Remote Control

by Nnedi Okorafor

  “What?” Sankofa exclaimed.

  Alhaja nodded. “Before she married and became the Imam’s wife, she was an electrical engineer and in charge of the local Robocop Project.”

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

  * * *

  Sankofa was in the market.

  The avocado tree’s fruit were all finally ready for picking and over the last week, Sankofa had climbed into the tree and carefully picked every single one. Movenpick hadn’t been there and she’d vaguely wondered where he’d gone. Most likely he’d snuck into the nearby trees to forage, as usual. Alhaja had then sent out a mass text alerting the women and each had made an appointment to come and buy some. Sankofa got to choose and eat one of the avocados; experiencing its rich buttery goodness made it clear to her why there was so much competition to buy one of Alhaja’s avocados.

  Once they were all sold, Alhaja gave Sankofa a third of the money to spend on herself. Sankofa was stunned. This was more money than she’d ever had for herself in her entire life and she’d meticulously folded the bills and put them in the deep pocket of her dress. She went to the market.

  She was walking through the section where sellers sold textiles. The selection today was wonderfully colorful. A new seller must have come and the place was full of jostling women. When they saw her, they made room, but continued with their negotiations. She looked around some, pulling her grey hijab back for a better look around. Today, she had enough money to buy ten pieces of beautiful cloth if she wanted and still afford to have them sewn into dresses to fit her small frame.

  She was passing the edge of the new seller’s table when she saw it. She stopped, women moving around her toward the main section of the large booth to grab and inspect the textiles. On this side of the table were several miscellaneous things. A mysterious hand-sized cube covered with circuitry and loose wires that looked like it had been pulled right out of a machine. A small wooden figurine of a large-breasted woman that looked like it had been rubbed so many times that it was losing its shape. A sleek black drone that looked like an insect.

  And a wooden box.

  For several moments, Sankofa just stood there feeling faint. She breathed through her mouth. Was this a dream? Or more likely, a nightmare? She went to it. She felt cold, her muscles stiff. Her head was pounding now. She had buried the internal GPS for it deep down, so deep that she’d nearly forgotten it. She’d let it be lost; she had let go. And because of that, the goddamn, evil, vindictive, life-destroying thing had decided to change tactics and find her.

  It looked the same. Oh it looked exactly the same. “Oh my God,” she whispered, now looking down at it. She reached out to pick it up.

  “Hey,” a man snapped. “What are you doing?”

  Her heart was beating so fast. It was all she had left of home … and she wanted to crush the thing right then and there. She stammered, “I … I was going to…”

  “Nothing here is for your hands,” he said.

  Go away, sir. This is none of your business, she darkly thought, staring at the box.

  The man turned to look at a woman holding up a red and yellow sheet of textile calling for him. “Just wait,” he said. “I’m coming.”

  “How much?” Sankofa asked. “Please.”

  “You can never afford it. These things are for Big Men with Big Money.”

  Sankofa stared at the man. “Says who?”

  “Child, leave here, you’re wasting my time.”

  She stepped closer and cocked her head, her heart thumping faster. “Do you know who I am?” she asked in a low voice. There was no way in hell she was going anywhere.

  “Yes, you’re a girl who is wasting my time and about to be slapped,” he said, raising a hand. “Get out of here.”

  She stepped closer to the table, closer to the man, locking eyes with him. Angry. Oh, she would have this box, one way or another. If he tried to take the box away, there would be death today. She brought her light to her face, feeling it warm the skin of her cheeks. He was close enough to see it rush forward from deep in her flesh, like a hidden spirit deciding to show itself. When she saw his eyes widen and start watering, she smiled. He pushed the box toward her. “Take it.”

  “Where did you get it?” she asked.

  “Another seller, who got it from another seller, who got it from some guy,” he gibbered. “It’s one of those things that’s sold, stolen, found, sold, so on. Someone said it even belonged to the Minister of Finance, you know the Man of the Gold Shoe? I-I don’t know what it is. Just.… just some useless thing.”

  Sankofa reached into her pocket for her wad of bills. She held it up and split it in half. She slapped half on the table in front of the man. “I will pay for it,” she said. She put the rest back in her pocket.

  “Oh. My. Wow. Thank you, Ma’am,” he said, looking at the money, then at her and then back at the money. “I wouldn’t have sold it for this much to even a Big Man. You don’t have to—”

  “Stop talking and be grateful,” she said, taking the box. Yes, this was the box. She knew it as soon as her hands touched it. The wood of the shea tree from home. The smell of it. The pull of it. Her hand fell on it more heavily than she meant it to. It seemed smaller than she remembered, but then again, she’d last seen it years ago, when she was smaller. Sankofa turned away and walked out of the textile section into the place where they were selling vegetables. She turned to one of the wooden dividers and held up the box. Slowly, she opened it. There it was. A seed is actually a lot like an egg, she thought. She quickly shut it, feeling the rush of tears cloud her vision. She leaned her head against the wooden divider and exhaled.

  * * *

  Sankofa bought some fried plantain and kenkey and walked to a quiet spot between two trees to sit and eat. Shutting her eyes, she spoke a prayer to Allah. She touched the box deep in her pocket, the one not heavy with the rest of her money and sighed. Could it even be destroyed? She brought out her jar of shea butter and rubbed some on her hands and neck. She cupped her hands to her nose and inhaled the nutty scent. She leaned back against the tree trunk, pulled her hijab closer to her face, opened the warm foil and pulled a juicy plantain slice from it. Her denial-fueled peace was interrupted by a soft whirring sound.

  The palm tree and bush behind her gave some privacy from the busy market. Privacy where human beings were concerned. Robots were another issue. The drone hovered feet away, this time, at eye level. Sleek, black and insectile. It had four propellers on each side and Sankofa could feel the air from their spinning. It was square shaped with dull angles, glinting in the late afternoon light. The glinting was from its many tiny camera eyes embedded all around its edges. As it hovered, the eyes smoothly rotated this way and that.

  All Sankofa wanted in this moment was some privacy. To be away from watchful, curious, judgmental, prying eyes. Just for this little moment. She needed to be still and alone … and unwatched. And here this drone was spying on her with its many tiny embedded cameras. She scowled at it and muttered, “Come a little closer, you nosy thing.” Her heart was beating fast, the irritation flowing into her blood. For so many months, the drone had been following her, spying from afar. Now, it had grown bold and was disturbing her delicious meal. This was not the time.

  And still, it came closer. Three feet away, now. Two feet. A foot. Sankofa dropped her slice of plantain and grabbed with both hands, making sure to avoid the propellers. Within a moment, it stopped functioning, dead in her grasp. Sankofa grunted with satisfaction, then she felt a sting of guilt.

  “Hey!” a man shouted, stepping closer. He was carrying a large bunch of green plantains on his shoulder. “What have you done?”

  Sankofa opened her mouth to speak, but she had no words. What ha
d she done?

  More people came around the bushes and tree to see. Sankofa threw the drone down, grabbed her food and leapt to her feet. “You see that?” the man was telling another man who’d come running over.

  “Eh!” a large woman, carrying several bags said, stepping up. “Sankofa, what…”

  “I … it was in my face,” Sankofa said.

  “What is that thing?” another woman asked.

  “It’s one of robocop’s eyes,” someone said. “Oh my God, it looks dead. She’s killed it.”

  “The thing that flies like alien ship?” someone asked in English.

  And that was when they all heard the loud crash from the other side of the market square. From the street. People turned to look and without a word, everyone rushed to see what had happened. Sankofa threw off her hijab, grabbed the drone and took off for Alhaja’s house.

  As she ran, the world around her blurred from the tears in her eyes and the fact that she could barely breathe. Why am I carrying this thing? she vaguely wondered. But her hands wouldn’t drop the drone. She passed more people, all running in the other direction. When she arrived at Mr. Starlit, people were just leaving the store.

  Alhaja was behind the counter. “Sankofa, what happened? I heard there’s been an accident at the intersection! First in decades. Is it true?” She blinked. “Where’s your hijab? You can’t—” She’d noticed the drone Sankofa carried and her eyes grew large.

  Sankofa dashed past her, to the back of the store, out the back and up the stairs. She locked herself in her room and sank to the floor. Suddenly very sleepy, she calmed enough so that her tears stopped and her breathing slowed. Then, for the first time in nearly a year, it rushed into her—her light. She laid down right there on the rug, sighing as it washed into her like heavy warm water, uncontrolled, gradual, loose, free. If there had been anyone, animal or plant, around her, they’d have been dead.

  * * *

  Someone banging on her door jarred her awake.

  “Open up,” a man’s voice said. “Now! Witch.”

  She slowly opened her eyes, as the banging continued. She was still curled on the floor, cradling the drone. The banging grew harder and then someone tried to open the door. She threw the drone she still carried aside and got to her feet.

  “Sankofa,” she heard Alhaja say. “My dear, are you there?”

  Sankofa ran to her closet and pushed the clothes Alhaja had bought her over the months aside, including the brand-new school uniform Alhaja bought two weeks ago. After nearly a year, the local school had agreed she was safe enough to join her mates in getting an education. Sankofa had really been looking forward to it. She grabbed her green and yellow wrapper and matching top, shrugged out of her pants and T-shirt and put them on.

  “We hear you in there,” the man said. “Don’t make us have to destroy Alhaja’s home by breaking down this door. You’ve done enough da—”

  “I’m coming,” she said. “Let me dress.”

  She took her time tying her bright green head wrap. When she finished, Sankofa looked around her blue room with the blue ceiling and the blue soft bed she’d come to love so much. She grabbed her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. By this time, she had noticed the noise of the growing mob outside. Voices and the shuffle of feet.

  “So stupid to come here seeking me,” Sankofa muttered. She rubbed her face. “I’ve been here too long.”

  She opened the door. The five people waiting for her knew not to grab her.

  A child had been killed at the intersection. The seven-and-a-half-year-old had been crossing with his mother and two other people. All four people had had mobile phones on them, yes, even the child. Their names were Mary, Akua, Ason and Kweku. They all lived in RoboTown. The robocop had plenty to scan and read on them. None of them were mysteries. Yet at some point as the four of them crossed, the robocop had made a mistake. Some said it had not “been paying attention.” Its head was turned toward the market, many said. And as it had looked toward the market, it had shown a green light while it told the people to cross. The man who’d run over the seven-and-a-half-year-old said he had not seen the child.

  How did he not see? Sankofa wondered as she followed the Imam, Alhaja by her side, three men following close behind her, and many of RoboTown’s citizens noisily following behind them. Are the robocop’s false eyes the only eyes he has? She grasped her satchel to her, and glanced behind her at the line of police officers keeping everyone back, all armed with automatic guns. She made eye contact with one of them and his look was so nasty that she turned back around. Sankofa took a deep breath.

  When she arrived at the intersection, the child was still in the street, his mother weeping over his twisted body. Sankofa looked at this and remembered how she’d gone flying that fateful day. The woman who had to have heard them coming from a half mile away didn’t look up or stop sobbing.

  “See this poor woman!”

  “This is what happens when you bring Death’s Daughter to RoboTown.”

  “We’ll deal with her.”

  “Witch!”

  Sankofa shut her eyes, trying to block out the mob’s shouting. Being led out of town by an angry mob wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, best to stay calm and let it be done. She had all she needed in her satchel. Still, she’d grown to love RoboTown. It may not have been her home but for a nearly a year, it had been a home. And Alhaja had been so good to her, almost a mother. And Sister Kumi. And Michael and the other kids. And she was going to go to school again.

  They passed the sobbing woman and her dead son. They passed the stopped cars and trucks. Many had gotten out and were just staring at the woman. Sankofa thought they’d walk right through the intersection, out of town. Then the Imam stopped in the middle of the intersection, before the robocop.

  This was her first time close to it. No one stepped up to the robocop, except its cleaners. It just wasn’t polite. Its location was not a spot for pedestrians. Now the busy street was empty, police cordoning off the road. But a mob was gathering. Sankofa looked at the robocop’s massive feet, broad torso, and then up at its complex head with eyes shining its “stop” red. Its head made a soft whirring sound as it looked down at her with its stoplight eyes.

  “Wife, come,” the Imam called loudly over his shoulder.

  Sankofa turned around and watched Sister Kumi push her way through the line of police officers. She was breathing heavily, as usual. Today she wore a grey dress and a grey veil over her head. “Why?” she asked Sankofa.

  Sankofa sighed and shook her head. “Please, just let me leave RoboTown.”

  “Ask it,” the Imam said. “So we are sure.”

  Sister Kumi looked from Sankofa to her husband and back to Sankofa. Then she turned to the robocop and held up a tiny black box, a remote control. She spoke into it, “Speak your mind, Steel Brother.”

  “One has died today on my watch,” it said in its sonorous female voice. “At 14:55 hours in Section 4 of the Kumasi Road intersection. A child, Ason Ayim, age 7 and a half. I said walk and gave Section 3 the Green light at the same time. I made a mistake. I am very sorry for your loss.”

  “What made you make this mistake,” Sister Kumi asked, looking right at Sankofa.

  The robocop whose name Sankofa now knew was “Steel Brother” paused. It looked at Sankofa, as well. And as it did, its remaining drone came down and hovered feet above their heads. “That one there has no digital footprint. How can one have no digital footprint? No device, no face recognition software can recognize, no voice that responds to my voice recognition software. And that one there, she is … that one there, she is … that one there, she is…”

  Then Steel Brother seemed to freeze, its massive head turned toward Sankofa. Sister Kumi looked at her husband. “What’s wrong with it?” the Imam asked.

  “I don’t know!” Sister Kumi whispered.

  “That one there, she is,” Steel Brother said, this time more decisively. “… Confusion. I experience con
fusion because of her. I spend memory on that one. I burn my energy stores on that one. Trying to understand. For me to do my job, I have to have information. That one there, she is distracting. I was gathering information on that one and that one took my eyes.”

  “Your drone?” Sister Kumi asked.

  “Yes. And that drew all my attention. And I grew confused. And I made my mistake.” The robot went silent and there was a moment when Sankofa could hear the crickets in the bushes beside the road. Then everyone in the mob began to speak at once—from name calling, to discussing how a robot could make a mistake, to considering the plight of RoboTown now that its robot was stupid.

  All Sankofa could think of was the clear fact that the robocop had become obsessed with her to the point of being distracted enough to cause an accident and maybe it was even driving itself mad.

  “Get out of our town!” a woman shrieked. Then the first stone flew past Sankofa’s head. “GET OUT!” It was the mother of the dead child. She’d left his corpse, found a large stone, thrown it and was preparing to throw another one. Her wet face was swollen, her eyes red, her nose slick with snot. “BAD LUCK! YOU’RE BAD LUCK! WITCH! EVIL REMOTE CONTROL! SATAN!” She picked up and threw another stone. It hit Sankofa in the leg.

  Another stone came from the mob. It zoomed past Sankofa’s face. Then the pushing and shoving with the police started. Police fell and people began kicking them. Alhaja grabbed Sankofa’s arm and pulled her back, but people quickly surrounded them.

  “This woman who thinks she’s something because she overcharges us for mobile phones and jelli tellis,” a woman sneered. “Of course, she sides with this monster.” A stone hit Alhaja and the Imam quickly jumped in front of her.