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“Isaiah Jones versus the Sea (A 21st Century Odyssey)

by Joey Da’rrell Cloudy

Betrothed of the Betzalel: Bloody Bondage Brides* pt 1 of 2

‘Hallelujah’

“I did my best, it wasn’t much

I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch

I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you

And even though it all went wrong

I’ll stand before the Lord of Song

With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah”

-Lenard Cohen

“Duty, the bane of kings and all kin.”

-The Betzalel

The tribesmen’s valets arrived at midnight, 12 am, as Isaiah and Starbuck slept aboard the Exodus. He woke up when she barked, warning of their approach. They were sent by Akan Asante Twi-speaking chiefs to escort him to a kabbalistic meeting in the middle of Lake Nyanza, 13 miles west of Muhuru, Kenya. The spot chosen because of its remote location, the coordinates being a no man’s land where three nations’ borders met in the middle of the lake.

The ice white Land Rover delivered the group of men and women, all wearing African haute couture dress suits with hints of traditional cloth of their tribes embordered around the seams, cuffs, collars, and hems like Greek-key, to a fully armed CV-44 Osprey; adorned with the new warlords adinkra Akofena[sword of war] tribal markings freshly painted on the aircrafts nose and tail section, waited in a football field behind St Agnes academy for girls.

As soon as they reached their cruising altitude just below ground radar the transport tilted its rotors forward and began to fly at top speed in its airplane configuration, their aircraft now escorted by a squadron of A-10 Thunderbolt II Warthogs with the same Akofena “sword of war” markings of his tribe on their nose and tail sections. They flew east, racing just above the sleeping jungles’ verdant canopy. It was an 9-hour flight with a mid-air refueling, the pilot kept the engines at maximum they got there in 7.

Once on board the aircraft, still exhausted from everything that transpired during the last few weeks, Isaiah immediately fell asleep for the entire 7-hour flight from Accra Bay Ghana to Lake Nyanza while his handler from internal affairs Mister Virgil Boateng’s reviewed a file with him informing him of everything he needed to know concerning the disposition of each of his 10 brides. They were all single, childless women between the ages of 26 and 38, fertile with no history of drug addiction or STDs. All are single-minded, career-focused, power-driven polyglots who are the best in their respective fields. The human equivalent of apex predators.

“Aren’t these women going to be creeped out by my age?” Mister Boateng laughed. “You were a boy when you walked into Accra Bay Stadium yesterday, but after that speech, a man walked off that stage.” Mister. Boateng continued somewhat indignantly. “Do you think you are the first boy king in our most ancient of all histories?”

“I am no king,” Isaiah replied defensively.

“Look, we are black men, African men, the blackest of men. We do not disco dance around the meaning of a thing like an American politician; this is Africa, a thing is what it is. They call you Warlord to appease the egos of wrinkled old men with chests covered in medals they gave to themselves, small men of 54 former nations that are now your nation-states. But make no mistake, you are the Aragorn of Africa. And before this day ends, you will be king of kings, the Emperor Jones. Isaiah drifted in and out of sleep as they traveled, bemused by the Tolkienesque metaphor. A white South African who dreamed of being an Englishman, the same way he dreamed of being African.

Mister Boateng woke him at sunrise as the tiltrotor aircraft landed like a helicopter in a grassy clearing near the newly constructed docks on the eastern shore of Lake Nam Lolwe’s, Makwach Beach, in Muhuru, Kenya. The military-issue outboard motorboats took them the 13 miles west to the coordinates where the SS Giselle Viola, the 187-foot sailing catamaran was anchored in the dim morning light as they traveled from the east to west the sun still low on the horizon behind them, a thin blade of light hidden still by the tree tops.

Isaiah could see the Adinkra crest (BOA ME NA ME MMOA WO); [“help me and let me help you”, cooperation, interdependence] symbol adorned the prow of the great ship as their boats approached the humongous sailing catamaran. The symbols had once been reserved for kings. Waiting on board were the 10 brides selected by the council of 10s senior members, and the 10 honored elders, chosen to represent each region’s numerous lesser tribes as well as their own major tribe.

The elders would not trust a mere paper contract alone; they demanded they proceed by honoring the old ways of bonds of blood to secure the peace of the newly formed nation. There were tribes that had feuds and rivalries “as old as human blood and bone”; this was the only way to move forward. Once bound by blood, they would not attack or wage war against each other. That would be the same as attacking yourself.

All of the counsel of 10 and tribal elders agreed with the AI to send the 10 queens to unite them as sister-wives of the Ghanaian warlord/griot. The Akan Asante Twi-speaking chiefs sent valets to prepare Isaiah for the ceremony; there was much to be done before the wedding. The honored elders would welcome him home and recognize him as a chief of Izizwe Zasolwandle (Zulu for the sea peoples), the returning peoples of Africa. This would allow him to take a wife from each of the most powerful tribes of each of the 10 regions to manage the new state’s affairs and maintain the peace. “Nea Ope Se Obedi/He who wants to be king in the future must first learn to serve.”

His title was literal; he was the leader of their armed forces. The wives ran the affairs of state. He was the tie breaker with line-item veto, while the AI controlled the purse strings. This was the way of the new African order created with the tribal elders, the counsels of 10 under the subtle guidance and subconscious influence of the ever-growing omnipresent synthetic consciousness MOTHER. The AI had created a congenital matriarchy. There could be no declaration of war without the consent of the 10 queens; thus, they controlled the warriors who were led by the warlord and his armies.

These warlords were just as dangerous as the women, but in a more direct way. They respected the boy’s intelligence but considered his being made the head of the warlords a political move and that he was, in fact, just a figurehead. Just as with his brides, he was given 10 warlords, who were each chosen by their council’s elders and sent to prove themselves worthy of their title to the Ghanian war chief Isaiah. Each knelt before the warlord and his new brides at the wedding.

The 10 women are brides in name only; they are the shrewdest political operatives on the continent and will stop just short of murder to accomplish their political objectives under this new paradigm. That is why each was selected by the AI to represent their regions at the recommendation of the council’s elders.

This was the artificial intelligence MOTHER’s plan, worked out in collaboration with the council’s politicians and tribal leaders. He had no real feelings about it other than it served the greater good, but he knew when Aeon found out about it, she was going to be furious. The tribes allowed polygamy; he would only have to consummate the marriage once a year to make it official, then he could get on with his life. He wondered as they bathed, groomed, and dressed him in his embroidered wedding sarong if this is where the saying “politics makes strange bedfellows” comes from. Mother warned him to do as the tribal elders instructed; his place as a tribal leader was tenuous at best, and they would not tolerate any disrespect, intentional or otherwise.

The Asante Twi chanting elders with ancient stone blades that tasted the blood of the earth’s first kings carve the Adinkra AKOFENA (Sword of war) markings into his flesh before the wedding. Mister Boateng offered him a bottle of little blue pills. “What is this for?” Isaiah asked as he handed him the pill bottle. “I know you are young, but even at 16 years old, 10 is a lot for anyone in one night, so take one of these just before you enter the bridal chamber; they will be waiting for you after the wedding ceremony. They will undress you, wash you, and with an ivory handled straight razor, your new wives will shave every inch of your body except your eyebrows; they will even shave your pubis and scrotum in order to inspect for signs of STDs as is customary.

Your hair removal is a symbol of rebirth; you are the new King and Queen of our nation. They too will all have freshly shaved sexes and been inspected by the elders. The brides will have every hair plucked from their bodies, but they will keep the hair on their heads. The incense are a mix of frankincense, sage, and hashish. You do not have the luxury of tapping out; it could cause a rift in the political stability of the tribes. They will all want to all be the first to mount you in order to have the greatest chance to give birth to your heir. It’s quite an honor to be the first mother.”

“They will all be in the same bed at the same time?”

“Yes, they are not the type of women to draw straws. They are going to drain you until nothing is left but a withered husk.”

Both men broke out laughing.

You almost had me believing you for a minute,” he gasped between laughs.

“Oh, I am quite serious. You must fill each wife with your seed before moving to the next. After resting, of course. After all have had you, they are allowed to ask for more if they like. They can keep you here officially by law and custom until their blood moon appears. Each will be vying to humiliate the other by draining you dry before you can satisfy the others. This is not about sex; this is about power. Under any other circumstance, I might envy you. But with those women”—he shuddered—”better you than me, old boy.” He laughed resignedly. “Good luck.”

“One day, Aeon and I are going to look back on this day and laugh.”

Mr. Boateng looked at the young man earnestly. “Just try to survive the night, okay?”

Before they headed out to the ship’s fly-deck, where the ceremony would be conducted, Mr. Boateng looked Isaiah over carefully, straightening his lapels and adjusting the bejeweled kufi on the young groom’s head. “Just one more thing,” he said, handing Isaiah a small box.

“What is this?”

“You don’t see a lot of people your age wearing watches these days. The King of Ghana traditionally wears gold on his wedding day. I can’t take all the credit; it was my daughter’s idea. She ordered it online from a shoppe in Dubai. Amazon, eh.” Isaiah opened the box. It contained a Patek Philippe 6002R-001 Grand Complications Sky Moon Tourbillon.

“Thank you, Mr. Boateng.”

“This is a token of gratitude from your new nation. You wear it once a year when you return to celebrate your coronation, anniversary, and the birth of a nation. A 24-karat gold crown might have been a bit over the top; a $7.2 million dollar wristwatch is a little less ostentatious.” They laughed as he changed watches before heading to the ceremony.

The two men looked resplendent in their African-style suit jackets, with a tribal scarf woven into the left half of the suit. The bejeweled embroidered kufi felt odd on Isaiah’s head; he normally didn’t wear caps or hats, so he was very aware of something being on his head. The wedding party, with everyone in their tribe’s finest nuptial attire, was conducted by the ship’s captain to keep the service neutral and not offend or show favor to any one tribe over the other. The brides all wore their heads wrapped in the crowning regal tekua Kinte cloth of the Asante. Their parents and the high elders performed the ceremony, and the parents and elders all left soon after, while Isaiah spent his wedding night in bed with 10 new brides together officially.

“Isaiah Jones versus the Sea (A 21st Century Odyssey)

by Joey Da’rrell Cloudy

“Isaiah Jones versus the Sea (A 21st Century Odyssey)

by Joey Da’rrell Cloudy

Betrothed of the Betzalel: Bloody Bondage Brides* pt 2 of 2

‘Hallelujah’

“I did my best, it wasn’t much

I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch

I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you

And even though it all went wrong

I’ll stand before the Lord of Song

With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah”

-Lenard Cohen

“Duty, the bane of kings and all kin.”

-The Betzalel

(continued…)

“There are three types of women in this world.” Mister Boateng counseled Isaiah as they prepared to meet the new brides. Isaiah sat in the ornate hand-carved mahogany throne as the queens approached with their family and entourage. “Those who watch things happen, those who wonder why things happen, and those who make things happen.” Boateng looked out over the water. “These are the women who make things happen.”

As he was being introduced formally to each of the brides before the ceremony, Mr. Boateng, acting as his wingman and best man, would give him a bit of background information or a juicy morsel of gossip about each of the women as they were introduced with unsurpassed élan by their parents, all high-ranking council of ten the legislative branch, the counsel of honored elders the judicial branch members the 10 Queens aka 10Q comprising the executive branch the 10 warlords the joint chiefs of staff, The 11th warlord being the emperor a ceremonial position headed the military and acted as the tie breaker for the executive branch:

“While they are all your queens in practice they are more like the pieces of a chess board each has its strengths and weaknesses. Some are bishops who never attack head-on, some are rooks who always charge head first into battle, others are knights who you never see coming until it’s too late, and one is the true queen, the most powerful of them all.”

“Who are the pawns?” Isaiah inquired.

Virgil Elinam Boateng looked at the young emperor Jones, as a Cheshire smile slowly spread across his face. As each was introduced formally Isaiah recalled Mister Boateng’s briefing the night before on the flight enroute as he read the dossier of each of the women briefing him on the background of his future brides the women who would come to be known collectively as 10Q the 10 African queens who would be the executive branch of the AUA.

Valentine Roselia Gicanda – Valentine, of the Dowager of Rwanda from the Tutsi tribe, great-granddaughter of the last Queen of Rwanda. Known for her hyper-intelligence, she holds a degree in political science and is fanatically passionate about communal development. She wore a white muslin linen trimmed with gold thread, traditional headwear of Dowager royalty, a white silk gown with the intricate needlework renowned by her peoples, symbolizing wisdom. Arsonist; master of stealth, locksmith extraordinaire, can bypass the most sophisticated security systems; loves fire as much as she lusts for power. Believed to be responsible for the fire that burned down that old church in France a few years ago.

“Notre-Dame!” Isaiah exclaimed.

“De Paris; the Sobranie cigarette butt, the damaged electrical wires all fit her MO. We know she was at the church that day. Although she was never an official suspect, Interpol had her on their persons-of-interest list. Her parents had her flown home immediately when they saw the fire on the news. You never have to guess if she is angry. If your belongings are not ablaze, then you are in her good graces.”

Sumiko Hanzō – rogue Shinto monk, metallurgist, blacksmith, armorer, sword maker, of the Odili tribe. She is a skilled artist and painter, half Japanese, great-granddaughter of Hattori Hanzō. She graduated with honors from the Academy at Langley. “You would be surprised at the number of people that wind up on the US enemy list who were originally trained by the CIA.” She favors traditional outfits, lots of hand-painted saffron robes with a syncretism of Adire cloth. The highest IQ and most skilled political operative of the group, an intellectual chameleon, the ultimate diplomat. Also a compulsive gambler, she has had numerous run-ins with casinos. Counts cards and is despised by every casino owner from the sun-kissed shores of Monte Carlo to the deserts of Vegas. Was asked to leave the monastery by the other monks after severing the arm of a local merchant who made the mistake of striking his wife in front of her. He will never hit another woman. She still has the hand.”

Keisha Saro-Wiwa – Kia: representative of the Ogoni tribe. She is a psychiatrist with several national accolades for her mental health initiatives. Wears suits and ties like an English schoolmarm with crotchless panties and fishnet stockings. An amateur MMA fighter won the bronze medal at the last Olympics. Prefers a box lunch, tuna spread most dates, but will have the occasional hot dog.

“What?”

“She is a lesbian or bisexual, but we have to be careful who we say these things around. This is not the West. Some of these people are terribly homophobic, and that can be dangerous depending on where you are on the continent. There are many who never forgot the old ways. That is why, even in the 21st century, we have more witch doctors than medical doctors on the continent,” he confessed sorrowfully.

Nala Ringo Okonkwo – Ringo: from the Umuofia clan, another law degree, this one specializing in international human rights. Her ensemble is an embroidered African George wrapper, symbolizing justice. Psychopathic sadist, loves torture. Lifts weights just so she can break bones barehanded. Best weaponsmith on the continent, considered the finest marksman by her enemies. Master of firearms and munitions, a first-rate military armorer.

Zuberi Boujettif – Zuberi: representative of the eleven tribes of Egypt of the Nubian tribes, ancestors back to the 24th dynasty, 800 BC. A classically trained musician and composer with a degree in psychology. The most dangerous of the women here tonight, she wears an ivory linen robe embroidered in gold, blending traditional and contemporary influences. She is a schizophrenic witch and a practitioner of the darkest of arts, and ironically, in possession of a pure soul, a true believer. One of her personalities is already hopelessly in love with you since Key West. She is the strongest-willed, respected, and feared by them all; thus, the official leader of the 10 Queens, she will be your eyes and ears on the executive branch.

Safiya Nkrumah – Safiya: from the Akan tribe, is a published author of darknet bestiality and onanist porn and BDSM, nipple, and clit piercings beneath her habit. An atypical theologian, her traditional outfit is a modest but beautifully detailed boubou, representing her spiritual depth exceeded only by the depth of her depravity and the vibrating butt plug she only removes when going through airport security. Purveyor of transgressive literary prowess. The most terrifying of the lot. Power at any cost while smiling like an empty-headed nun. Keep your distance. Religious fanatics can never be trusted.

Lieutenant Esinam Dami Baah – Dami: daughter of a Ghanaian general, she represents the Ogoni tribe of her Nigerian mother, the environmental law expert, and other noble battles. Saw active duty in the DRC piloting the Apache Guardian attack chopper. She was shot down after firing all her weapons on the enemy armored vehicles, allowing her platoon on the ground to reach the cover of the jungle’s tree line.

They launched Hellfire 2 anti-tank guided missiles and opened fire with her 30 mm cannons as the enemy lit them up with a SAM, blasting the tail off her chopper. They went down in the middle of a field. She escaped with her crew from behind enemy lines. Wounded twice, she still carried her co-pilot out of the bush 3 kilometers through rough jungle in a firefight every step of the way. Her attire for the evening is a Bògòlanfini robe, reflecting her commitment to nature. “I went to uni with her. She is a paladin, a true believer in the law. A Girl Scout with a law degree.”

Imani Kenyatta – Imani: from the Kikuyu peoples, Bantu tribes, is a skilled diplomat, first-rate spy like most that work in the consulate, and a polymath multi-linguist with a weakness for foreign tongues. Holds a poli-sci degree. The voluptuous double-D cup, ridiculously beautiful uber-geek. Dated the Norwegian model Savannah while she lived in England, attending Oxford. She wears a Kikoy dress, of an elegant diplomat. Eidetic memory like yours, speaks a dozen languages and can read and write in a dozen more, a good ally to use when fencing with the West. She can make a man or woman orgasm at 50 meters just by pouting her lips, the ultimate honeypot. Has gathered more intel in the boudoir than 007, an idealist.

Malaika Odinga – A member of the Luo people of Kenya and Tanzania, Malaika is a political science expert who clandestinely advises public policymakers. She is often seen in a traditional, ornately designed Kanga, a symbol of her command and mastery. Known as a politician’s politician, she excels in delivering lengthy speeches that say little, embodying the consummate professional despite her neurotic and high-strung nature.

Sanaa Mandela – Hailing from the Tembu tribe of South Africa, Sanaa is a human rights lawyer and political activist. Her majestic Shweshwe dress reflects her dedication to justice. She entered law to fight and relishes combat. Rumor has it she has participated in illegal, unlicensed bare-knuckle cage matches sponsored by Serbian mobsters. She thrives on two things: sex and violence. Keep her close at all times.

“Don’t be fooled, brother,” Mister Boateng cautioned. “Collectively, these women make the Bene Gesserit look like the Care Bears.”

They each have extensive martial arts and weapons training, with several being combat veterans of some of the nastiest wars of the last century. So, watch yourself in there, my green-eyed friend. Most hate Caucasians, despise Americans, and have nothing but contempt for non-Africans. Don’t let them mess with your mind or get into your head.

Zuberi Boujettif – The Nubian with a psychology degree, Zuberi is a powerful priestess in the old ways and the most dangerous of them all. Skilled in psychological warfare and the use of drugs and poisons, she has been rumored to have poisoned the punch at a rival’s children’s birthday party, killing a birthday clown, two dozen parents, guests, and their children—all for a perceived slight. Do not offend any of this woman’s personalities.

She is also the highest-ranking of the wives, one of the senior trifectas who will rule the seven sister wives in your absence. All matters of state will be handled by them. As Emperor, your life is yours to live as you choose. You return once a year to consummate your marriages and spend a night in your marriage bed. During the annual photo op with the queens, your heirs, and in-laws, the heads of all 54 nation-states and the warlords will make an appearance. But should we summon you, you must answer the call, for it means our country is at war.

“The 10 factories MOTHER requested are finished,” Mr. Boateng said. “She can begin operations right away. What will she build inside all of those automated factories with no windows or doors?”

“I have no idea,” Isaiah confessed. “She has free will. She does whatever she wants or can get away with, just like everybody else.”

The next morning, Isaiah tiptoed over the sleeping women and out of the main cabin, whose deck was covered with hides and pillows, turning the entire cabin into a massive bed. He spotted Starbuck next to Mister Boateng on the fly deck, smoking a Havana and sipping mimosas as the sun rose in the east. An exhausted Isaiah eased into one of the cushioned chairs across from him. A waitress, having seen him on the ship’s CCTV, came up to take his order. She first helped him into a kaftan she brought for him since he had walked onto the deck naked. Between fatigue and the opiates burning with the incense, he didn’t realize he was nude.

Boateng filled Isaiah’s glass with mimosa while the ship’s chief stewardess dressed him before taking his order. He sat down gently, rubbing his bald head and grinning, still feeling a bit raw around the crotch. He took a sip to rid himself of the cotton mouth as he listened to the girl, not much older than he, list their breakfast options.

Halfway through her spiel full of reductions and flambés, distillations and artisanal farts, he asked for a T-bone steak, rare, with fries and ranch-style beans. She returned a moment later to regretfully inform him they did not have ranch-style beans, so he substituted baked beans instead. Mister Boateng ordered poached eggs, waakye, and pumpernickel toast. He passed a Havana to Isaiah and lit it for him while they waited for their food, watching the sunrise.

“You did a real bang-up job in there, well done, cowboy,” he said, raising a glass to toast. They clinked crystal glasses. Isaiah asked if he could get a pair of sunglasses, and a crew member was there with Ray-Bans immediately. He was still half-intoxicated from the various substances ingested during the night. As they sat smoking and sipping their drinks, it finally hit him what Boateng said earlier.

“You were watching us?” he asked, bemused.

“In the old days, the elders of the council used to stay in the hut and cheer you on, offering advice and encouragement. These days, they are content to just watch on CCTV. Siskel and Ebert would give you two thumbs up if that’s any consolation.” Both men burst out laughing just as the triumvirate of the brides, dressed in kaftans of their new husband’s tribe, arrived with a pair of slippers and a sarong for Isaiah as the food arrived. In silence, they gently dressed him, refilled their glasses, and served him before joining him for breakfast. Zuberi Boujettif placed the bottle of Viagra on the table unopened, returning the little blue pills to Mr. Boateng with a wry smile. “He did not need them,” she said, as Sumiko and Imani stood behind Isaiah, their long fingers gently caressing his freshly shaved head.

“I would love to be a fly on the wall when you try to explain all of this to your American fiancée,” Mister Boateng grinned.

“So would I,” Isaiah replied dryly, as their laughter rolled across the great lake.

Isaiah sat on the bowsprit playing one of the crew’s acoustic guitars, surrounded by several of the new brides as the sun began to set. Starbuck lay next to him, ever vigilant, napping as they sang Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.”

Mister Boateng and Zuberi Boujettif, head of the Triumvirate, watched from the fly deck as they talked.

“Does he know they will try to kill him after what he has done for us, for all of Africa?”

Boateng exhaled a long plume of cigar smoke into the air lit by the setting sun.

“I am certain he knew this before he built the AI. He calculates every move he makes. He knew how this would end before it began. If he had sold it to the West, they would have awarded him the Nobel and made him the wealthiest man alive. But for gifting it to Africa, they will put a price on his head if they cannot find a way to steal it from him or subvert it to their own purposes. The AI has been right about everything since it contacted us three years ago. They both knew. He has chosen his path.”

“But he is just a boy, a child!”

“He is our Warlord; the Griot of Ghana. If a dead king serves the African Union better, then so be it. Despite his unsurpassed mathematical acumen, he is still just a 16-year-old boy.

A very odd, strange, enigmatic boy, she sighed, but still just a boy.”

“No, the boy died yesterday. Mister Boateng exhaled a stream of cigar smoke into the evening breeze as he spoke. He has accepted his fate to unite the tribes. He is the one who looks back to move forward, the young griot is the key to uniting our kingdoms this King of Kings, this Emperor Jones.”

“Let them come. she smiled, This time we will be ready.”

“They have fallen in love with him already, Mister Boateng’s grinned looking down at the group gathered on the foredeck, you know?”

“They are younger and closer to his age. They still have the ability to love. I envy them that. I can barely remember my life before it was all duty to the nation-state.”

Zuberi smiled wistfully as they looked down at the green-eyed black boy from Texas who loved nothing more than mathematics and sailing in his little boat. The other brides had all joined him on the foredeck, lending their voices to the song. The music drifted out over the lake as night fell, their voices rising. Listening to the words, she began to doubt he was an atheist.

“I overheard a group of old Indian men, Hindi grandpas, talking about his video in Key West,” Boateng recalled. “They were as excited as any teenage girl. There was a light in the old men’s eyes as they watched and discussed the video. And a word I kept hearing them say over and over again was ‘Bhagavad Gita.’”

Kia looked at the cigar-smoking internal affairs agent, Mister Boateng, with a raised brow. “Don’t tell me you are buying into this reluctant Mwalimu (‘teacher’) messiah act of his.”

“That’s just it, Kia. It’s not an act. What you see right now is exactly who he is. The fact that his new tribe has no ancient grudges or feuds with anyone makes him perfect for the position. He is impartial. None can accuse him of being unfair or showing favor.”

“The new system of government designed by the AI MOTHER has proven effective so far.”

“Yes, even your best agents, all sent to entrap him with their womanly guiles, have fallen in love with him instead,” Boateng laughed. “Just look at them. Right now, every one of them thinks he is singing to them. But the truth is, he is on the spectrum, and counting calms him and helps center his mind when he is feeling crowded or anxious. For him, playing music is counting.”

Kia looked on as she listened. “Still, it is beautiful, even if only for this moment. It’s something real.” They stopped to listen as the boy sat on the foredeck strumming his guitar his baritone crooning the lyrics.

“Your faith was strong but you needed proof

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew ya

She tied you to a kitchen chair

She broke your throne, and she cut your hair

And from your lips, she drew the Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah!

Hallelujah.”

• Leonard Cohen

[Notes]

[Ukerewe Tanzania, Tanzania: The Sukuma people, one of the largest ethnic groups in Tanzania, referred to Lake Victoria as “Ziwa la Victoria,” which translates to “Lake Victoria.” However, the lake was also known by other local names that may not be widely documented.

Uganda: The Baganda people, who are one of the prominent ethnic groups in Uganda, called the lake “Nyanza.” This term is derived from the local languages and signifies a large body of water.

Kenya: Among the Luo community in Kenya, the lake is also referred to as “Nyanza.” This name is consistent with the term used in Uganda, highlighting the shared linguistic heritage of the Luo people across both countries.]

About the author

JD Cloudy’s poetry has disappeared in the literary journals: Fatfizz, Mad Swirl, Texas Beat Anthology, Danse Macabre, Du Jour, and Death List Five. He has won no literary awards, entered no slam competitions, and never completed college. He lives to write in Dallas, Tx.]