. The Asalur were the first Frontier Explorers. They traversed the 55 unstable globe searching out new land masses to anchor Fort Kwame. Jabari’s baba had led the last exploration trip. It was yet to yield reports. He was lost, presumed dead. Jabari wasn’t surprised. The vision of Frontier Explorers like his baba once ensured they had a tomorrow, even at the cost of their own lives. The ice sheet wouldn’t hold them forever. Jabari was poised to step into his baba’s shoes but by his own actions today, he had spurned his Asalur legacy and damned them all. They would say it was cruel fate. The baba builds, the son squanders. Jabari, like a thousand other cadets, had patrolled one of five Fort Kwame sectors, and often assisted the glaciologists in their expeditions beyond the darkening ice-sheet. Sometimes, they’d escort ethnolinguists attempting to recreate ‘ethnic blueprints’ based on the passed-down oral ciphers of the Jo’Nam. Ciphers about dwarf pyramids in ancient Nubia, two-faced, two-sexed gods, myriad orishas, and water dragons named Nyami Nyami, Ninki Nanka, the Mazomba, and Grootslang. It was mildly amusing, but delusional in the face of near-certain extinction. Jabari’s regiment patrolled Sector Five. Sector five was nothing but a lingering abyss. It was the dark netherworld beneath the Orbital City’s flatform. A site often attacked by Jo’Nam terrorists. Though Jabari was being fast-tracked to become a Frontier Explorer like his baba, he had to prove himself in Sector Five. On the day he crashed his Kunguru, he had lost a wager to his roommate Bakida Okol and had to pull a double shift. Though exhausted, Jabari’s pride wouldn’t allow him put the Kunguru on autopilot. The crash surprised no one, least of all himself. He would later learn that Bakida led the search party. Like his baba, Jabari too was presumed dead. His return, having spent six months in the company of the Jo’Nam, surprised everyone. They seemed to have all moved on. Bakida even gave away Jabari’s family heirlooms. The bastard was six inches taller than Jabari. His combat and analysis scores were the highest in their sentry graduating class. Bakida never ever regarded Jabari with the respect his family name deserved. For this, they often duelled. Much to Jabari’s disfavour. Now Jabari had the ultimate ‘legup’ on the bastard. Fort Kwame was made of colonies stacked on lead pylons twenty thousand feet above permafrost. A hodgepodge of largely desert or riverbasin cultures -Nilotic, Bantoid, Amhara, Mande, Nuer, even some Nubian -now banked on immense concave flatforms. Polymerised solar panels and pressurised water nuclear reactors powered Fort Kwame’s ever-expanding colonies. The colonies widened in inverse proportion to their population. This, another thorn piercing at the heart of the Jo’Nam, fuelling their dissent. Jabari now agreed with the aspersion that these colonies intended 56 to grow so large their flatforms would lock together in circular mosaics and form a new lithosphere. Ultimately forge a roof over Jo’Nam world. The Jo’Nam, just because they lived almost entirely in the taliks and meltwater, weren’t mermaids, or men with gills. Evolution, after all, takes millions of years. Their hands and feet were webbed though. Some clans at least. When the ice sheets first started melting and submerging continents, the coastal towns migrated inland. The then Allied African Union – well, what remained of it – decided that the Orbital Cities were the only way to survive. Much like Noah’s Ark. Only, they wouldn’t take two of each. The migrants who proved useful, those coastal tribes whose parents and ancestors had taught them to make dhows and ships, spear fish underwater on a single breath and work heavy, wet machinery were retained. They became the Jo’Nam. The Cities were small to start with. Those fortunate enough to afford placement up in the City survived. The rest fended for themselves or joined the Jo’Nam working the City’s pylon-anchor mechanisms like symbiotic organisms, in the hope of seeing their children ascend to the Orbital City. Radiation, drownings, accidents were common and the advisors in the Orbital cities estimated that the Jo’Nam would slowly become sterile and die out. But they thrived instead. And Jabari wouldn’t have known better if he hadn’t crashed his Kunguru a year ago. He never regretted it though, even now, even lying on the ice, anchored by the weight of his betrayal. For if he hadn’t crashed, he wouldn’t have met Naleni. Naleni, his lithe, dark-skinned goddess. Hair braided and eclipse-black. Eyes bright like a methane flare, her lips full and thick. She looked ageless, despite the ritual scarring on her cheeks. Her skinsuit was an emerald colour that changed shade with each flicker of the waves when they went exploring sinkholes. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It’s always an accumulation of little things that undoes a man. Not Naleni. She undid Jabari all at once. The day his Kunguru crashed, Naleni said there were unexpected oscillations. Like the Haboob winds of ancient Sahara, except these oscillations travelled vertically and burnt a cold, fierce fire. Naleni claimed these oscillations were water-djinns mating; an adapted myth from the people of the Libyan Desert who considered siroccos to be desert-djinns mating. Naleni described how Jabari’s Kunguru rattled with each swelling jetstream and eventually struck the pylon before crashing into the lake and killing four Jo’Nam. She never ever took credit for pulling Jabari out of the sinking wreckage, but for stopping her kin from gutting him. They spent many days together trying to repair the comms unit of his Kunguru. She was competent with 57 her hands. Her baba worked on the pylons and always went with her whenever they could manage it. The six months he spent as her captive passed like a blur. He never would’ve believed he lived through it, if not for the memories on his skin. They say the best affairs leave scars. He bore the marks of her tiny teeth on his neck. That’s from the day he told her the elders who dwelt in the hollow Conch of Enlightenment, had chosen him to betray his own people. She wouldn’t let him do it unless she came along. The Jo’Nam couldn’t defeat Fort Kwame from without so they chose to strike from within. Jabari didn’t mind the taint of treachery. Not for her. Now here they were, he, dejected, failed and she, missing, probably dead. A kick, blunt as entropy’s glacial teeth, woke Jabari. Wincing, he roused to see a wavery figure solidify in front of him. His vision struggled to adjust to the glare of a hovering Kunguru right above his resting ground. He trained his vision at the figure and recognised him by his musky scent. It was Bakida. “Bastard,” Jabari cursed. Bakida drew near and towered over Jabari “I always knew you were spineless,” he said, “But not this spineless.” He threw something which cluttered against Jabari’s mask. Jabari picked it up and held it to the light. It was one of the fuses for the time-delay control unit. The fuses Naleni had volunteered to replace. The bastard had her. Jabari tried to scramble for the control units but Bakida kicked him again. This time hard enough to snap a rib. The pain blurred Jabari’s already strained vision. His power was too low. Otherwise his thermskin should’ve absorbed the impact of Bakida’s boot. Jabari regretted not having worn the tensile armour-suit. This camouflage suit was good against the cold, but not much for impact resistance. “Get up, traitor,” Bakida loomed over the floored Jabari. Jabari glanced at his bio-monitor. Its broken face told him, with or without Naleni, he should’ve left this wet rock hours ago. He should’ve rejoined the Jo’Nam exodus and continued East to the nearest colony. He glanced at the control units and saw that Bakida had stomped on them already. They were broken. Thaw now blunted the ridges around the cryocrater. Its solid footing now soggy. Gas hydrates from afar, burnt readily. Their pale, luminous flame spotlighting the backdrop. The ice no longer cracked but vibrated. The cryocrater was warming rapidly. Jabari’s Kunguru steadily sunk into the ice-shelf. No wonder Bakida kept his hovering. Bakida’s presence in their sacred place - his and Naleni’s - undid Jabari. Jabari wondered how Bakida could’ve tracked him here. He searched around and saw Naleni tethered to Bakida’s Kunguru. 58 “Naleni?” he cried. “I have her,” Bakida dropped a pair of cuffs beside Jabari. “Come quietly or I’ll serve you swift justice right here,” Jabari stared at Naleni a long while. “I wouldn’t be too hasty,” he turned to Bakida and held up the two fuses Bakida flung at him. “You broke four control units; but only three charges are accounted for.” Bakida tapped his mask and his visuals cleared. He snarled and came to grab Jabari, but Jabari lunged for his foot. A poor plan. However hard he strained he managed only to make Bakida flail for balance. Bakida settled, stooped down and cracked Jabari’s bloody breathing mask with one blow. Whooooshhh, Jabari’s mask hissed. The rushing methane displaced what little oxygen Jabari had left. Jabari clawed at the mask clumsily until he unclasped it from his face. From his disadvantaged point of view, Bakida looked massive. No matter, titans can be toppled, Jabari thought. His body relaxed. He braced himself on his elbows. Rose but his feet slipped a moment, his thermskin running on so little power as to fulfil the basics. No matter, Jabari took a deep breath. Methane wasn’t all that noxious. Besides Naleni’s people had taught him to adapt to its lightness. Anyone else would feel quite heady. Jabari squared his shoulder, appeared larger. Bakida offered a diabolical grin. Jabari rammed into Bakida’s gut and wrestled to unsteady him, but the bastard stood firm. His boots wouldn’t slip, but their reinforced traction forced the ice to crack. Both Jabari and Bakida sunk into the freezing water underneath. In the water, Jabari was no longer prey. Bakida’s thermskin had power enough, but Jabari now knew how to hunt like the Jo’Nam. With his thermskin’s camouflage properties, he moved like he had a hydrostatic skeleton. So much for calling me spineless, Jabari gloated. He twirled and torpedoed at Bakida’s core with stealth and precision like ancient jengu. Bakida’s tensile armour-suit allowed for little flexibility. Bakida gasped and floundered like an eel in quicksand. He grappled to hold onto Jabari, but Jabari evaded him. Bakida sank deeper. Jabari didn’t linger to enjoy the satisfaction of watching Bakida sink. He knew Bakida’s suit would adapt quick enough. He swam for the surface. The ice they’d only a moment ago stood on seemed to melt rapidly. Jabari kicked furiously, pumped on adrenaline. Naleni was in danger. “Naleni?” he shouted as he swum towards solid ice. “Jabari,” Jabari swam towards the direction of her voice. His lungs burned, but he kicked harder and harder. He could see her. 59 She looked smaller. Fragile. Broken, somehow. Jabari pulled himself to out of the water, but he was on the wrong end of the solid ice. He had to swim around or dash to her. The latter a risky idea considering the loose traction of his boots. Bakida crawled out of the water using a grappling hook. He stumbled towards Naleni and grabbed her by the neck. He palmed her mouth so she wouldn’t speak. The Jo’Nam never wore any breathing masks. Not down here at least. Naleni bit Bakida and he pulled his hand away. “Help me,” Naleni shouted. Bakida restrained her in a half-nelson. She tried, but couldn’t squirm away from his hold. “Lover boy,” Bakida said. “Your plan is foiled. Give up now and there’ll be less pain to trade.” Bakida’s tensile-armour suit had a vice-like grip. Naleni would never break free. “Jabari, don’t let her pay for your treachery.” Bakida’s voice carried a crisp note against the howling wind. “I’m here. Let her go,” Jabari walked towards the pair. His isothermals were slowly failing. He felt the cold creep in but forced himself to ignore it. The shadow beneath the Flatform didn’t lift. Mist covered the pylon like a grey caftan over some mythical titan’s stump of a leg. It was solid, and dull against the faded light. Jabari’s Kunguru, in autopilot, flew Naleni in front of Bakida’s craft. The bastard had set coordinates for the large hangars in Sector One. ETA, thirty minutes. A portion of the intrinsic shield split open to allow their Kunguru to pass. Behind it closed all hope of escape. Their climb proved slow and ponderous, despite Bakida dribbling his fingers against the control panel. Jabari didn’t bother questioning this impatience. Neither did he regret getting himself here. Thoughts of justice and retribution didn’t bother him, but hopelessness clouded his heart. He now doubted the righteousness of his actions. In any case, Bakida would never understand Jabari’s motives, Jabari wasn’t sure he understood them himself anymore, but what was done was done. It wasn’t enough though. It wouldn’t set things right. His rebellion would never even the scales of Fort Kwame’s injustices. Everyone Naleni knew had lost family members to radiation leaking from the pylons. This was the unfortunate legacy of the scramble to survive in a broken world. Its victims had bloated, rotting skin, and bled from their orifices. Jabari had looked upon this misery feeling like a voyeur of private grief. Their dim and dwindling lives touched him. This was death’s ultimate kingdom. When the Elders approached him, despite his pride and everything he’d been told, he agreed to betray his name. 60 “Three minutes to docking,” Bakida said. He kept his eyes steady on the ring of glowing gas-flares guiding their descent onto the flatform. Bakida steadied the Kunguru and released the landing gear. Jabari’s Kunguru hovered low as Naleni climbed out. The hangar was a flurry of activity. Cadets scampered here and there in response to the charge which went off earlier. None of them seemed to notice the two Kunguru. Naleni’s eyes darted around, seemingly afraid and exposed. Jabari struggled against his restraints. He worried about her. The strangeness of the air, and the regiments assuming battle formations was an otherworldly sight. Their laser canons glistened in the weakening light. It felt like the end of the world, and Jabari and Naleni seemed the only ones caught by surprise. Had they been triple-crossed? This wasn’t how things should’ve gone. “I’m not surprised, honestly,” Bakida said. “Like your fallen baba, you’re the only one naive enough to think you could save the Jo’Nam.” Their airlock opened up. “Just kill me already. Don’t bore me to death with your vindication.” Bakida stepped out, circled backwards and undid the cuffs on Jabari’s limbs. They walked towards Naleni whose hands were bound behind her back. A hundred paces away, the five Sector Commanders marched towards the three. “Release her. Please,” Jabari pleaded Naleni’s fate. Her skinsuit had turned translucent as though externalising her fright. To her, the ionised air must’ve felt like complete sensory deprivation. “It’s not too late to reverse what you’ve done,” Bakida said. “It’s too late to reverse anything,” Jabari said. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have bothered bringing you back,” Bakida said. “You both.” He nudged his chin in Naleni’s direction. “You touch her and I’ll —” “I won’t, but they might,” Bakida pointed to the Sector Commanders marching their way; a squadron of hard-jawed sentries following behind. “You’ve a chance to save not only her. But all of them, and us too.” He paused for effect. Jabari said nothing. His attention drawn towards Naleni. “Asalur, where’s the remaining charge? I caught her with two fuses, but here we have four control units. Where is it?” Bakida had carried the control units from the cryocrater. “Let her go.” Jabari answered. He was resolved to his fate. “There are teams scouring the reactors right now, but you could speed it up by telling us where. If you don’t. We all die. Right now, a legion of her people is marching to bludgeon the pylons,” “Good, that way they’ll finish what I couldn’t,” Jabari snarled. He knew better than to fall for Bakida’s manipulations. As far as he knew, the 61 Jo’Nam exodus was miles away from the blast radius. He and Naleni should’ve been there with them also. “If we fall, they fall too, don’t you realise this?” Bakida said. Jabari sneered. “They’ll rebuild from our ashes. They’ll rebuild a better, fairer society than this one. The Orbital City network will be better for it.” “You fool! Haven’t you ever wondered why your baba never returned? We lost communications with all the other cities years ago. There’s no refuge anywhere else. This is the last Orbital city. Destroying Fort Kwame condemns us all.” He ambled closer to Jabari. His tone almost plaintive. “You’ve been misled. Help me before it’s too late.” “I was in awe of you earlier,” Jabari said. “But now I see you didn’t bring me here to face the poetic justice of dying with Fort Kwame. . . I’ll indulge your sadism, just let her go.” “She’s not worth destroying Fort Kwame for.” Jabari smiled in self-derision. He couldn’t save himself, but he would see her safe at least. Besides, there was a chance the last charge could still go off. Bakida had secured only two of the three charges. Naleni was clever enough to foil their plans. He’d see the deed done; he just had to find out if she at least fixed its fuse? “You’d destroy Fort Kwame seven times over if you’d seen the things I’ve seen. This is justice, long-overdue justice.” “It’s foolishness, that’s what –” The Sector Commanders arrived right on cue. They formed an arc around Bakida, Jabari and Naleni. The Kungurus hovered in the background. “Haai,” the burly Afrikaner from Sector One regarded Bakida. “Okol, sit-rep.” His direct, unnerving gaze pierced through Bakida’s stoicism like a laser. Bakida stood at attention, but before he could speak, Jabari cut in. “I’m the one you want. If you let her go, I’ll tell you everything.” “Jammer, we know everything,” the Afrikaner said. “Verder, don’t shake the chicken. You’re in no way entitled to assume leverage. If not for your mate’s graces you’d be dead as the cryocrater you sought shelter in.” He turned to Bakida, “Hand the meisie over.” Bakida did as commanded. The Afrikaner outranked all the other SCs. The Afrikaner knelt Naleni by his feet and drew his weapon to her brow. “I won’t count to drie. Go on, let the baboon out of your sleeve.” The SC’s actions froze Jabari. Naleni didn’t put up much of a fight. Bakida had disabled her mask’s comms. She was mute to everything. “Jabari, tell him,” Bakida said. “Let her go,” Jabari stood up to the SC. “There’s more than one charge left and if you want what I have you’ll let her go.” 62 The SC turned to Bakida, “How many charges did you recover?” “All but one,” Bakida answered. “But you’ll never find it,” Jabari said. “And yes, the Jo’Nam have secondary control units. They must’ve already realised something isn’t right and will blow them any time now. Let her go and I’ll help you.” The SC chewed on this a moment. He didn’t like the taste, but signalled Jabari to approach. Jabari obliged him. He braced Naleni to her feet and activated her mask’s comms. “I’m sorry,” Jabari addressed Naleni. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I won’t leave you now.” She clung to him. “I will get you away.” Jabari spoke low, and in the little Jo’Nam he could speak. “Please tell me you fixed the last charge.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t find it. I looked and looked. The tall one cornered me before I... I dropped the fuse.” She clutched his shoulder tight. “Jabari, we—” “It’s alright. They don’t know this. “ “They know,” she no longer spoke the Jo’Nam tongue. “They don’t.” Jabari insisted. “Tell them where the charge is,” she said. Jabari pulled back, stunned. “They lied to us. You have to help your people.” “You’re my people!” “Help them or we all die.” Jabari, baffled, held her at arm’s length. “What have they done to you?” “Nothing. They speak truth. There is no other city to run to. We were wrong. The Elders don’t know this. They are making a mistake. They will destroy the only hope we have left.” “You’ve seen the charts. Naleni, there are over a dozen orbital cities. We will re-join the others as planned.” “Those are old charts,” Naleni said. “Your friend showed me Fort Kwame’s recent charts. The eastern colonies have sunk and our passage to the old continent is gone. This is the last Orbital City. My people want justice but will damn us all with ignorance instead.” Jabari looked to Bakida for confirmation. He got it. Bakida was many things, a deceiver not one of them. “If this truly is the only City of Tomorrow, we are already doomed.” His shoulders deflated. “Asalurs; stubborn as ever. No problem,” the SC said. “I won’t appeal to your sense of duty, but I’ll call on your honour. On the name you used to take so much pride in.” “Your trust in my honour is grossly misplaced,” Jabari retorted. 63 “Yah, that might be so. But your heart is what I can finally count on.” With that, he shot Naleni in the foot. Well, grazed her skin in fact. But the way she screamed in pain and the way Jabari fell by her side, spoke otherwise. None of the other commanders encircling them reacted. Jabari’s eyes filled with rage as he rose, fists balled. But the SC pointed the weapon to his temple. Bakida who had rallied to pull Jabari away, backed off on his own accord. Naleni lay wincing on the ground. “Hah,” the commander exclaimed. “My aim is worse than I thought. Will you allow me try again?” Jabari, though still seething, raised his hands in surrender. “Tell me where the charge is?” Jabari snarled but he had no leverage. His ruse had failed. And once again he put Naleni in harm’s way. Glancing at her, he sighed. “The cooling tower. Reactor six.” Jabari said, exhaling the words reluctantly. Jabari crawled to Naleni’s side. The commander barked an order to one of his underlings. The collective air of tension dropped. “Uh-uh, up, up,” the commander urged Jabari up. “Your dues aren’t fully paid up. Hop in your Kunguru and tell the Jo’Nam all you’ve learnt in the few minutes prior. They damn themselves in damning us. We believe many things about the water-folk, but we do not believe them to be suicidal maniacs.” Jabari wouldn’t leave Naleni. The Afrikaner motioned to Bakida, “Tend the meisie’s wound.” Bakida knelt beside Jabari. “Go. I’ll look after Naleni.” “You’ll pay for this,” Jabari said. “I don’t doubt that, but you won’t get your vengeance if the Jo’Nam destroy Fort Kwame.” “The Jo’Nam rally a few klicks from where Okol apprehended you,” the Afrikaner said. “There’s no exodus. We know they intend to attack at the very spot you crashed your Kunguru. If they attack there will be great loss on either side. Them more than us.” “I won’t do your bidding.” Jabari said. “A shame. All this will have been for nothing.” He came and raised Jabari to his feet. “It’s not just my bidding you do. But hers and theirs most of all. They still believe in the City of Tomorrow,” the Afrikaner pointed to Naleni. “You may be a cold bastard, Asalur, but not cold enough to bathe in the blood we will shed if you don’t act.” Jabari said nothing. The Commander tilted his head. “Hmm. Yes, I’d be scared too. They 64 might kill you, thinking you a double-crosser –” “I’m not scared.” “Of course. You’ve survived their capture once before. Do what you did then.” Jabari stared at Naleni but couldn’t bring himself to ask her to risk her life again. The Commander noticed his look and smiled. “Okol, help the meisie to his Kunguru.” Bakida hesitated a moment but obliged. He had finished dressing Naleni’s wound. Jabari asked for the charts Bakida had showed Naleni. Bakida fished a copy from the nearby Hangar offices and returned to watch Jabari assist Naleni up into his own Kunguru. No words were shared between Bakida and Jabari, nor between Jabari and Naleni. Jabari fired up the Kunguru and hovered away as the SCs and the rest of the squadrons readied themselves for the Jo’Nam; should he fail. Bakida lingered, his expression wary and full of suspicion. Jabari met his gaze and felt reassured somewhat. There Bakida was, yet again, sending Jabari off on a mission they both knew Jabari couldn’t pull off. But unlike the Kunguru crash a year ago. Jabari had a lot more invested in the outcome. Not that that tilted the balance in his favour, but it was a starting point. He was an Asalur, a starting point was more than he deserved. He squeezed Naleni’s hand and keyed in the coordinates for the cryocrater. 65 FRUIT OF THE CALABASH By Rafeeat Aliyu Morning met Maseso awake. There were nights when she couldn’t sleep, after spending hours in her lab fertilising ova, and nurturing her stars carefully… carefully. This was what she did for a living that had paved her way from the drab corridors and rooms of the National Hospital in the business district to the cushy section in upscale Maitama where she now ran her own private practice, nestled between grand embassy buildings and 5- star hotels. Maseso usually enjoyed her job but recently, anxiety prevented her from sleeping. She was a woman who stubbornly maintained her routines, and so she laid on her bed fully awake. From time to time, she would sit up and shift the curtains aside to stare at the neighbouring duplex that housed her lab. When she wasn’t doing that, she checked the lab camera feeds on her tablet, slowly counting the hours until 5:45am when she would be back in the room where she kept her stars. At the hospital it was mandatory to refer to the unborn beings growing in the globular outer shells as ‘babies’. Most other labs simply used ‘foetus’ but at Maseso’s the preferred term was ‘star’. Her hands trembled as she keyed in the code to unlock the front door and disabled the security system. As she entered trepidation filled her, an intuitive warning that something was wrong. Stepping into the calabash room, Maseso instantly knew her fears were realized. It had already happened. She knew it, but she took her time, hoping she was wrong. Stretched out in front of her were two rows of twenty calabashes — artificial wombs labelled as such due to their gourd-like shape — sixteen of them containing one star each. Maseso approached the first one, Koso, taking note of its vitals, growth progress and the nutrient levels of the amniotic solution. There was a running joke at the National Hospital where they would add to check for extra arms or a tail growing where it wasn’t 66 supposed to. Smiling wryly at the memory, Maseso progressed as she normally would. Up next was Po Tolo , she looked at its vitals and checked nutrition levels, everything was fine. Inhaling deeply Maseso continued her routine, moving from one gourdlike womb to another, and as she went further down the room, her breaths grew shorter. She just knew. Even before she got to the back of the room where Xamidimura should be and she saw it almost fully formed lying on the tiled floor. It was still and breathless, skin grey, lips purple, open eyes a strange, consuming black. The sound of Maseso’s heart pounding loudly in her chest joined the hum of the machines and the bubbling of solutions. Her hands lifted to cover her mouth as she retreated backward and quietly closed the door behind her. Falling to her knees in the hallway, she struggled to breathe. She was frightened not just by what she had seen but by its implications. The service that Maseso offered was a convenience for those who could afford it. Decades after increased infertility across the globe due to endocrine-disruptors, the solution came in the form of full ectogenesis, often with artificial gametes from stem cells. Nigeria took a different approach buying as much ova as possible from the dwindling numbers of fertile women. The culture demanded procreation enough to welcome ectogenesis but still held on to ideas of what was “natural” and accepted. The National Hospital was initially the only place couples with the means could turn to for a child but there was a waiting list that stretched through years. They quickly grew overwhelmed and soon private outfits started popping up. Maseso spent fifteen years saving, moving certain names up the waiting lists and collecting tokens of appreciation in her private bank account before quitting to set up her own lab. Heavenly Babies and Mothers was registered and licensed to store gametes, grow endometrium cells, implant embryos in lab tissue and a host of other reproductive industry services. It was with a sense of pride that Maseso created every new life but Xamidimura, the one that now lay on her lab floor with cold and unstaring eyes, had given her problems from the get-go. This was supposed to be the child of a wealthy family, the kind with billions in several currencies tucked in offshore accounts. Maseso was doubly frustrated that this particular star had failed for a second time, carrying implications for the future of her business. The last time Senator Idris and Hajia Maimuna had come to her office, there had been an outburst. It was mostly the Senator doing the screaming. “You told us that there was a 99.9% chance of our baby being born safe and healthy. We have seen other babies who were born in your lab so why… why is it our own that keeps on facing these problems? Are you deliberately wasting our money? Do I look like a bank?” 67 “No, please understand.” Maseso had objected. She kept her voice calm and steely, used to dealing with irate clients from her years at the hospital. “Everything was perfect, as it should be. I can assure you that we at Heavenly Babies and Mothers—” “Rubbish! This is the second time, this son that I am supposed to have hasn’t come.” At that point, Maimuna began shedding silent tears so Maseso turned her attention to her. “Hajia please understand, sometimes cases like this come up.” “You must do something!” Idris boomed. “It’s your lab, it’s your machine. My wife is infertile! How are we going to continue our family line?” Maseso was rendered speechless. The Senator went on, raining down more curses with each sentence he spewed until his words turned threatening. “If we don’t leave here without a child, I swear,” he touched his tongue and pointed to the sky, “your business will be destroyed.” The hairs on Maseso’s arms rose when she recalled those words. As they left her office that day, Maseso knew that if her next attempt failed, she was done for. If Xamidimura was no more, so was her business. She would lose everything, even her life maybe. Her legacy, her work, her other stars… everything she had struggled to build would vanish before her eyes. Maseso shuddered to imagine life outside the protected zones where violence and poverty were rampant as the government and businesses focused their attention on locations with children. Maseso retreated to her office at the front of the building, sat down and made herself a cup of coffee. The hour that passed felt like a minute when Ego bounced into the office, her beaded braids swinging and clicking with every step. She didn’t appreciate her assistant’s flamboyant style, but Ego came highly recommended when the assistant she had poached from the hospital had to leave Abuja. While she was capable, Ego’s behaviour often irritated Maseso. She entered the office and her bubbly, colorful appearance contrasted starkly against the pristine monochrome of the office. “Good morning doctor, how are you?” Ego didn’t wait for a response before continuing. “You won’t believe what happened yesterday; me and my friends went to this party and can you imagine one of those kids selling drugs, the ones they claim can get you pregnant right, he came up to me and he was trying to chat me up.” Ego chattered on, not caring that Maseso was staring blankly down at her still full cup. Ego had made herself comfortable on her desk before she noticed. “Dr. M are you okay?” Maseso couldn’t say a word, she just pointed in the direction of the lab. 68 Ego had a slight frown on her face as she left for the calabash room. Barely a minute later, she rushed back into the office. “It’s the Senator’s child isn’t it?” Maseso nodded. “I don’t know what to do.” Ego scoffed. “Ha! I knew it! It’s that his juju. It’s reached this lab; we should’ve never taken him. I told you my Aunt warned me when we saw the forums online.” “Don’t even start that,” Maseso said, flicking her hand in dismissal. She found it odd the way Ego could retain superstition in her mind while working in the field of reproductive sciences. She was always talking about dark magic, even at the oddest moments. She’d told Maseso during a routine fertilization that online gossip was that the Senator had made an evil pact with a water spirit, exchanging his firstborn child for wealth and status. “I’m telling you!” Ego insisted. At that Maseso rolled her eyes. “I should have listened to you I guess but it’s too late.” “No, it’s not too late,” Ego laughed. “Come help me, let’s put that baby in the incubator.” “That will be pointless,” Maseso said, shuddering. She had no intention of touching it. But she followed Ego into the calabash room. Both women looked down at the unmoving form that could have been a doll. Xamidimura was a star that didn’t get the chance to be fully born into this world. Maseso had been so close and now, all her efforts had gone to dust. Her stomach heaved, causing Maseso to cover her mouth with both hands. Ego efficiently tossed a scarf over the dead star, the colourful piece of fabric jarring against the still greys and chromes of the room. She wrapped Xamidimura and went upstairs to the incubation room. When she returned, Maseso was back in the front office. “Contact the Senator,” Maseso directed. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.” “No,” Ego said. “My Aunt will be able to help us.” Maseso frowned. “What do you mean?” “Juju for juju.” Ego replied. “We’ll get her to come and do something, my Aunt is powerful in that.” “Seriously?” Maseso clicked her tongue. “You really want your business to end, eh? I guess you’re not that desperate then!” Ego took her seat. “I have told you never to—” Maseso was interrupted by a low thrumming that sounded through the entire building. A call was coming in. Ego accepted the call with a flick of her wrist and greeted. “Good morning, ma.” “Good morning,” the young Maimuna’s voice surrounded them. “How 69 are you? Is business going well? How about doctor?” The usual greetings felt torturous as she trailed towards the issue at hand. “I’m calling to confirm my bonding time.” “Bonding time,” Maseso was surprised at the hoarseness in her own voice. It was pointless to do so but she found herself reaching for her table to check the cameras positioned around the outside of the building, as though Hajia Maimuna would be there already. “Yes,” the woman sounded unsure. “It is supposed to be tomorrow. Is everything fine?” As Maseso struggled for words to say, she was struck with the absurd feeling that Maimuna knew something. Even in an external womb, bonds could be formed, there were even reports of women’s abdomens swelling in time with the growth of their foetuses. Two years ago, Hajia’s tears had irked Maseso as they consulted with her. It was their first failure, still marginally possible but not unique. Maimuna had shouted things about not wanting to try again, lamenting the stress of getting her hopes up only to have them dashed and Maseso wanted to grab her by her slender shoulders and shake her. Outside there were women begging for even a chance to have their own baby. In the past weeks, Maimuna grudgingly sang and read to Xamidimura during bond times. “Everything is fine,” Ego chimed in. The frown on Maseso’s face deepened, her assistant was so insolent. “Hajia, there’s something I would like to discuss with you tomorrow,” Maseso said firmly. “Okay,” there was a lilt in Maimuna’s voice that made the word sound like a question. “See you tomorrow,” Maseso clicked her fingers, putting an end to the call before Maimuna asked for details or Ego said something unexpected again. Her assistant pouted. “What will you tell her?” “The truth!” Maseso stood up and walked to the window, looking up at the blue, cloudless sky. “Ah! But I thought you said senator juju threatened to shut this place down last time.” “Yes, he did. And if that’s what he chooses to do, then so be it,” Maseso gritted her teeth. She didn’t really mean it of course. Barely an hour later, Maseso asked the younger woman to mind the lab while she went out. Her destination was Jabi where one of her former colleagues from the National Hospital had set up a private lab like hers. It required leaving Maitama which meant wasting time at various police and army checkpoints. The government 70 considered it dangerous for people from within the child-present zones to visit other areas and between Guzape and Maitama were areas considered unsafe. There were frequent reports of people being kidnapped and for ransom, their child. On the outside, there was an assumption that everyone in the zones had children and even if they didn’t, they had the money or ability to have one created. The transition from the area that had kids and didn’t was depressing. The atmosphere seemed gloomier, there were no colourful buildings representing schools and labs, often no electricity or water. It was just a stream of older faces counting down their days to death. The last of the naturally born people were slightly younger than Maseso. Maseso sat in the back row of the armoured coach that ferried her from Maitama to Jabi. It was a relatively short ride and the presence of two armed officers provided additional security. She hopped off at the Jabi transit station and noted that she had an hour before the return coach arrived. Doctor Ubong was not expecting Maseso but welcomed her, nonetheless. Having been in the business for longer, Ubong’s lab was larger with multiple calabash rooms and lab technicians weaving in between them. They sat on a balcony that offered a superb view of the lake and its surrounding greenery. “It’s been happening elsewhere,” Ubong said after hearing Maseso out. This was a surprise to Maseso, though it brought with it some relief. “Is it a contaminated batch of nutrients?” Ubong shook her head. “It doesn’t seem to be. Several reported cases used multiple vendors.” In the silence that followed, Maseso also realized that if any of the tools they used were expired, contaminated or otherwise faulty, it would affect all the other foetuses. The problems would appear in batches, not isolated cases. She still had no answers but at least, Maseso now had something with which begin an explanation to the Senator. Perhaps get his support to fund an investigation and study. “Let me show you something from the Ministry,” Ubong said, excusing herself. From the open balcony, Maseso watched her rummage through her desk. Ubong returned with her tablet, she sat down and looked over her shoulder and around before handing it to Maseso. What Maseso saw there couldn’t be real. A star with brownish-grey skin and darkened eyes. Maseso squinted, then zoomed into the picture. On the side of its neck were three slits that resembled gills. “Is it alive?” she gasped. “Yes,” Ubong said as she reached for the tablet and switched it off quickly. “Keep your voice down.” “Is this a mutation?” she whispered. “Possibly,” Ubong said, unaffected. “I have sent some samples for 71 cytogenetic karyotyping and should get the results soon.” “How did the parents react?” Ubong leaned closer. “They don’t know. See, what I’m about to tell you isn’t conventional, but there’s this scibalawo.” “Ah! Not you too,” Maseso’s expression fell. This was the kind of talk that Ego lived for. Always going on about the Aunt, that everyone called a scibalawo. The Aunt that specialised in cases where the supernatural influenced the technological or scientific. Any problem could be healed. Whether it was a haunted smart home system, An AI companion turned abusive lover or online games possessing young children and teenagers. All stories that were unreal to Maseso so it was shocking to hear an accomplished colleague like Ubong speak of them. “Listen, I can’t explain it either,” Ubong shrugged. “But what works works. And I have just shown you evidence that it works. If these clients are difficult, you have a way out.” Scratching at her chin, Maseso asked. “Is the hospital also working with her?” “I can’t say for certain that the higher-ups are aware, but she’s slowly becoming an open secret in this business.” “If this gets out, the country will be in ruins.” “So far it’s still just a few unborn here and there but rumours are going around that the numbers are rising and more unborn will be affected.” Ubong continued, “If numbers increase and this reaches the public, at least the government will do something about it. We can conduct a formal study. In the meantime though, we need to deal with difficult couples ourselves.” Maseso sunk deeply into the chair longing to be awakened from this nightmare. She declined when Ubong offered to add her to a group of their colleagues dealing with the same issue. Maseso thanked her before making her way back to Heavenly Babies and Mothers. She went through the motions, guiding her clients through their bonding times while ignoring the still unmoving ball in the incubator upstairs. Maseso moved with a sense of finality, knowing that if the Senator made good on his threat, her days of being in business were numbered. He could easily have her license withdrawn overnight. As night fell, Maseso climbed up to the stairs. She wiped her sweaty palms on her coat as she approached the room where incubators were kept. Oddly enough, the first thought that crossed her mind in the room was how much money she had spent on each unit. Then, she noticed that Xamidimura wasn’t where Ego had placed it that morning. The colourful wax print scarf was also gone. Bewildered, Maseso rushed to the office, questioning her mind. Ego wasn’t there so she looked at the camera feeds, verbally commanding the AI to replay the days recording. When she saw the confirmation she was 72 searching for, Maseso groaned and leaned against her desk. The urgent sounds of people talking reached her from outside. Maseso dragged her feet to the back entrance where a paved path cut through a small garden leading to her living quarters. She saw Ego huddled next to an older woman, they both stood at a spot by the eastern wall. “Like this?” Ego said. “Yes.” That low voice drew goosebumps across Maseso’s flesh, her shock turned to anger as she marched towards them. The strange woman appeared older than Ego but younger than Maseso. She was dressed reasonably enough in a pair of jeans and a flowing top but even before Ego made the introductions, Maseso knew. “Ah, there’s my madam,” Ego started. “Can I speak with you?” Maseso tilted her head away with the intent of warning Ego sternly. But then she saw the freshly dug hole in the ground and Xamidimura floating in brown water. The dirt at odds with the sterile environment Maseso maintained. She screamed as she flew towards the hole wanting nothing but to get it out of there, but Ego held her back firmly. “How dare you!” Maseso shouted, every vein in her bulged. “I promise, she can help.” Maseso wasn’t backing down and it seemed Ego wasn’t going to either. They talked over each other with voices getting louder with each passing word. “You will tell me who is the boss here.” “I have seen this woman grow a baby.” “You’re fired!” “Ehn! But let me save your business first!” Maseso huffed, she hated being the one to first give in, but she was tired. The emotional turmoil of the day sapped her energy and she crumbled on the grass. It was only then that the Ego let her go. Maseso’s eyes were glued on Xamidimura , speechless. “You should have told her now,” the woman Ego called Aunt said, amused. Running a hand over her face, Maseso glared at her, taking in the baubles she wore around her wrists and neck. Maseso clenched her teeth, swallowed the insults that were on the tip of her tongue then looked towards the hole in the ground. The air seemed to stop around her as she paused. Xamidimura had moved. Before she looked away it wasn’t in that position. Her head whipped towards Ego. “Why are you so stubborn?” Maseso asked. “This is my business, not yours. If any of our clients saw this.” “I don’t trust Hajia Maimuna,” Ego blurted out. “It’s unfair for this 73 place to go down because of one couple and their juju, what of all the other stars?” At least they were having a conversation now, Maseso knew she would have to let Ego go on. Just then, she heard a slight clearing of throat. “That baby is alive,” the scibalawo said. A slight breeze brought the scent of perfume she wore to Maseso’s nose. When she looked at the hole again, this time Maseso saw the star’s chest move, its little chest rising and falling, limbs twitching. “This is an illusion,” she stuttered. “No,” the scibalawo replied. “What you have here is a spirit child, they need more than your machines to enter this world.” There was silence as Maseso stared on in disbelief. “You shouldn’t be here,” Maseso sprang into action, regaining a bit of her composure. “Enough with all of this, Ego escort this woman out and you go ahead with her.” She watched them leave and when she looked at Xamidimura again, it was still enough for her to be sure that it was devoid of life...until its mouth opened and shut. She didn’t want to touch it now, even to retrieve it from that hole. As Maseso rushed to ask Ego to return, she was baffled by her own actions. She found both of them at the end of the street waiting for the shuttle bus. Maseso coaxed them back to her property. At Maseso’s suggestion, Ego brought out an empty calabash from the store. From a pouch she carried, the scibalawo placed clay within it, then water. “Where is the fluid from?” Maseso couldn’t help asking. “It is from the river goddess,” the scibalawo replied curtly. She lifted the tiny foetus without flinching and placed it in the calabash. “You know, when our ancestors had premature babies,” she said as she worked. “They would sometimes put them in the earth. The clay has special properties. Every tool I use is special.” Maseso watched as Ego and the scibalawo carried the calabash to the hole they’d dug earlier. It felt like someone else had taken her place and she was observing from afar. Maseseo would never have pictured this kind of activity happening in her lab. More clay was slathered over the calabash before the scibalawo began to sing in prayer. “Ego, would you power up the calabash?” Maseso asked, unwilling to leave the garden just yet. When Ego returned after powering it up, Maseso found that she could check all Xamidimura's vitals remotely. She breathed in relief as finally, the scibalawo swirled a shot of gin in her mouth and sprayed it from between her lips onto the submerged calabash. “It is done.” Ego clapped in glee. “Thank you, Aunty,!” 74 Maseso’s thanks came out more subdued. She was still in disbelief, unsure of what she had witnessed. For months, in the corner of the garden was a mound resembling one meant for burial and within it, Xamidimura. No idea why this one preferred dirt to the sanitised fluid the others did. But in the earth, it breathed and thrived, waiting to be born. 75 LEKKI LEKKI By Mame Bougouma Diene (with special thanks to Baaba Maal and Double Servo) The back of her hand glided under her red and yellow head wrap, wiping the beads of sweat receding into her midnight skin in the shade of the giant tree. Wind rustled through the leaves and whistled through holes in the trunk, to the shrieking of bats buried in the crevices, bothered in their sleep. Djoulde dipped her painted fingers in a wooden bowl, relishing the fresh feel of water. She sprinkled droplets on the roots digging deep into the cracked and dusty soil, sucking her fingers for a fleeting taste and repeated, singing a light melody under her breath. Sukaabe e mawbe ngare niehen… She knew the tree could hear her, and know her love. At times it felt as the trunk pulsed like a wayward heart, that somewhere in the calcified bark the memory of sap bled pungent dreams. …Goto e men fof yo aw lekki... The behemoth rose above and around her, branches long as it was tall, like twenty men or more. Wide enough to dance and spin on, though Cheikh never wanted to. Children and grownups, come with me… There was so much it had seen. So many secrets through the centuries of patience and sheer will for life, so much she would share with it soon, that the whole village would share. …May every one of us plant a tree… “Still singing that old song?” Cheikh's gritty voice irked her sometimes. 76 “Why are you always so bitter?” she asked, dusting her hands on her dress and rising. He looked into the large oval hole in the trunk, large enough for a tall man to step into its caves. “It is old.” He snapped. “What does it mean now? What is there left to plant? Maybe it made sense to someone two thousand years ago… someone stupid…” “It makes sense to me…” “I didn’t mean you, I meant…” Cheikh didn’t finish his thought, and Djoulde wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. He picked up her bowl and walked back towards the village together. She hadn’t seen time fly as she cared for the old bokki. Twilight was dying on the edge of the earth, the village lights blinking the stars out one at a time. The call to prayer rang from the minarets. Djoulde saw other villagers hurrying home before the protective dome rose against the evening storms, green, blue and multicolored dots against the broken night, and sighed. Perhaps Cheikh would understand one day. The combined blearing of her father’s call and the whooshing of the giant turbines blowing away the dunes delivered with tender fury by the storm, tore Djoulde out of her slumber. The sun wouldn’t shine through the dusty vortex until the turbines had worked their magic but cattle always knew, the three cows in the yard bleating for water. She pulled a rough blue dress over her head and tied her braids in a bun before leaving her room. She clapped her hands and the air conditioner went out, the whiplash of desert heat finishing the job of waking her. Her head was still cloudy with the flames of her dream. She yawned as she walked into the kitchen. “You took your time this morning.” He father said, gulping down a cold glass of bohe juice. “Grab yourself some breakfast; we’re taking the cows out soon as the dome is lifted.” She sat at the large round table. Her mother handed her a plate of whitish-brown fried bohe bread and a glass of juice. The thick, sweet liquid clashed bitter cold against her teeth. She bit into the bread. “Today? Isn’t it Hamady's turn?” she said, spitting little bits of crumbs, and wiping her mouth. Hamady laughed, sitting across from her. He stood up, wearing his light blue worker’s boubou. “Not today, sis.” He said pointing at his uniform, “Working the Engines in case you can’t tell.” 77 “At least you’ll be nice and cool in the forest… Yerim, then?” “He’s on maintenance duty at the solar plant today. He’s been gone for hours.” Her mother said, picking up her father’s glass. “You can’t sing to the trees every damned day. Gidelam,” she told her father, “I’m not your maid; you’ll find your plates waiting when you come back.” Her father barked a laugh. Something both her brothers had picked up from him. “Get married, they said. It’ll make your life that much better… Duly noted my love. Djoulde, you done?” Djoulde finished her glass. “If no one else will…” The expanse of long, thin grass stretched ahead and around Djoulde. A green sea full of whimsical currents drawn by the winds. She couldn’t tell where the grasslands ended from where she stood now, the three thin, white cows grazing quietly, their long horns leaving furrows in the meadow. She had walked the length of the plain as a child, to the sands lost on the horizon, a desert so vast it swallowed the world whole. She had seen it burn and turn to glass in her dream. The flames crackling through the grass until they licked away at the millennial trees. The bokki’s branches flaying in panic, the defiant roar of bark about to split and burst. She slept in its bosom, reveling in the warmth until her hair caught fire… Her father’s cane slapping the cows’ buttocks brought reality back, and the softness of the grass on her sandaled toes. “Do you think there’s anybody else out there?” Her father cleared his throat and spit in the grass. “You’ve asked me that five times now. Today, when you were six, nine, eleven and fourteen. Took you almost four years this time.” “But you never gave me a real answer.” He shrugged in his black boubou, looking up at the sun settling at noon. “The last recorded newcomers go back almost five or six hundred years, not quite sure. You can check the archives if you want but… I don’t know, somewhere on the other side of the oceans maybe, or the other side of the universe. Maybe they’re asking themselves the same thing, maybe they’re all dead… Happy?” It was her turn to shrug. Other herders were scheduled for grazing this morning. All with the same emaciated cows. Goats had gone extinct with good riddance. Goats were a plague on the grass. She turned towards the forest. The Soul Engines, installed inside the bokki, vibrating and rumbling in the distance. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. We’re all going back to the earth anyway.” 78 “I guess so.” Her father replied. “Then why bother with the cows everyday if that’s how you feel? We get our food from the trees, our water from the roots. We hardly eat any meat at all, we barely use the milk for ceremonies. We won’t be here much longer. But you get up every morning, you wash them, walk them all the way out here every day. What’s the point of dancing by yourself?” Her father smiled. “You and your mother… It’s who we are Djoulde. We herded cattle before the world knew we existed. When other people flew, some of us herded cattle. When the world crumbled, and the towers fell we herded cattle. Two thousand years later we herd cattle. It doesn’t matter where we’re going. It doesn’t matter where we came from, it doesn’t matter if we’re here or on the moon Djoulde. We herd cattle, it’s our traditions…And that’s why I take you all in turn with me in the morning. To remind you of that… Speaking of tradition, how are things going with Cheikh? You getting along?” “It’s alright.” She said, she didn’t know how she felt about Cheikh. She had expected to feel differently. “He’s just always so cynical. He doesn’t believe in anything, I don’t know…” “Can you blame him?” She took off her sandals and dug her feet in the ground. It felt so firm, so real, but it wasn’t. It was a dream. When the generators crashed it would wither, dry, and fade to the sands. The dome would never rise again and the trees and the village would disappear. Perhaps that was why her father really kept the cows, to forget that none of it was real. She shook her head. “Good. Then maybe you should spend some time together this afternoon. If you’re gonna be married you need to know each other.” “But baaba, I was…” “You heard your mother. Someone else will daydream in the trees for you today.” He handed her his stick. “Round up the herd. I could use some lunch.” “How can you say that?” “Say what Djoulde? That a halfcocked plan to transfer people into the roots of monstrous trees and live on like that is crazy? You wanna know what I think? I think Chief Tenguela, the Council of Elders, the whole lot of them, want to kill us. Or a lot of us. There’s too many of us, we're all freaking related. Even our marriage is based on an algorithm. How long do you think we can last like this? Do you even think at all?” There it was again, that spite for the sake of jabbing her. Couldn’t they just talk? Just once? He reached across the bed and caught her hand, but she pulled back. 79 Sitting on his bed, his parents’ prayers making their way through the door, she wanted to grab Cheikh by the braids and throw him into the desert. “Do you have faith in anything? Don’t you want anything better than this?” ‘I don’t mean it like that…” “You never do… What if it works? What if we could live on? One with the earth?” “What if we could?” “We’d be a planet with a conscience. A planet that could guide life instead of suffering from it. When a new people are born to this world they won’t be blind like us humans were. Ravenous like we were. They will learn. From us.” “Yeah because we’re such a sensible bunch. Look, what happens if it doesn’t work and you die? You wouldn’t even know. I was with the crew that removed Oumar Bayal’s body from the pod and buried it. Remember the test run?” “Of course I do. The Elders said it worked.” “Maybe. Maybe his soul is really in the roots. Maybe he’s just dead. Worse than dead. I’ve seen dead people. This guy wasn’t dead, he was just an empty sheet of skin, the wind could have blown it away. Look. I get it, you want it to be true. But I haven’t heard the old man since, have you? Didn’t think so.” “I hate you…” “Then don’t marry me. What bloody difference does it make?” She didn’t answer. Cheikh smiled. “Let me guess, your mom gave you the talk too, huh?” he asked, poking her waist with his elbow. Djoulde shook her head and laughed. He wasn’t always bad. “Was my dad…” Cheikh laughed in turn and took her hand. “What are we without tradition, right?” Djoulde rolled Cheikh's heavy arm from her shoulder as she opened her eyes to the call to prayer, the sheets still humid with sweat. She couldn’t sleep, who could have? The only way she’d found to exhaust herself was…The one thing they seemed to get along doing. A nervous shudder rocked her body. Delirious excitement clashed with sheer terror. Cheikh snored. The Soul Engine trials were today. They were still of two minds on that. Three months into their marriage. Cheikh stretched and yawned. “We’re not scheduled until noon. It’s barely fadjar. Go back to sleep.” “I’ll make some breakfast.” Djoulde answered, rising. She reached for the towel sitting on the chair by the bed, and wrapped it 80 around her waist. She wasn’t going back to bed, the trees called her, they would be one soon. They would all be one. The overlapping waves of light drew sly rictus on the trees, grinning deep shadows where there were none, while dizzied steps carried her closer to the heart of the forest. It was the first time she had wandered this deep. The pulsing glow of the engines, overwhelming now was invisible outside. In the daytime, the sun drowned it out and at night, the storms blinded everything. She wasn’t alone, guided with Cheikh and the hundred more scheduled for the day’s trials by a tall dark woman in a white dress stained at the ankles with dust and dirt, but to her it felt like they weren’t really there. That she was marching amongst ghosts. Djoulde wondered if the others felt the same, that they had crossed a threshold into the forest that connected all worlds, that in an infinity they were none, that a step into the shadows was a step into oblivion. Maybe they didn’t feel anything at all. Her eyes adjusted to the light just as her body shivered from mechanic rumbling. “We’re here.” the tall woman said as they all stopped. “Where else could we be?” Cheikh mumbled. The trees before them and beyond glowed with a reflective light, trunks and branches laced with slick metal, connected across the soil by slithering black cables to large grey cubes vibrating with a collective hum like the voices of a million bugs calling to be born. A flurry of scientists in white dresses and boubou busied around them. Maintenance workers in blue tended to individual trees and power sources. Perhaps Hamady was one of them, but there were so many trees so far ahead she wouldn’t see him even if he was. Cheikh spat on the ground beside her. “Look at all this wasted energy. I’m telling you th…” “Men, follow Oulay here.” The woman said pointing at a colleague settling next to her. “Women come with me, I’m Ayida Boucoum.” Djoulde exhaled relief at not having to answer Cheikh. “See you later.” She said. “Don’t make a fool of yourself.” Cheikh grunted and followed the others. Ayida led them deeper into the woods. Chrome reflected on chrome, projecting their reflection flowing from trunk to trunk and back. She caught herself facing herself and walking away in two directions all at once. She stumbled and rested her hand against the nearest trunk. “It’s ok.” Ayida said, helping her straighten. “I thought I would lose my 81 mind after weeks in here. You’ll be fine, we’ve arrived.” Two women slid between the trunks to meet them. “Thanks Ayida. We’ll take it from here. Ladies. Welcome to the Soul Engines. We will brief you on the procedure and have you take the trials. We know this is overwhelming, believe me. I’m Sokhna Boiro, some of you know me, some of you don’t. And this is Khady Ndione.” “Same story.” Khady said. Djoulde caught a glimpse inside the hollowed trunks, lined with open pods, of the same shiny metal that coated the trees, tall enough to fit a person, with what looked like red cushioning inside. “Intriguing isn’t it?” Sokhna asked catching her glance. “I know they say a lot of things in the village many of them scary, most of them untrue. Let us explain. Khady?” “Sure. The Engines are very complicated but quite simple. The world is a network, everything is interconnected. We all evolved from the same original organism. Billions of years ago. Down to our DNA. We are one with the earth. One with the wind. And yes, one with the cows we herd in the morning.” We laughed as she caught her breath. “The trees and plants around us too. And they communicate. Organically. They know who we are and fear us when we wish them harm, and love us when we give them love and they let the others know, through their roots, through their spores and sap. We have mapped these networks and now, we can connect to them more directly through the Soul Engines. These engines parse out our human consciousnesses and pulse them into the network, mimicking the bokki’s own bio-chemical signals, those signals are transmitted into the roots of the trees and conducted into the earth where they become one with the planet. Growing with new saplings, spreading through open spores. Our way of life is no longer sustainable, if we want to survive we have to adjust to the world, adapt and embrace it. For thousands of years humanity has tried to shape the world in its image. We failed and did so much damage to the world in the process. Now, we pay it back.” Djoulde could barely breathe. They worked on the engines when she was a child. When her parents were children. She hadn’t thought she would see the day. But it was here. Almost here. “You’ll be scanned and fitted into a transmission pod for testing. Today and on the day of. Don’t worry, it’s painless. We just need to verify a few things. Many of you are married women, we need to check that you are not with child before we can try the machines. We must also ensure that your own brainwaves are compatible with the bio-chemical network matrix. Is everybody with me?” They all nodded agreement, some slower than others. Djoulde pictured Cheikh snickering in the manner of men. Khady smiled. 82 “You are brave, and strong. You will do the earth honor. We all will, I’m sure. Alright, the following come with me, the others with Sokhna. Nani Sow. Djoulde Diallo…” Djoulde came to in midafternoon warmth, the forest a few hundred feet behind her, Cheikh shaking her by the shoulders. How she got there was as clear as his lips moving soundlessly to droplets of spit. It was real. All of it. The pods had slid shut, and the red cushion squeezed her warmly into darkness. Not sleep, not quite sleep, fully at rest yet aware of herself, and she heard him. Late Oumar Bayal calling her name, unsure she could hear him. Djoulde. He had asked. Djoulde, are you there? She hadn’t said a word but she felt his relief at her presence, a smile and mischief. “Watch…” he whispered. She’d sunk deeper into the darkness, her head bursting through the soil into sunlight. A city gleaming in the distance where the desert stood now, a river streaming through it to a sky of deep blue abysses. In a flash she stood fifty feet above in another a hundred, and as she grew the city shrunk, her arms impossibly long and stiff, until there was nothing but dust swirling wooly death to the horizon. And all the while a murmur, soft with radiant energy calling her into its roots… “Djoulde! Djoulde dammit wake up!” “Cheikh!” she screamed throwing her arms around him, her head on his chest. “Did you hear? Did you see? Don’t you see now? It’s real, all of it!” Cheikh pushed her back and turned around. “I didn’t hear anything… I’m not going…” Cheikh downed a glass and poured himself another. His fifth today. Takussan, afternoon prayer, was still hours away. “The pitcher's empty.” He snapped, waving it at her. Fode Dem had walked into the desert this morning. Fatima Kane, Ibrahim Dia and Pape Mor Sylla yesterday. Twelve-year-old Adama Ba two days ago and Friday had seen a record of thirty that she knew of. They had finished praying and wandered off into the desert. A week since the trials ended, two more before they left. Djoulde grabbed the pitcher from his hand. Cheikh was meaner drunk than usual, but at least he was still here. She filled the pitcher from a bottle of fermented bohe and handed it to him reaching for his shoulder. He grabbed her hand and pulled her. “Is that what you want for me? Leaving me to die with the others?” 83 Someone else would walk into the desert and never come back before nightfall. Thousands more would follow. He was mean. Bitter and mean but wouldn’t she if she’d been told she couldn’t go? If her mother and father were left behind too? In spite of all the spite, deep down, he’d wanted to go. She pulled her arm away, grabbed his face and kissed him. Could she leave her husband behind? Should she? Yes. Yes, she would. Until then they could do the one thing they were good at together, and kissed him deeper. Djoulde’s dress slipped from Cheikh’s hand, but stayed caught in the door sliding shut behind her. There was nothing to it. Between Cheikh crying, screaming and begging, and the excited buzz of the throngs of people she hadn’t had thought of what to wear. What did it matter? They were almost there. Her parents and brothers waited for her outside, catching her stumble as her dress ripped in the doorframe. “Took long enough!” Hamady laughed as he helped her stand. Her mother hugged her. “How are you?” she asked. She had no idea. “And how is Cheikh?” “Who cares?” Yerim said. “Guy’s a goat.” “Be quiet.” Her father said. “Think of all those who wandered off to die. They weren’t all bad people. Leave it all behind son, don’t carry that anger where we are going.” They melted into the crowd. She couldn’t feel her legs, somehow, she moved forward, the crowd singing a deep joyful yet almost weeping melody. Lekki ki do lekki, Aadi nafore waalii ngourdam Tree. This tree so useful, has changed our life... It was the perfect rhyme for the time. She should have felt happy, excited, nauseous even, instead she floated numb into immortality. Would Cheikh live? If he died would they find him in the roots? Soon they would be everywhere, surely they would find everyone. Everyone and everything that had ever died. Strata through strata of long-gone life but persistent memory. Did she leave him to die? Could she forgive herself? Carrying that weight forever? She only had a few minutes to figure it out, the sky already 84 darkened by branches. Her heart pounded so fiercely the world around her turned to blinding light, her head spun and she retched on her sandals. Her brothers laughed. “You had to leave your mark didn’t you?” She wiped her mouth on her sleeve as her mother handed her a sip of water and smiled. “It’s gonna be alright. We’re all gonna be alright.” They reached the engines and hugged each other. They all did. Family and friends, and people who’d hated each other deeply. She expected to hear sobs but didn’t. “We’ll see each other soon.” Her father said, beaming as he hugged her last. “Look out for your mother. She might run off.” “Anything but an eternity with you gidelam. One life was entirely enough…” she kissed his forehead. “I will see you soon…” They walked off as Djoulde and her mother lined up with the other women. Singing the song, scanners flashing a soft blue as they walked towards their pods, reflections of thousands melting into each other on the trunks of the giant bokki. Her mother turned to her and smiled as she passed through the scanner. Every wrinkle on her face smoothing, a glimpse of who she had been, of who she saw in the mirror, as she still saw herself. She held out her hand as Djoulde followed her, and the scanner flashed red. Her mother’s smile dropped, her face aging in a frown, their fingers brushed each other as two women in white approached them and turned to her. “Salaam Aleikum. Don’t worry. We just need to run a quick test. Please follow us.” “Wait! That’s my daughter! That’s…” Two more women approached her mother, smiling. “It’s fine. She’ll be back in no time. Please. There are other women waiting.” “I’ll be fine Nene.” Djoulde said, “Just go, ok? We’ll be alright. I’ll see you soon.” She smiled. “On the other side.” The flood of women didn’t abate, the scanner flashing blue, blue, blue, her mother dissolving in the flow. “I’m Reyhanna.” One of them asked as they reached the last of the shinning trees. “What’s your name?” “Djoulde. Djoulde Diallo.” They stopped and the two women stepped back, arms folded under their breasts. “We’re sorry, Djoulde. We are very sorry. You are pregnant. You can’t go.” 85 Djoulde sat on her bed, the air conditioning unit roaring behind her. She had never noticed how loud it was, but in the silence of the empty village it was all she could hear. Cheikh slept in the kitchen, passed out on the table. She should have been cold, but the hilt of the knife pressed against her stomach slipped in her sweaty palms. The tip slid through the threads in her dress, grating against her skin. Just a push. Not even that hard, just a small push. The life she carried had cost her hers. Had cost her her dream. Her only dream. Her family. How could she ever carry it? Birth it? Love it?! It would be so simple, just a small… A droplet of blood pearled around the blade and the knife clanged on the floor to a single sob. She couldn’t do it. Three children played in the grass as Djoulde and Arsike walked passed them towards the forest. They had tied strings to a small post and ran around it until the string tensed, and light as they were, they bounced off their feet and took off spinning to delighted giggles. Something had changed. The children were inconsolable at first. Their friends gone. Their parents gone. Everyone engrossed in their own misery and no one to guide them. Beside the wailing wind the only sound the village knew for months was infant sorrow. But not for the past few weeks. Arsike tugged at her arm, eager to join them. Her small hand almost slipped through Djoulde’s fingers. She looked just like her grandmother. She had told her that herself. “I look like grandma!” “Who told you that?” Djoulde had asked. “Grandma!’ She was a bright child, so alive. So happy. She had no fear, an imagination that changed her world with each passing thought. This world was new to her. She didn’t know pain. She didn’t know loss. Not yet. “You’ll play later. Your father doesn’t like to wait.” She nodded hard and pulled closer to her mother. For two years Djoulde hadn’t come near the forest. The thought of leaving the village, of feeling the cool shade on her face froze her very soul. She couldn’t walk. Will them though she might, her legs wouldn’t move. Her mind would go blank. She would faint. Neighbors would drag her in and she'd wake up in bed, Cheikh looming over her, yelling about embarrassing him. When Arsike turned three she started asking about the trees. The trees called her she said. She had to see the trees. And so she had. She was 86 exactly like Djoulde’d been as a child. “Let’s sing, nene!” She knelt by her daughter and let her start. Hearing her shrill voice she felt the knife against her stomach and shuddered, picking up the melody. How could she have thought of killing her? She loved her so much. Arsike giggled, pushing her lips to the trunk as evening prayer rang in the distance. They’d been there for hours. Hours. Months. Years. It made no difference. She opened herself with all her heart, sang to rip out her throat, every day, and yet, she didn’t hear her family or the others. Four years. Four years now. Cheikh was right. They had all walked singing to their death. The door slid open slowly and Djoulde tiptoed inside. Arsike breathing softly on the back of her neck, sleeping as the storm blasted the dome behind them. Cheikh would be out cold, he’d been restless for weeks but too much noise and… “Sneaking in?” he asked sitting at the kitchen table in the dark. The thin glow breaking in lighting bloodshot, angry eyes over his dark face. He stood up, knocking a glass to the floor, rounding the table towards her. She circled away, the sourness of fermented drink on his breath, wafting vomitous into her nose. He wouldn’t touch Arsike. He never had. “Think you can keep my daughter from me, do you?” he asked, reaching to grab her and missing. “You try to leave me and now you want to steal my daughter!” She slipped and almost fell, barely avoiding another lurch. “Nene?” Arsike asked, yawning against her back. “Nene, where…” she saw her father closing in over her mother’s shoulder. “…Baaba? Baaba, no! Not again!” Her mother hugged her in a field of crops. Cattle by the thousands drifted on the horizon invisible but for the cloud of dust surrounding them. Her father and brothers conversed with a man of light skin, sharp eyes and strange, shiny, smooth green and gold clothing, throwing their head back and laughing. The village was nowhere in sight, the forest neither, but crowds of people congregated throughout the field, some sitting and eating, children playing games and rolling in the grass. They weren’t all her people, most weren’t but she distinguished a known face in every group she saw. “My daughter. My first-born. We didn’t want to leave you. I didn’t know. But we are here. We will help you.” The bruises on Djoulde’s cheeks stung at her mother’s words. 87 She pointed to her face. “This is what you left me to! This is how you help me? You left. You left me. But I don’t need your help. I am not a child anymore. I have one of my own. I won’t let this happen again. She will…” Her mother’s face hardened. “What are you whispering to me?” Djoulde froze; her mother grabbed her by the shoulders, digging nails into her skin. “Stop whispering to me!” The field went silent. The thousands of people sitting and talking stood and closed in on her, arms out clawing at her hair and face. “Stop whispering to me!!” Djoulde awoke to Cheikh shaking her furiously, screaming at her face while Arsike cried in her bed. “I won’t walk into the desert! I won’t!” he ran naked out of the bed, climbing over her and into the kitchen his hands on his ears. “Stop whispering to me!” Djoulde ran to cradle her daughter’s head. The warm wetness of her cheeks slipping against her breast. “Why is daddy like this?” she asked, words setting Djoulde’s bruised body aflame. “What have we done wrong?” “You’ve done nothing wrong.” She said; her curly hair caught between her fingers. “We’ve done nothing wrong.” “Why isn’t Grandma helping us? She promised.” Djoulde held her at arm’s length. “What?” “Grandma mommy, grandma. She was telling me she would help us. Just before daddy started screaming again.” Cheikh’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “Stop talking to me!” Djoulde put Arsike down. “You stay here. I'll be right back.” Cheikh sat in the kitchen, holding his head and banging it on the table in turn. “Leave me alone!” he screamed and saw Djoulde standing across the table from him. “You.” He snarled, rising slowly. “You. It’s you!” He charged, but Djoulde didn’t move. She bent down, picked up a shard of broken glass and walked towards him. “You won’t touch me again.” She slashed the air before her, missing his nose by a breath. “You’ll never.” She sliced again, blood running across his cheek. “Touch me. Again!” She lunged forward, Cheikh fell back, crawling towards the kitchen 88 door. “Leave me alone! All of you leave me alone!” The door slid open and Cheikh bolted out. Djoulde stumbled after him. She had never spent much time outside at night. But the dome's faint orange glow, lacerated with gritty static at the onslaught of sand and debris, felt like a reflection of her fractured soul. “Nene!” Arsike called from a crack in the door. Djoulde picked her up and ran. Cheikh sped on ahead screaming, lights appearing in windows as he passed. He didn’t slow or stop. Djoulde doubted he could see anything at all. His head slammed into the dome. He fell back. Djoulde put her daughter down and reached for him. He got back up and ran head first into the dome again. And again. All the while screaming to be left alone, for the whispers to stop. Again. And again, and… Something cracked. He fell back, wrecked with spasms and stopped, the imprint of his face in blood sliding down the dome like raindrops on a window. Djoulde didn’t move. The buzz of bystanders fading. He was gone. She felt no shame at the lightness in her shoulders. At the strength she felt in her legs. “Thank you grandma.” Arsike said, hugging her thigh. The wind carried hints of a rain that would never fall. Instead a thin sheen of wet air sprinkled Djoulde and Arsike’s faces, as they sat in the shade of the baobab, Arsike sprinkling the roots to soft giggles. She hadn’t let the villagers bury Cheikh in the forest. His body left in the desert for the night’s storm to shred to dust. Arsike didn’t seem to care. She sprinkled the roots and listened to something before nodding her head. “How long have you heard your Grandma?” Arsike shrugged and lay her head on her lap. “Since I was in your belly?” Djoulde’s eyes filled with tears. “Are you talking to her now?” Arsike nodded. “I talk to grandpa too sometimes.” “Can I ask her something?” “She says you can ask anything you want. Just ask me and she’ll hear you.” Djoulde hesitated. “She says she’s sorry. That she should have waited. She never wanted to 89 leave you.” Djoulde waved her hand. “She doesn’t need to.” She said “There was nothing she could have done. It wasn’t her fault.” “Do you love me mommy?” “Of course!” “Do you forgive me too?” She pulled her daughter closer. “There is nothing to forgive, bingelam, nothing…. Can the other children hear her too?” Arsike nodded. “Why can’t I?” Even Cheikh had. “It’s too late for the adults. If you did you would go crazy like daddy.” “But in the dream I saw all these people and…” “It was just a dream, mommy.” Djoulde's breath stayed stuck in her throat, there was something she needed to know but didn’t want to. “And will… will I ever see you again?” Arsike looked up at her mother. “No.” “No? Not even when I…” “No.” Tears ringed Djoulde’s eyelids like pearls. “Grandma, grandpa, my uncles, none of them will be there forever either, mommy. That’s not how life works. I’ll walk into the engines one day too, and others after me. We were always one with nature” she giggled, “It’s our tradition! Grandpa says.” She laughed some more. The tears bubbling in her eyes streamed down her cheeks. Arsike wiped one off with her finger. “Don’t cry, mommy. Grandma says that’s the lesson. The mistake we made all those thousands of years ago. The world cried and we couldn’t hear it, but just because you can’t hear, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t listen…” Djoulde cleaned her tears, breathing in the dry scent of the trees and nodded. Arsike caught her hand. “Come mommy. Let’s sing now.” Sukaabe e mawbe ngare niehen, Goto e men fof yo aw lekki… ABOUT THE AUTHORS T.L. HUCHU is a writer whose work has appeared in Lightspeed, Interzone, AfroSF, The Apex Book of World SF 5, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, Mystery Weekly, The Year’s Best Crime and Mystery Stories 2016, and elsewhere. He is the winner of a Nommo Award for African SFF, and has been shortlisted for the Caine Prize and the Grand Prix de L’Imaginaire. His fantasy novel The Library of the Dead, the first in the "Edinburgh Nights" series, will be published by Tor in the US and UK in 2021. Find him @TendaiHuchu. NNEDI OKORAFOR is the Naijamerican PhD-holding, World Fantasy, Hugo, Nebula, Eisner Award-winning, rudimentary cyborg writer of africanfuturism, africanjujuism & Marvel’s Shuri. Her works include Who Fears Death (currently in development at HBO into a TV series), the Binti novella trilogy, The Book of Phoenix, the Akata books and Lagoon. She is the winner of Hugo, Nebula, World Fantasy, Locus and Lodestar Awards, an Eisner Award nominee, and her debut novel Zahrah the Windseeker won the prestigious Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature. Nnedi has also written comics for Marvel, including Black Panther: Long Live the King and Wakanda Forever (featuring the Dora Milaje) and the Shuri series. Her science fiction comic series LaGuardia (from Dark horse) is an Eisner and Hugo Award nominee and her memoir Broken Places & Outer Spaces is a Locus Award nominee. Nnedi is also creating and cowriter the adaptation of Octavia Butler’s Wild Seed with Viola Davis and Kenyan film director Wanuri Kahiu. Nnedi holds two MAs (literature and journalism ) and a PhD (literature). She lives with her daughter Anyaugo and family in Illinois. Follow Nnedi on twitter (as @Nnedi), Facebook and Instagram. Learn more about Nnedi at Nnedi.com. DILMAN DILA is a writer, filmmaker, and author of a critically acclaimed collection of short stories, A Killing in the Sun. His works have been listed in several prestigious prizes, including a nomination for the British Science Fiction Association (BSFA) Awards (2019), a long list for BBC International Radio Playwriting Competition (2014), and a short list for the Commonwealth Short Story Prize (2013). Dila’s short fiction and non-fiction writings have appeared in several magazines and anthologies, including Uncanny Magazine, A World of Horror, AfroSF v3, and the Apex Book of World SF 4. His films have won many awards in major festivals on the African continent. TLOTLO TSAMAASE is a Motswana writer of fiction, poetry, and architectural articles. Her work has appeared in Clarkesworld, Terraform, Apex Magazine, Strange Horizons, The Dark, and other publications. Her poem "I Will Be Your Grave" was a 2017 Rhysling Award nominee. Her short story, Virtual Snapshots was longlisted for the 2017 Nommo Awards. Her novella The Silence of the Wilting Skin is out now from Pink Narcisuss Press. You can find her on Twitter at @tlotlotsamaase and at tlotlotsamaase.com DEREK LUBANGAKENE is a Ugandan writer, blogger and screenwriter, whose work has appeared in Escape Pod, Apex Mag, Omenana, Enkare Review, Prairie Schooner, Kalahari Review, The Missing Slate and the Imagine Africa 500 anthology, among others. Listed as one of Tor.com’s new SFF writers to watch, his work has also been shortlisted for the 2019 Nommo Awards - best short story, longlisted for 2017 Writivism Short Story Prize and the 2013 Golden Baobab/ Early Chapter Book Prize. In 2016, he received the Short Story Day Africa/All About Writing Development Prize. He is currently working on a short story anthology and his first novel. When not writing or reading, Derek spends his days fundraising for a non-profit wildlife conservation organisation. He lives online at www.dereklubangakene.com RAFEEAT ALIYU is a writer and documentary filmmaker. Her short stories have been published in Strange Horizons, Nightmare, Expound and Omenana magazines, as well as Queer Africa 2 and the AfroSF Anthology of African Science Fiction anthology. Rafeeat is a Clarion West Graduate (2018). You can learn more about her on her website rafeeataliyu.com MAME BOUGOUMA DIENE is a Franco –Senegalese American humanitarian and the US/Francophone spokesperson for the African Speculative Fiction Society (www.africansfs.com). You can find his work in Brittle Paper, Omenana, Galaxies Magazine, Edilivres, Fiyah!, Truancy Magazine, EscapePod and Strange Horizons, and in anthologies such as AfroSFv2 & V3 (Storytime), Myriad lands (Guardbridge Books), You Left Your Biscuit Behind (Fox Spirit Books), This Book Ain’t Nuttin to Fuck Wit (Clash Media), Sunspot Jungle (Rosarium Publishing), and Dominion (Aurelia Leo). His collection Dark Moons Rising on a Starless Night (Clash Books) was nominated for the 2019 Splatterpunk Award. MAZI NWONWU is the pen name of Chiagozie Fred Nwonwu, a Lagosbased journalist and writer. While journalism and its demands take up much of his time, when he can, Mazi Nwonwu writes speculative fiction, which he believes is a vehicle through which he can transport Africa’s diverse culture to the future. He is the co-founder of Omenana, a speculative fiction magazine and a Senior Broadcast Journalist with the BBC. His work has appeared in Lagos 2060 (Nigeria’s first science fiction anthology), AfroSF (the first PAN-African Science Fiction Anthology), Sentinel Nigeria, Saraba Magazine and It Wasn’t Exactly Love, an anthology on sex and sexuality publish by Farafina in 2015. ABOUT THE EDITOR WOLE TALABI is a full-time engineer, part-time writer and some-time editor from Nigeria. His stories have appeared in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction (F&SF), Lightspeed, Omenana, Terraform, and several other places. He edited the anthologies These Words Expose Us and Lights Out: Resurrection and co-wrote the play Color Me Man.. His fiction has been nominated for several awards including the Caine Prize for African Writing and the Nommo Award which he won in 2018. His work has also been translated into Spanish, Norwegian, Chinese and French. His collection of stories, Incomplete Solutions, is published by Luna Press. He likes scuba diving, elegant equations and oddly shaped things. He currently lives and works in Malaysia. Find him online at wtalabi.wordpress.com/ and @wtalabi on twitter. ABOUT BRITTLEPAPER Brittle Paper is an online literary magazine for readers of African Literature. Brittle Paper is Africa’s premier online literary brand inspiring readers to explore and celebrate African literary experiences in all its diversity. AINEHI EDORO, Founder and Editor-in-Chief JACQULYN TEOH, Social Media Coordinator CHUKWUEBUKA IBEH, Staff Writer ANGELINE PETERSON, Reader Visit the Brittle paper website: brittlepaper.com Contact Brittle Paper Email, (info@brittlepaper.com) Social Media: Twitter and Instagram (@brittlepaper) CONTENT GRAPHIC

@Chevdove skettel is being made, the screenplay is made, the first image is the thespian who will be the female lead. Criblore was made already but it is on a site. excerpts are on Moon Ferguson's video sharing , Filled with magic is the name of the company wait @Chevdove you never heard of the american black film festival before. I thought I shared it last year at the least in a post. welll, glad you know now. It tends to be in the south, if you live around, give it a go, it will be cool to have someone from aalbc there

What was it like re-releasing work that you did 20+ years ago? Was there anything surprising to you about returning to these classic games from an earlier part of your career? Honne: Although I am only supervising the Remaster version, to be honest I really want to remake the whole thing since the original version was released 20 years ago. But unfortunately, I don't think any gamers out there have the same thoughts as mine, haha. I feel relieved and happy to look back at how well the game was made, in terms of playability and length. Kojima: We are genuinely happy that more people will have the opportunity to experience Baten Kaitos. I would like to thank all the fans for their continued support and everyone involved in the Remaster's production. One thing that amazed me once again was the background art, which is still beautiful after 20 years, probably because it is 2D art. It is also surprising that Mr. Honne drew all these almost by himself at the time. Higurashi: It is a very strange feeling, and to tell the truth, it feels surreal. I have enjoyed playing the remastered titles of respected seniors in the industry, but I never had the thought of having the opportunity to be a part of a remaster project based on a title I was involved on. When creating the key art for the remastered version, I faced the illustrations I drew in the past. Looking at Kalas in the drawings, I could vividly recall what I was thinking in the past when creating, the feeling of the tools I used, and the faces of the people who supported me. It really made me want to talk about each of my memories during development in the past, recall how much fun I had and how fortunate I was to have the opportunity to work on such a good title. These games have stood the test of time and the fanbase enjoys various aspects of the games. What do you personally enjoy most about them? Honne: While I am very confident and proud of the background artwork since I take the worldview and the use of colors very seriously in the game, at the same time Baten Kaitos is a game where all development staff worked hard; hand-and-hand together like an orchestra, skillfully piling up their own rich and dignified notes. For my favorite, I personally would choose Mira, the City of Illusion that goes its own ways. Kojima: The charming character designs, the uplifting music, and everything apart of those are lovely, but if I had to pick only one thing, it would be the fact that the player can become a spirit and participate in the story. This wonderful world setting is what I love about Baten Kaitos. Higurashi: Hmm, will it sound like I am lying if I say I love all of them? I’m a big fan of Baten Kaitos so I can list out a lot of different elements, but if I need to choose just one, I will say I love the story of the characters the best. Every character has their own desires and emotions, and I feel like all characters and the universe of Baten Kaitos have their own souls. Do you have any special message to fans who are experiencing these games for the very first time? Honne: Although the original games were released 20 years ago, I hope you can enjoy going on a relaxing journey in the world of Baten Kaitos I and II. I am sure that wonderful memories will be made. Kojima: Baten Kaitos is a fantasy RPG in which you and your companion explore a wide variety of landscapes. It is such a classic RPG, yet it is filled with various innovations, including an innovative battle system. We hope you will enjoy this journey away from your daily lives. Higurashi: We are very happy to bring to you the remastered version for Baten Kaitos. Although the original titles were released 20 years ago, they are still such masterpieces that even me as a creator is very eager to share from a fan's perspective! I am confident that those who are playing the games for the first time will enjoy this remaster. The Music of Baten Kaitos with Motoi Sakuraba What was it like revisiting your work on Baten Kaitos? Is there anything surprising about relistening to compositions you made in the past? Sakuraba: The orchestra pieces sounded beautiful. The arrangement is simple and the melody is easy to enjoy. I was surprised when listening to the rock pieces and other tracks with synthesizer because I remembered I had a lot of creative freedom when composing them. Is there a piece of music in the games that you are particularly proud of? Sakuraba: I’m proud of all the battle songs from Baten Kaitos I & II. I like them because they show my true side the most. The other one is "Le ali del principio" from Baten Kaitos II. My daughter, who was a small child at the time, sang it. She did her best to sing it in Italian until the end of the song. The Baten Kaitos soundtracks incorporate many different elements from grand symphonic orchestration to synthesizers/prog rock. Can you describe your creative process a little bit? Sakuraba: Many of the songs in the Baten Kaitos soundtrack were not created with a specific musical genre in mind but rather came naturally as a result of trying to bring out my feeling. So, I didn't have any idea of what elements I wanted to include in these songs. To create these songs, I needed to understand the emotions for the scene, and if possible, I referred to the visual. Then I tried to adjust or rethink the piece I made by discussing with the producers. What I tried to achieve with the Baten Kaitos I & II soundtrack, and this goes for other titles as well, is to make the music blend perfectly with the gameplay so people are fully immersed when playing the game. Did your creative approach change between the first and second game? Sakuraba: In Baten Kaitos I, battle songs usually emphasized hardness. In Baten Kaitos II, acoustic instruments such as piano and violin were also used, adding a light atmosphere to the songs. In addition, one thing that I incorporated into Baten Kaitos II that I couldn’t in Baten Kaitos I was putting actual vocal sounds into the main songs. Do you have a message for new players who will experience these games for the first time? Sakuraba: We hope you will enjoy this work with its unique atmosphere and music! It would be great if you would listen to the music because it is very easy to understand.

@ProfD i oppose the need for the question of why, the british colonies that became the usa and the usa itself throughout its entire history was and is always mostly filled with financially poor people. You seem to suggest that once the usa became the militaristic empire , circa commonly called world war II , most people in the usa should not had been fiscally poor then and after. Militaristic power does not equal spreading of wealth, it never has. No need for the question of why poor . They were poor before and will be after. It is beyond design, it is the way of the country.

Bill Moyers recalled from LBJ We were in Tennessee. During the motorcade, he spotted some ugly racial epithets scrawled on signs. Late that night in the hotel, when the local dignitaries had finished the last bottles of bourbon and branch water and departed, he started talking about those signs. "I'll tell you what's at the bottom of it," he said. "If you can convince the lowest white man he's better than the best colored man, he won't notice you're picking his pocket. Hell, give him somebody to look down on, and he'll empty his pockets for you." The land of opportunity myth is one of the great tragedies of the usa. It's always been even when british colonies mostly filled with the impoverished. A 1% ofrom each : whites/women/indigenous/blacsk/males/many more