Sankofa went to look at it after the incident at Mr. Starlit. As it had when she first entered RoboTown, it paid special attention to her, turning its head to watch her the entire time that she was there. “Don’t worry,” Alhaja had told her when Sankofa mentioned it to her later. “It’s only because you have nothing on you that it can scan. It’s like a nosy old woman when she’s denied gossip.”
The robocop’s drone also liked to follow Sankofa around and this was quite annoying. What was even more annoying was the fact that Sankofa couldn’t study the robocop on the internet or in eBooks because tech died at her touch. All she could do was ask questions of whomever had knowledge—old-fashioned research. Alhaja knew much about the robocop, but the youth of RoboTown knew even more. They had time to do research and they were most interested in the information because the more they knew, the more they could get away with mischief, like having flash parties.
RoboTown was a somewhat strict Islamic town and parties were frowned upon. However, RoboTown youth always found a way. Sankofa’s general reputation and the incident at Mr. Starlit earned her respect from the older teens, so they were more than happy to answer her questions. Thus, she learned from these older kids that the drones were the mobile eyes of the robocop.
“They stay high up because we knock them down when they’re stupid enough to get too close,” one boy told Sankofa. “We leave them, though. They have trackers. Not worth the trouble. They don’t follow you for very long, anyway.”
Sankofa frowned. One of the robocop’s drones had been following her for months. “What’s the point of them?” she asked. “Are they looking for troublemakers? Who’s collecting all the data? And who repairs the ones you’ve broken?”
All the boys in the group laughed. Sankofa simply waited.
“Everything’s collecting data,” one of the boys said. His name was Michael and he was always asking Sankofa to attend the flash parties he liked to organize. “All these devices we use are spies. That’s why you’re like a superhero; they can’t control you. You wearing hijab now must drive the spies crazy because they can’t easily see your face.”
Several of the boys agreed.
“The thing has its own agenda,” Michael said, lighting a cigarette. “And it takes care of itself.”
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Na artificially intelligent,” Michael said in pidgin English, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. He switched back to Twi, “No man behind the curtain anymore.”
“It’s a demon. Abomination,” one of the other boys declared, and they all started laughing and slapping hands in agreement.
Alhaja told Sankofa the robot had been there for decades and that before its arrival that traffic intersection had been rife with death. Car collisions, pedestrians constantly being struck and killed, road rage incidents and even late-night robberies. She didn’t know whose idea the robot was but things changed as soon as it was installed. People were intrigued by the robot and when national newspapers started coming to do stories about it, they grew proud of it. Commerce increased and RoboTown became more affluent. And with this pride came a respect and an affection for the robot.
“It was interesting,” Alhaja said. “People treat it with more respect than they treat any police officer. Maybe because the robot is polite, helpful and never asks for bribes.” She’d laughed and then leaned in with a conspiratorial smirk. “The thing answers to no one now, but do you know who programmed it initially? Sister Kumi.”
“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.”