Tashi & Son Electronics
Commercial Avenue
Tuesday, July 13, 1999
The air in the shop was thick with the scent of lavender oil and expensive cologne.
Prophet Elijah did not walk; he floated. He was a man of immense proportions, dressed in a suit of shimmering white silk that seemed to repel the red dust of Bamenda by sheer willpower. His church, The Tabernacle of the Rising Fire, was the fastest-growing business in the North West.
"So," the Prophet said, his voice a melodic baritone that had mesmerized thousands. "This is the boy. The one the market women call the Sun-Catcher."
He looked at me with eyes that were sharp, greedy, and very, very intelligent. He didn't see a child; he saw a rival for the people's wonder.
Tashi was bowing so low he was almost horizontal. "Yes, Papa Prophet! My son, Nkem. He is a humble servant of knowledge."
"Knowledge is a dangerous thing, Mr. Tashi," Elijah warned, tapping his gold-tipped cane on our tiled floor. "The tower of Babel was built on knowledge. And look how that ended."
< Psychological Profile: > Gemini noted. < Subject is a Narcissist with high situational awareness. He is not a believer; he is a CEO. He is threatened by the autonomy your technology provides. If people have their own light, they don't need to come to his 'Holy Fire' services during blackouts. >
"I am not building a tower, Prophet," I said, stepping forward. "I am building a mirror."
"A mirror?"
"To reflect the light God already gave us," I said. "You tell the people that the new millennium is a time of darkness and judgment. I want to show them that it is a time of stewardship."
I led him to the back room. I had prepared a demonstration.
I had built a Solar-Powered Projection System. It was a crude thing a high-intensity LED array, a magnifying lens from Patel's shop, and a transparent slide I had hand-drawn.
I flipped the switch. The room went dark, and a brilliant image appeared on the white-washed back wall. It was a cross, glowing in pure, cold white light.
"You use kerosene lamps in your Tabernacle, Prophet," I said. "They smoke. They smell. They flicker. Imagine... a church that glows with the power of the heavens. Imagine a cross that never goes out, even when SONEL fails the whole city."
Elijah stared at the glowing cross. I could see the gears in his head turning. He was calculating the "seed offerings" he could collect for a "Miraculous Light."
"What do you want, boy?" Elijah asked, his voice losing its theatrical lilt.
"The eclipse," I said. "On August 11th, the sun will go dark for a few minutes. The Bookman's people are already telling the market that I have brought a curse. They say the darkness is my fault."
Elijah smiled. It was a cold, knowing smile. "And you want me to tell them it is a sign of blessing? That the darkness is just a 'pause' for God to recharge your batteries?"
"Exactly. In exchange, I will electrify your Tabernacle. For free. You will be the only Prophet in Cameroon with a sun-powered altar."
Elijah looked at Tashi, who was sweating. He looked at the glowing cross.
"You are a devilish little businessman," Elijah whispered. "I like you. But I want more. I want the 'Zombie Lights' for my deacons. Fifty of them."
"Twenty," I countered. "And you must publicly bless Tashi as a 'Steward of the Light' this Sunday."
"Thirty lights," Elijah said. "And the blessing will be... significant."
"Deal."
While I was negotiating with the heavens, Collins was dealing with the earth.
I found him behind the shop after the Prophet left. He wasn't alone. He was sitting with three other boys Bih, a girl who sold peanuts, and two "truck-pushers" named Sunday and Pauly.
They were looking at a map of the Commercial Avenue I had drawn for them.
"Massa Nkem," Collins said, standing up. "Razor no dey hide again. He get new boss. No be just Bookman. I see a man for 'The Spot' bar. He wear suit. He talk French. He come from Yaoundé."
< Intelligence Update: > Gemini pulsed. < The Yaoundé connection. This is the 'Bureau Man' you suspected. The political intelligence officer. >
"Weti they di do, Collins?" I asked.
"They di buy all the kerosene," Collins said. "Every drum for the market. Razor and yi boys, they buy everything. Now, kerosene price don double. People di cry."
I looked at the sky. The Bookman was creating an artificial energy crisis. If he controlled the kerosene, and the sun "died" during the eclipse, he would own the town's survival.
"Collins," I said. "You sabi the old warehouse for the Station Road?"
"The one wey don lock since?"
"Yes. I want you to watch it. Don't go near. Just count how many drums go in. And tell me if you see the Bureau Man there."
Collins nodded, his face hardening. He was learning that "Security" wasn't just about fighting; it was about watching. He was growing out of his "market boy" skin and becoming a scout.
That night, for the first time, Liyen didn't bring food to the shop. She made us come home.
We sat in our small parlor. The "Zombie Light" I had made for her was on the table, but she hadn't turned it on. She had lit a single, smoky kerosene candle instead.
"Mami, why the candle?" Tashi asked, reaching for the switch. "We have the good light."
"No," Liyen said. Her voice was quiet, but it had a new edge. "Tonight, we use the candle. I want to remember what it feels like to be poor."
Tashi laughed nervously. "We are not poor anymore, Liyen! We have the shop! We have the Gendarmerie!"
"We have a target on our back," Liyen said, looking at him. "Tashi, you walk like a lion, but you are still a sheep. You think the Prophet is your friend? You think the Colonel loves you? They love the boy's head. They don't love us."
She looked at me.
"Nkem. You are building things. Lights. Radios. Now 'Juju' for the Pastor. But you are not playing. You don't laugh anymore. You don't even eat like a child."
She stood up and walked to the wall where her old sewing machine sat.
"I am going back to the market," she announced.
"What?" Tashi jumped up. "No! People will talk! 'Why is the wife of Tashi selling dresses when the husband is a big man?'"
"I don't care about your 'big man' talk," Liyen said. "I am a seamstress. I want to earn my own money. Money that doesn't come from a dream or a bet. I want to buy my own cloth. And I want Nkem to build me something."
I looked up. "What, Ma?"
"A motor," she said. "For my machine. I am tired of treading with my feet. If you can give light to a village, you can give power to your mother's hands."
< Character Evolution: > Gemini noted. < Liyen is asserting her agency. She is refusing to be a passive observer of your 'uplift'. She wants to participate in the modernization, but on her terms. >
I felt a surge of genuine warmth—not from Gemini, but from me.
"I will build it, Ma," I said. "Tomorrow."
"Good," she said, finally turning on the Zombie Light. "Now eat. The fufu is getting cold."
As I ate, I realized the pieces were moving.
Tashi was becoming the face.
Collins was becoming the eyes.
Liyen was becoming the anchor.
Simon Fru was the shield.
Uncle Lucas was the sword.
We were no longer a family. We were an Organization.
But out in the dark, the Bookman and the Bureau Man were consolidating the kerosene. They were preparing for the day the sun would fail.
"Gemini," I thought as I lay on my mat that night. "How do we stop a kerosene monopoly?"
< We don't stop it, > Gemini replied. < We make it irrelevant. We need to build a 'Solar Fridge'. >
"A fridge? In 1999?"
< If we can keep the vaccines and the food cold during the 'Darkness', the Bookman's kerosene will be worthless. But for that, we need a compressor. >
I closed my eyes. Tomorrow, I would go to the scrap yard. I had a sewing machine to automate and a cooling system to invent.
The millennium was 170 days away.