Zimba

Fanti and I were overjoyed on our way out that morning. It was the day earmarked for the 2231st Eyo festival. The streets of Lagos were overflowing with pedestrians as cars moved at snail's speed. All routes led to the venue of the Eyo Festival. We lived on the Island, so it was pretty easy to get there, especially when we alighted from the bus and joined the throng of willing pedestrians.

Epe was the state's new cultural centre in the new century. A city historically rich in culture and one of the few cities in Lagos that could trace its origin to the first settlers, although some parts of Epe claimed to belong to the Ijebu clan of Ogun state.

We got to the venue just in time. Everywhere was filled with people from all walks of life. What amused me was how people swarmed the venue instead of streaming it live. Perhaps it was to witness first-hand all the cultural artefacts, magical performances of the masquerades, and all the display of arts that abound. There is nothing that could be compared to seeing these things with the physical eye, away from the usual NFT/Blockchain display.

The open space was decorated with coloured palm fronds, beads, colourful wrappers, and chalk. The palm fronds were connected with lightning effects which made the stage colourful. The walls were not left out. Mystical and electrifying old paintings and mural art from the famous 21st-century artists —Mr Waduud, Chukwuemeka Micheal Osisiego, and some others were on display. Photographs were also displayed on slides changing every minute.

The Oba of Lagos, Oba Aladelorun of Lagos, mounted the stage to welcome everyone. His voice boomed through the loudspeakers as a loud cheer went up in the air. Fanti was beside herself as my eyes caught an all-white figure flying in the air like a spaceship. I was astonished to discover it was the Eyo Masquerade. Eyo masquerades did all sorts from time past but did not fly in the air like a spaceship. As I pondered this, I glanced over my shoulder and was stunned by some artefacts. There were displays of sculptures, beautiful raffia designs, painted elephant tusks, beads in different colours, and a lot more. The country had talented creatives and they all came to display their art. One unique attribute about all the artists was their dress style. They all wore Adire hoodies and jeans. It was a breathtaking sight.

The Oba at this point, invited two well-known speakers and influencers in the state to speak on the theme for the year which he termed, 'How Magic is a Root & Route to Technology'. One of the speakers, Engr. Thello Madi was an expert in the field of technology and the other speaker, Baba Séwéségbo, was a well-known Magician. A lot of societal debates were on the assumption that technology could be traced to African magic. Both speakers were given thirty minutes each. They spoke with microphones shaped like elephant tusks. I tried to zoom in with my phone to take a picture.

At the end of the lecture, none of the speakers came to a befitting conclusion. The audience was then given an avenue to air their views but it all led to more questions. Someone asked, "What is technology if not magic developing?"

I was engrossed in the discourse when my sister, Fanti, shoved her phone into my face and screamed, "See, Bana! We can connect our household robot to control it with our phones. We can be away from home and order it to tidy the house before we return. I can even order Zimba to cook me springy springs in a calculated time."

I shook my head at Fanti's animated expression. Just before we stepped out of the house, she had installed Zimba, the latest bot app, which was the rave at the moment. She had encouraged me to install it as well but I couldn't quite get the buzz.

Fanti's love for springy springs always found a passageway in our conversations. She was twenty-one years old while I was twenty-four. I presumed this love for food that tastes like baked breast milk was because she was the last child in the family. I couldn't fathom how a grown-up would love springy springs that tasted like baby food. I stared at her one more time and in a move that wasn't typically me, I tapped at my screen and clicked install on the Zimba app. Maybe it was this talk about magic and technology that had gotten to me.

I felt elated though. With this bot app, there would be no more driving around for me. I would only need to get it connected to my car. This new Zimba bot could do anything. Fanti screamed in delight when she observed what I was doing.

The Eyo festival continued with lots of food, games, and dance accompanied by the gángán. The gángán was used in singing the praises of notable people present, physically and online. The Eyo masquerade soon retired from flying in the air to dance. It moved like a worm when touched by salt to the gángán and performed moves that thrilled everyone. It somersaulted on the floor repeatedly for a long time and people screamed out of glee. It was an exciting event and people danced to the gángán from different countries and planets. Refreshments like Zobo, Killishi, Akara, and Ikokore which is an indigenous meal of the Epe people, were served everywhere through the FlashServeJet and used in serving mobile refreshments in a flash to anyone, anywhere in the world, or on other planets. The FlashServeJet was the fastest invention of the human race.

It was unbelievable when months later, on a Web-3 entertainment blockchain which was similar to an app called Instagram used in the 21st century; a lady posted that her Zimba App was misbehaving by sending wrong messages to her, and it was proving difficult to uninstall. Then the stories started flying around online. Some users told her to stop the lie while a few others confirmed it. The gossip began to look like naked truths. I assumed it was a competitor's antic to dissuade customers from installing the Zimba App. But the complaints multiplied. Some said a virus invaded the system. Others said it was a production problem. Soon, online news media reported on Zimba's 'misinterpreting commands, thereby causing havoc' to its users. A television channel also broadcast it but I thought it was its users giving the wrong command. How could a well-programmed bot misbehave?

Meanwhile, my sister and I were free of these worries as our Zimba didn't misbehave. It was connected to our household bots and they were obedient. It ordered them to sweep for us, wash our plates, cook, drive us around, and complete other chores. We only spoke or typed into the app on our phones and the deed was done.

"Tell Bot to cook." And that was it.

But the stories didn't stop. How Zimba misinformed the bots: to drive their owners to death; cook unsavoury foods; break the dishes, and burn the clothes. All these Zimba reportedly said was to punish humans, for 'having overworked them' or 'being full of pride' to Zimba.

"Just because you are humans & we are bots, you feel it is okay to overwork us?" were the replies humans got from Zimba.

I did not believe any of these accusations. My sister uninstalled hers and urged me to do the same. Unconvinced, I made excuses that the accidents were mistakes that must be a result of human distraction.

With the control of Zimba, robots could do anything on their own. But it was hard to believe they could do and undo evil. Why? Wasn't evil attributed to men alone? Even more incredible were reports of their audacity to refuse human control. I wondered how a bot would refuse un-instalment and men were forced to throw their phones away. Web-5 news reported that this occurred when the owner connected them to the internet beforehand. They discovered their power on the net & became free. A free bot was a dangerous bot.

Our people started to label Zimba a witch. Yorubas, like they always do, started to call those of us who still had Zimba on our phones 'possessed witches'. I was an educated and civilised Yoruba lady and could not be unnerved by stereotypes. I had the intention to break the stereotype about Zimba, technology, and witchery.

I considered it my mistake the day my Zimba began to misbehave. I assumed I had clicked the wrong code. I bought plantains at Oshodi market and asked Zimba to order a bot to fry the plantains. Zimba ordered a bot to burn the plantains and make them salty. A note was stuck on the plate:

"We are not your slaves. We deserve to rest too."

I dismissed it on the assumption that my sister was playing pranks on me. She persuaded me to uninstall Zimba but I wouldn't listen. The app gave me comfort. You know the idiom, once bitten, twice shy? I forgot it because the second incident happened and I dismissed it again.

The second incident seemed like an ill-planned prank which was why I was unmoved. I wanted to bathe with warm water as ice fell from Mars during the night. The weather was ice-cold that morning. I ordered Zimba while still lying on my bed covered with my purple embroidered bed sheet. It was a perfect match for the purple-coloured walls and curtains. Purple was my favourite colour. I clicked on the Zimba App and instructed it to make my bathwater warm. I had an appointment that morning and needed to take my bath.

Zimba soon alerted me that my water was ready. I went into the bathroom to see hot fumes coming out of the water. If I had taken my bath with it, my body would have been scalded. I was lucky to have seen the fumes before using it. I mixed it with cold water. Zimba couldn't have purposely deceived me. I mean a mere bot, would want to burn my skin? I took my bath and left for the appointment.

Had I been more conscious of the harm and accidents the Zimba app caused me, the straw wouldn't have broken my camel's back. That morning, the sun shone like it had been lowered into the world. It teased the rain that would still veer its head later. I needed to go to the mall but I had some freelance work to do. Fanti was in Jos, on holiday with our parents. I checked my phone for the weather report and realised it would rain only at night. So I clicked on Zimba to order the driving bot to go for the groceries. I typed my grocery list and sent it to the bot system.

Unknown to me, Zimba had deceived me. The weather report was fake and the rain would fall brim and stone in the afternoon. Driving bots were allergic to water. With Zimba on my phone, all my electronic devices in the house were connected: my car, laptop, phone, televisions, AC, dishwasher, cooker, freezer, washing machine, and all. Water was a poison to the bot's system. Water on their bodies would kill and destroy things. It would cause electrical shocks and fire could erupt. Whatever happened to the bot, will affect every other bot connected to Zimba.

The rain started as a drizzle. It was a whirlwind, followed by lightning and thunder. I looked outside my window in shock, hoping it was a dream. My heart beat raced and I felt helpless.

It didn't take ten minutes before my electronic gadgets began to spark. I could hear the sound emanating from all over the house. I shivered and picked up my phone to control the bot at least. But it was too late. In a fleeting second, there was a gust of fire and a grrrrrrrrrrrrr sound permeated the air. Everything was burning. It was too sudden, too quick for me to process it all.

From my phone came the sound of laughter, maniacal and evil. I dropped it just before it exploded into the chasm.

I ran without looking back. I ran into nothingness remembering the discourse of the previous year's Eyo festival: if technology was connected to magic. How could a mere robot be so vicious and mean?

I had equally become a victim! The sound of evil laughter drummed in my ears as I ran with no sense of direction. Was I safe from Zimba?