The world was tilting to the left.
I was still sitting on the veranda, but the concrete felt like it was dissolving under me. My vision was tunneling, the edges turning a fuzzy, static grey.
< CRITICAL WARNING > Gemini's voice was no longer cool; it was urgent, jagged. < Glucose levels at 12mg/dL. Hypoglycemic shock imminent. Neural disconnect in 60 seconds. >
I tried to stand up, but my legs were just decorations. I couldn't feel my toes.
This is it, I thought, a bitter laugh bubbling in my throat. I survived the 2025 riots, I traveled back in time, I fixed a radio with melted plastic... and now I'm going to die because I didn't eat lunch.
The gate screeched open.
It wasn't my father. Tashi had that confident, bouncing walk. This person walked heavy. Thud. Thud. Thud.
A voice cut through the afternoon heat. It was loud, sharp, and smelling of trouble.
"Liyen! Eh! Liyen! Wuna dey inside?"
It was Auntie Manka. My mother's older sister. The family news broadcaster, the judge, and the jury.
She marched into the compound carrying a large plastic basin on her head. She was wearing a loud, patterned wrapper and a t-shirt that said 'Jesus is Lord'. She stopped dead when she saw me slumped against the wall, my head lolling on my shoulder.
She dropped the basin. It hit the ground with a heavy thud.
"Eh! Ma mami oh!" Manka screamed, rushing forward. Her hands, rough and smelling of red oil, grabbed my face.
She didn't speak English. She went straight into the deep Pidgin of a panicked Bamenda woman.
"Weti be this? Nkem? Nkem! Open ya eye!" She slapped my cheek. Not gently. "Man pikin, weti do you? You wan die for my hand?"
I tried to speak, but my tongue was heavy. "Auntie..."
"Sharrap!" she barked. She turned her head toward the door and yelled, her voice vibrating the zinc sheets on the roof. "Liyen! Liyen oh! Wuna di sleep? Ya pikin don finish for outside!"
My mother came running out of the parlor, wiping soap suds from her hands. When she saw me, her face went grey.
"Manka? What happened?" Liyen asked, breathless.
Manka turned on her, hands on her hips, unleashing a torrent of rapid-fire Pidgin.
"You ask me weti happen? Look the pikin! Yi dry like stockfish! Yi eye don turn white! Wuna no di cook for this house? Or wuna don sell the pikin yi chop for buy lottery?"
"He was sick," Liyen stammered, kneeling beside me. "The malaria..."
"Malaria my foot!" Manka spat. "This one na hunger! Look yi skin! Bone di poke outside. Weti Tashi dey? That useless man don carry money go drink, abi?"
"He went to buy rice," Liyen said weakly.
"Rice! Before yi come back, ground don swallow this boy."
Manka didn't wait. She reached into her bra the universal bank vault of African aunties and pulled out a crumpled wad of notes. Then she reached into the basin she had dropped.
She pulled out a loaf of Kumba bread the heavy, dense, sweet bread that weighs like a brick and a small plastic bag of Puff-Puff.
She tore a chunk of the bread off.
"Chop," she commanded, shoving it into my mouth.
I couldn't chew. My jaw was locked.
"Chop! I say chop!" She mashed the bread against my lips. "You wan make people talk say we di kill pikin for compound? Swallow am!"
I managed to bite. The taste exploded on my tongue. Yeast. Sugar. Flour.
< Caloric input detected, > Gemini whispered. < Processing... >
I chewed. I swallowed. Manka tore another piece, then a ball of Puff-Puff soaked in oil and sugar.
"Open mouth. Chop. No talk."
She fed me like a goose being fattened for Christmas. Piece after piece. The sugar hit my blood stream like a narcotic.
The grey edges of my vision started to recede. The pounding in my head slowed down.
< Glucose levels rising. System rebooting... Visual cortex stabilizing. Motor functions at 40%. >
I took a deep breath. The air smelled of Manka's sweat and the oily sweetness of the Puff-Puff.
"I'm okay," I whispered.
Manka sat back on her heels, wiping her hands on her wrapper. She looked at me, her eyes narrowing. She wasn't relieved. She was suspicious.
"You dey okay?" she scoffed. "You no dey okay. You look like person wey don see ghost."
She turned to Liyen, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, but in Bamenda, a whisper is just a shout with more bass.
"Liyen, I tell you say make you watch this boy. The way yi di look... yi no fine. See how yi eye di shine? Like old man eye."
Liyen frowned. "It is just the fever, Sister."
"Na fever di make pikin dry so?" Manka challenged. She pointed a thick finger at the burnt plastic smell still lingering in the yard. "And weti be that smell? Like wuna di cook rubber?"
My heart skipped a beat. She smelled the weld I had done on the radio.
"Tashi was fixing the radio," Liyen lied. She was protecting me.
Manka sucked her teeth. Mtcheew.
"Tashi fit fix radio? That man no fit fix yi own trouser button. If radio work, na luck. Or na juju."
She looked back at me. I quickly looked down at the bread, chewing meekly. I had to play the part. The dumb, hungry child.
"Nkem," Manka said sharply.
"Ma?" I mumbled, mouth full.
"You sabi book?" (Do you know book/school?)
"Small, Auntie."
"Hmph. Make you sabi book well oh. Because your Papa own head don spoil. If you no get sense, hunger go kill you for this Bamenda."
She stood up, hoisting her wrapper up. She kicked the basin.
"Liyen, I bring njama-njama and corn fufu inside that basin. Make wuna chop. If I come back here see this boy dry like stick again, I go carry yi go my house for Village. Tashi no go fit kill yi own pikin while I dey alive."
"Thank you, Sister," Liyen said, her voice small.
Manka turned to leave, but she stopped at the gate. She looked at the spot where Tashi and I had fixed the radio. She sniffed the air again.
She looked at me one last time. It was a look that said: I don't know what you are hiding, but I will find out.
"Waka fine," she muttered, and marched out of the gate.
I sat there, the heavy Kumba bread sitting like a stone in my stomach. But it was a good stone. It was fuel.
< Energy reserves at 15%. Cognitive functions restored to Level 1. > Gemini announced. < That female human is aggressive. But effective. >
That is Auntie Manka, I thought. She saves you with one hand and slaps you with the other.
Liyen sat down next to me on the concrete. She didn't say anything for a long time. She just watched me eat.
"Did you fix it?" she asked quietly.
I stopped chewing. I looked at her.
"The radio," she whispered. "Did you fix it?"
I couldn't lie to her. Not to Liyen.
"Yes, Ma."
She closed her eyes. She looked terrified.
"Don't let them see," she whispered, grabbing my hand. Her grip was tight, painful. "Nkem, you hear me? Don't let Manka see. Don't let the neighbors see. If they think you are... different... they will say it is nyongo. They will say your Papa exchanged your soul for money."
"I know, Ma," I said.
"Promise me."
"I promise."
She hugged me then. A fierce, desperate hug. She smelled of soap and fear.
I looked over her shoulder at the dusty yard.
I had promised to hide.
But Gemini was waking up fully now. The schematics of the compound were overlaying my vision. I could see the structural weakness in the roof. I could see the probability of rain in the clouds. I could see the fluctuating voltage in the power lines above the street.
I was a Ferrari in a village of bicycles. Hiding was going to be impossible.
< Operator, > Gemini said. < I detect a probability of 88% that Tashi does not return with the rice. >
I pulled away from my mother.
"Ma," I said. "We need to go find Papa."
Liyen looked at me, wiping her eyes. "Why?"
"Because," I said, standing up. The dizziness was gone. "The Bookman is hungry too."