Remote Control (Sankofa kills drone)

The palm tree and bush behind her gave some privacy from the busy market. Privacy where human beings were concerned. Robots were another issue. The drone hovered feet away, this time, at eye level. Sleek, black and insectile. It had four propellers on each side and Sankofa could feel the air from their spinning. It was square shaped with dull angles, glinting in the late afternoon light. The glinting was from its many tiny camera eyes embedded all around its edges. As it hovered, the eyes smoothly rotated this way and that.

All Sankofa wanted in this moment was some privacy. To be away from watchful, curious, judgmental, prying eyes. Just for this little moment. She needed to be still and alone … and unwatched. And here this drone was spying on her with its many tiny embedded cameras. She scowled at it and muttered, “Come a little closer, you nosy thing.” Her heart was beating fast, the irritation flowing into her blood. For so many months, the drone had been following her, spying from afar. Now, it had grown bold and was disturbing her delicious meal. This was not the time.

And still, it came closer. Three feet away, now. Two feet. A foot. Sankofa dropped her slice of plantain and grabbed with both hands, making sure to avoid the propellers. Within a moment, it stopped functioning, dead in her grasp. Sankofa grunted with satisfaction, then she felt a sting of guilt.

“Hey!” a man shouted, stepping closer. He was carrying a large bunch of green plantains on his shoulder. “What have you done?”

Sankofa opened her mouth to speak, but she had no words. What had she done?

More people came around the bushes and tree to see. Sankofa threw the drone down, grabbed her food and leapt to her feet. “You see that?” the man was telling another man who’d come running over.

“Eh!” a large woman, carrying several bags said, stepping up. “Sankofa, what…”

“I … it was in my face,” Sankofa said.

“What is that thing?” another woman asked.

“It’s one of robocop’s eyes,” someone said. “Oh my God, it looks dead. She’s killed it.”

“The thing that flies like alien ship?” someone asked in English.

And that was when they all heard the loud crash from the other side of the market square. From the street. People turned to look and without a word, everyone rushed to see what had happened. Sankofa threw off her hijab, grabbed the drone and took off for Alhaja’s house.

As she ran, the world around her blurred from the tears in her eyes and the fact that she could barely breathe. Why am I carrying this thing? she vaguely wondered. But her hands wouldn’t drop the drone. She passed more people, all running in the other direction. When she arrived at Mr. Starlit, people were just leaving the store.

Alhaja was behind the counter. “Sankofa, what happened? I heard there’s been an accident at the intersection! First in decades. Is it true?” She blinked. “Where’s your hijab? You can’t—” She’d noticed the drone Sankofa carried and her eyes grew large. (pp. 117-120). 

A child had been killed at the intersection. The seven-and-a-half-year-old had been crossing with his mother and two other people. All four people had had mobile phones on them, yes, even the child. Their names were Mary, Akua, Ason and Kweku. They all lived in RoboTown. The robocop had plenty to scan and read on them. None of them were mysteries. Yet at some point as the four of them crossed, the robocop had made a mistake. Some said it had not “been paying attention.” Its head was turned toward the market, many said. And as it had looked toward the market, it had shown a green light while it told the people to cross. The man who’d run over the seven-and-a-half-year-old said he had not seen the child.

How did he not see? Sankofa wondered as she followed the Imam, Alhaja by her side, three men following close behind her, and many of RoboTown’s citizens noisily following behind them. Are the robocop’s false eyes the only eyes he has?  (p. 122). 

“One has died today on my watch,” it said in its sonorous female voice. “At 14:55 hours in Section 4 of the Kumasi Road intersection. A child, Ason Ayim, age 7 and a half. I said walk and gave Section 3 the Green light at the same time. I made a mistake. I am very sorry for your loss.”

“What made you make this mistake,” Sister Kumi asked, looking right at Sankofa. The robocop whose name Sankofa now knew was “Steel Brother” paused. It looked at Sankofa, as well. And as it did, its remaining drone came down and hovered feet above their heads. “That one there has no digital footprint. How can one have no digital footprint? No device, no face recognition software can recognize, no voice that responds to my voice recognition software. And that one there, she is … that one there, she is … that one there, she is…”

Then Steel Brother seemed to freeze, its massive head turned toward Sankofa. Sister Kumi looked at her husband. “What’s wrong with it?” the Imam asked.

“I don’t know!” Sister Kumi whispered.

“That one there, she is,” Steel Brother said, this time more decisively. “… Confusion. I experience confusion because of her. I spend memory on that one. I burn my energy stores on that one. Trying to understand. For me to do my job, I have to have information. That one there, she is distracting. I was gathering information on that one and that one took my eyes.”

“Your drone?” Sister Kumi asked.

“Yes. And that drew all my attention. And I grew confused. And I made my mistake.” The robot went silent and there was a moment when Sankofa could hear the crickets in the bushes beside the road. Then everyone in the mob began to speak at once—from name calling, to discussing how a robot could make a mistake, to considering the plight of RoboTown now that its robot was stupid.

All Sankofa could think of was the clear fact that the robocop had become obsessed with her to the point of being distracted enough to cause an accident and maybe it was even driving itself mad.

“Get out of our town!” a woman shrieked. Then the first stone flew past Sankofa’s head. “GET OUT!” It was the mother of the dead child. She’d left his corpse, found a large stone, thrown it and was preparing to throw another one. Her wet face was swollen, her eyes red, her nose slick with snot. “BAD LUCK! YOU’RE BAD LUCK! WITCH! EVIL REMOTE CONTROL! SATAN!” She picked up and threw another stone. It hit Sankofa in the leg.

(pp. 124-126)