Jan 1, 2090
It’s 6:00 am. I deactivate my sleeping cube suspended in air, land my feet gently and waddle to what looks like a see-through box known as the neutralizer. I stand in it for 3 minutes as a white edible foam which cleans my teeth and my body. There is no rinse required. We sleep at 45 degrees angle, almost upright now because science has explained we can only achieve restorative rest if our body doesn’t realize it has weight. We also need restorative rest because every Nigerian has to have metaphysical energy- superpowers as we called it once.
I still don’t know how to control my “power.” This morning, fire from my hands completely turned my toast to ashes, so I avoid petting my dog and let the robot Human Assistant pet him. I walk to the fridge, swipe through the food menu, make my selection and place it in the Food Isle. Thirty minutes later the microwave pings, piping hot from Italy. I’m late for work and upset. USA already has Food Isles that work in 10 seconds and Nigeria is still here. I hear now that Nigerians without enough bitcoins of their own have found a way to steal and redirect food from the Food Isle. It hasn’t happened to me yet. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
I try not to complain because it will lead me to other shortcomings about this country that I can’t be bothered with this morning. The President will be sworn in today. I didn’t vote for him. Everyone knows his party is in alliance with the company that makes the human assistants who count the votes. I remember how 70 years ago, this used to be a holiday.
NGR-50, can I leave for work now? The human assistant scans me from head to toe and says ‘You haven’t eaten every morsel of food, by directive of NAFDAC, you must waste nothing from the Food Isle’ I return to my food and eat it. Looking angrily at the machine I paid for, who owns who? I wonder. All done, I go to my Pharmome, my home pharmacy dispensary, another bot. The medicine is candy flavoured because I import mine. I request more than I need. A warning sound goes off. “I will not dispense more than your required dose, by directive of- “I take out the batteries mid-sentence. Not today.
“Obii have a nice day”, NGR-50 says to me. Screw you, I think.
I walk to the vent and push the button for ‘work’ and smile that JK Rowling had the right idea. In a flash, I get sucked into the transporter and arrive right on my seat. My job is to edit the news. I hiss as I begin. There are bots for this in China and people over 75 years don’t even work for a living. They just live. 4 hours later it’s lunchtime. My best friend and I have found someone from Old Jamaica to supply pseudo-cannabis, the real thing is gone but this works better than candy. We seal them in tea bags and drink, delightfully. I burn mine too hot out of excitement. This is the only time I enjoy office hours. At the day’s end, I transport back home. The human assistant owes me bitcoins from my last trip. It tried to pair me up with another person and I declined. Nothing has changed and again, everything has. I get home, put on my screen frames to project some Nollys. Uninteresting.
So, I dig for my contraband, a Nollywood stash and play Osuofia in London. NGR-50 comes to the room. By directive from Nigerian video Censor Board, “I am to report any illegal showing that isn’t permitted in the country.” I look briefly at what I remember to be the image of a standing fan- as it counts- Turn it off one, turn it off two… turn it off three…These USA models would have sent in a report by now. Maybe these unchanged things can be favourable after all. My dog struts in with its singed tail and I make a mental note to exchange my powers for something less destructive.
Adjusting my screen frames, I settle comfortably to watch Osuofia make a fool of himself as NGR-50 counts all the way to one million.
