riverbanks, no marshes, no trees. The Tonga became scavengers, nothing to eat for a fishing culture, nothing but dirty water to drink. No bukoko beer, no escape. Scattered, a people lost in a wilderness, like a needle in a stack of hay. Cold, swamp, storms, disease, isolation. Death skulking in the air, in the water, in the bush. People dropping like flies.
‘Oh, yes – the Rhodesians did that to the Tonga people! Did it very hastily, too, no doubt, and without thinking too much about it either, except to brag that they had pushed it through in time at least – the building of the Great Kariba Dam! And maybe they were encouraged by keeping their eyes on the chance of a promotion to the Federation government at Salisbury at some point, if they had good friends in London and survived the political situation. But what of our young Tonga, banished after training to be a prefect or a tax-gatherer or a trader even, wanting to mend his fortunes? Sent into exile, marched through the bush, put in some inland settlement. He must have felt the savage conditions, utterly savage, closing around him, squashing that yearning that stirs in the spirit, in the minds, in the hearts of all men. There was no preparation for such misery. He had to live that way without understanding why, which was just as detestable. But it had a fascination, maybe, that started to grow. The fascination of oppression – the growing regrets, the longing to escape, the powerless disgust, the surrender, the hate—’
‘Mind you,’ Naila cut in, lifting one arm from the elbow, the palm of the hand outwards, so that, with her legs folded under her, she had the pose of a Buddha preaching in American clothes and without a lotus-flower – ‘mind you, what ruined this country was efficiency – the British worship of efficiency. The first settlers weren’t smart or royal. They were not kings. The empire was a frikkin sham. They were colonialists, and for that you only need brute force – nothing to boast of when you have it. Power’s just an accident that depends on the weakness of others. They grabbed what they could get for the sake of it. Robbery plus violence, aggravated murder on a big scale, and bloody bazungu going at it blind – men tackling men in the dark. The conquest of Africa, which meant stealing it from those with a darker complexion and flatter noses, is an ugly thing, men. Even worse was the idea at the back of it, not curiosity or love, but just belief in an idea – something they set up, and bowed to, and sacrificed us to—’
She broke off. Flames had begun gliding on the lake: small green flames, red flames, white flames, pursuing, overtaking, joining, crossing each other, then separating slowly or hastily. It was the lights from the fishing boats that continued to pass in the deepening eve upon the lake. They looked on anxiously – had they done all that was needed to be done?
* * *
After the Kalingalinga rally, they had watched the video footage from the news drones over and over, trying to see when things went wrong, when they took that unaccountable turn for the worst. The problem was that everything went black at a certain point – the moment night fell and everyone’s Beads cut out and the macrodrone covered the crowd with its vast, vibrating shadow.
‘Why did we pose a threat?’ asked Joseph. ‘They didn’t even know what we were protesting.’
‘We didn’t even know,’ Naila muttered, as she pulled the video bar on her palm back to rewind. They were watching from her Bead, which was projecting the footage onto a wall at the New Kasama house. They had been holed up there since the rally, trying to regroup.
‘Look.’ Naila pointed.
They looked. A sea of bitty lights, then a hoarse sea of darkness washing over the scene.
‘We’ve seen it a million times,’ Joseph said exasperatedly.
‘Yes, but—’ She pressed pause. ‘Why did all our Beads cut out at the same time?’
‘Power cut?’ Jacob shrugged.
‘No,’ Naila mused. ‘Our Beads kept on working after the microphone cut. Remember the lights?’
‘Yes.’ Joseph stroked the beard he had been growing. It covered his acne scars and made him handsomer. ‘Beads are powered by our nervous system so they don’t need to be charged.’
Naila turned off her Bead. ‘They must have shut them off, through the cloud.’
‘AFRINET still works when the power is cut?’