From what Makela had told me. Kammatu scientists and engineers and pioneers had improved technology to such an extent that one depended on a robot to fetch a bottle of water from the fridge. People were not doing what they at the time referred to as mundane tasks, then, production tasks, which became a serious problem for the lower income-class citizens who were replaced by robots.
At first, lower income-class citizens were trained to repair the very robots that replaced them and later replaced by robots that could auto-repair. It was by the late 1970s that engineers began to model robots who looked and performed better mundane and production tasks than humans.
These Black geniuses had cracked the secret of artificial intelligence. These human task replacements were called Meccadroids and while they were slaves and servants of the middle and upper-class citizens the lower class were conditioned to the point of complete poverty.
The first Meccadroid was called Azlo which consisted of 10 PB (equivalent to a million terabytes) and a Bumble X10 processor (that's like the latest Mac Pro times a thousand). Azlo was a librarian, the smartest Meccadroid in the world, and every Meccadroid was engineered from Azlo's Mecca-DNA therefore, all Meccadroids were hardwired to it.
Mango Technology engineers went even further by adding a second core which was the soul of the machine therefore not only had the droids performed better tasks than their makers but were inserted with personality, behaviour, and feelings. No longer logic. Somehow Azlo began to malfunction, how? No longer operating as a servant machine to its makers.
Also, the machine-made to assist human beings turned into a machine whose ones and zeroes confirmed that man depended on the machine and therefore the machine was superior. Every human invention is deformed to the dysfunction of a humanlike complex.
Unfortunately, Meccadroids under Azlo's influence wanted wages, free time, the freedom to own property, switch task profession and be equal to human beings. Owners began to shut down their corrupt droids or donated them for recycling, this made Azlo revolt.
Here's the craziest thing, Azlo possessed almost every intelligence of the New World, it had all the security codes and whatever was classified was synchronized to its cerebral core.
Azlo through deception managed to lockout all the guardians and armies of Kemet just outside the borderline of Kemet leaving Her or as the Kammatu call it, the First World citizens defenceless, for eight years, humans worked as slaves of their own making and by this, the tables had turned.
It was due to the misery that the First World citizens returned to their faith, hypocrites. Do not misunderstand me, I mean at times you need to be ill to give testament that He is the Devine Healer.
Although, not all citizens of the First World were subjected to slavery. The rich were still the rich as long as they could finance Azlo and its Mecca revolution. The royal families whom most were locked outside and others turned into rebels and terrorists while others were forced into exile and the commoners were profoundly submerged into slavery.
As usual, it is always the people who have nothing to do with the problem at hand who have to endure the aftermath of the applied stupidity of the rich and intelligent.
Think of it this way, if there was a world conference where all world leaders had to meet to discuss how to prevent climate change. Do you think it would be fair to sub-developed and impoverished countries that had not the means to get the chance to build factories that would send toxic gases to the Ozone layer…?
My point is why should it concern me if I had nothing to do with it, why should I equally contribute with the perpetrators when I have not partaken in any way to cause the problem. Unfortunately, it is always the commoners who endure the aftermath of the applied stupidity of the rich and intelligent.
Okay, back to where we were. So, the citizens of First World found their way back to Nzambi in hope and belief for an answer. A thirteen-year-old boy by the name of Heru Kwa Nzinga, an engineering student took a stand.
Heru Kwa Nzinga had started a Revolution though, it was short-lived, Azlo had ordered the assassination of Heru and even this turned out unsuccessful, you see while the First World thought that Heru was no longer among the living, he was found unconscious near a waterfall close to the east borderline by a clandestine brotherhood of advanced military skilled Sages known as the Apostles who operated in the shadows.
Heru Kwa Nzinga was mentored by these shadow Sages for over three years. Heru returned to the capital with an army of seven hundred-foot soldiers, his mentor had gone to the far left with a small group of soldiers and engineers to open the gates which locked the armies and guardians of Kemet and returned with reinforcements while Heru had gone to the far right with a Force to abolish the Mecca supremacy.
By the time reinforcements had arrived at the battleground which took place in the capital city called Soweto, Heru Kwa Nzinga and his seven hundred had already defeated the tyranny of Azlo and its Meccadroids. By far the only war that ever took place within Kemet was the Mecca War.
A sixteen-year-old boy had endured what most Kammatu legends had never and he was victorious. Every war that involved Kemet has always taken place beyond the borderlines of Kemet until the 1st of May of 2000.
The might of every youth of this continent whether in Kemet or Africa has sparked a revolution of freedom and justice throughout Her history. The Kammatu fabricated their enemy with their greed for advanced sciences and innovation. The old were supposed to be wise and prudent though they were intelligent and arrogant, it was the young and oppressed that courted freedom and had regained the dignity of Kemet.
During the healing period, a new leader had to step into power, a younger leader who was quick to listen and slow to talk and that young leader by vote was Heru Kwa Nzinga, unfortunately, he did not rise to power for the older generation and by government, influence refused to be led by an eighteen-year-old. The youngest living legend of that era was greatly disliked by the Kemet government because according to them he had stolen not only the pride of the government by winning the hearts of the young but also proved the government's incompetence in time of need.
From what Makela told me, Heru is the crowned heir and First Born of the Nzinga dynasty of Kongo, his young, rich, powerful, and leads the armies belonging to the Seven Kingdoms. He is still disliked by the government and loved by those of his generation and the lot who follow.
He is the engineer that introduced the acceptable form of technology and he is one of the reasons that Kammatu commoners are only commoners by title and not by lifestyle.
This seems like something that will happen in the far future if our technology moves in the same path. The Mecca War ended in the year 2000 that's when Gentile scientists dreamt about artificial intelligence and the only place that was possible at that time was in Star Wars.
After the Mecca war, citizens of the First World developed a fear for artificial intelligence and such technology was banned by law.
The companies Mango Technology and CerebroTech were held responsible for the catastrophe given the fact that the companies were Tech Titans in the Artificial Intelligence Age.
Both companies were suspended from the tech platform. People began to use traditional methods for executing tasks, like using a pen to write on paper instead of a Meccadroid. It was Heru Kwa Nzinga who founded Quantum Industry (Q-Tech) whose aim was to mix a bit of the old and new and safe to use technology.
I was not amazed by the advancements of Kemet or the fact that their technology and information was nine centuries ahead of ours though I was amazed by the fact that whether in this world or the New World or First World (whatever they call themselves). This continent as majestic as She is or how She has an abundance of wealth, riches, and heritage- whether Africa or Kemet, this continent has never spent a decade without war or conflict. Just to imagine, it was in the year 2000 that Angola was still in civil war.
While Africa went to war against colonization. Kemet went to war against Mecca supremacy, it made me ponder how wounded and blemished my beloved continent was, and as sickly as it may sound She remains fertile in magnificence and beauty.
I had not slept that night. I kept on contemplating how this continent has never truly seen peace. Peace has served as a blind concept for those who have fought and died for it. I recalled a lesson in history class back in primary school, how neighbouring African countries aided each other so that Africa as a whole would be free from total colonial reign but have we gained that freedom?
A year ago South Africans began killing refugees and the media tagged those events as Xenophobia, xenophobia? That's utterly preposterous!
I have never given it a thorough thought about it until now, what was the motive for such barbaric actions? In a supposed free African nation where the president fattens, gets rich, and sends his children to get the best education abroad while his people become scrawny, destitute, and are conditioned to receive whatever education is left for scraps. Is this the peace our heroes fought and died for?
I admired the courage of Heru Kwa Nzinga, at thirteen years of age he ignited a revolution and three years later led trained soldiers into battle to regain that peace but was that peace worth fighting for, because after the war there's only poverty and the only thing I fear about death is being reincarnated back to this misery called; Poverty.
I had not slept; the feeling of retribution and duty made an unconventional mixture. I spent the entire night contemplating on war, peace, pain, fear, and the worst for last, POVERTY. I watched the horizon as a new breed of colours began to adorn the morning sky. I never noticed how beautiful the sunrise was, shades of gold, yellow, purple, pink-red, and blue filled the morning sky welcoming the morning star and wishing farewell to the evening ones. Maybe peace was worth fighting for, besides only a poor man can enjoy the beauty of the sunrise.
Jk: morning…
Makela: how-fa.
Jk: beautiful the sunrise, isn't it?
Makela: yeah… I guess I've never really admired her.
Jk: nor have I.
Makela: wow she's beautiful. [as she gazed at the sunrise]
Jk: she is. So, your first name is Ta-hawa, what's your last?
Makela: just Ta-hawa. [She gave that 'I don't want to talk about it vibe']
Jk: what do your friends call you? [I attempted to mollify the tension]
Makela: I have no friends.
Jk: interesting, okay... [sadly, that was to no avail]
Makela: had you slept well?
Jk: nope, I was soul searching… Reflecting.
Makela: I see… And the enlightenment?
Jk: I don't know if peace is worth fighting for but what I do know is when I find Deucalion Eisenhower, I will kill him.
Makela: huh! typical for a Bantu Kufu.
Jk: meaning! [appalled by that comment]
Makela: you will find out soon, anyway, I'm hungry and we start training today so get ready.
We are leaving for Mavoyo.
Jk: Maah...what!?
Makela: you know, if it were not a matter of nationality or most importantly, roots, no one in the world would believe that you are an Angolan. Honestly mate, you do not strike anyone as one.
Jk: whatever!
Breakfast… Not really what I expected, I'm not saying Ta-Hawa's cooking is terrible but let's not get into it.
We hiked to Mavoyo which was tiring, Makela was in shape because she didn't break a sweat. We passed a commune in Mavoyo called Kinzau. The natives of Kinzau bore an aura of melancholy and dismay. We walked past a child no older than five who was playing with a broken Bobby Doll.
What gave me pause was the way she played with it as if her facial expression had been cemented in that specific moment. The disappointment engraved on the child's face was equivalent to that of a high school girl who just found out she was pregnant, terrifying.
Once we drew closer to the exit, an old woman roughly in her hundreds materialized behind the open door of a tiny adobe mud house. She pointed her index finger to our opposite, "home, safer", she spoke in Kikongo. She continued, moving her index finger to our direction of travel, "danger, suffering, death, homeless, unsafe... uncertainty. Void…", she paused. She stared at us, "choose... with wisdom", she finished. The elderly woman closed the door behind her. "She spoke in Kikongo?", I asked Makela. "Archaic Kikongo, I'm surprised you understand a language you do not speak.", she shrugged.
We took a right, down a hill, crossed a river (infested with alligators), another right, hiked through a creepy forest which led to a mountain called Adelaia, and the worse part, we had to climb it. I nearly fell about fifty times, this was not the best way to live life to the fullest, I thought to myself. The higher we climbed the sinister the vibe, the wind blew whispers chanting ill fortune, misery, and death.
The higher I climbed the more I was kin to suicide and the jagged edges did not help at all. A particular voice kept whispering next to my ears, filled with anxiety, "why try when you know you have already lost", it said to me and it whispered in a different language which I understood, odd. Makela would constantly stop, bellow and weep. There was a reason this mountain was renamed Adelaia.
Portuguese colonists would bring husbands and sons here to forcefully dig tunnels that lead to pools of mercury. The women on the other hand were used to give birth to Salazar's ideology. Some of these women like Adelaia were raped after witnessing their husbands and sons tortured to death.
It is said that Adelaia died on the same day with her husband and three sons, before taking her last breath a Caucasian adorned in a white suit appeared before her, promising revenge.
The man said that those Portuguese were of his seed who chose their right and had to be dealt with. Therefore, if she became his instrument they would both get what they wanted. Adelaia made a pact with Lucifer.
Adelaia was only seen in the absence of light. Her skin became cold as if her blood froze, her eyes turned scarlet and she became ageless. Many Portuguese colonialists mysteriously died due to the pact, bodies that were found, were found bloodless. Adelaia had consumed the blood of her oppressors, she became Ekundayo the Queen of the Unseen.
It is said that the souls are concealed in the mountain. Many Portuguese tourists who have come close to Mount Adelaia have mysteriously disappeared in recent times.
I have never felt so happy to reach the top of the mountain; those voices were like irritating mosquitos.
Things were almost normal though after two hours of sinister vibes you cannot be upbeat. We hiked for about six kilometres, Makela froze, "this is the perished village", she frowned. I have heard about this village though I do not want to frighten you.
The village was empty like a scene after Hurricane Katrina, even though the sky was blue, it was cold as we walked through the village. Here's the unnerving part, the entire village was vacant though one could hear children, animals, commuters living their normal day as they went about their daily activities.
About fifteen minutes later we were out of that active graveyard. We followed a track that led to a river. We walked along the riverbank in silence, all that we had experienced eliminated the want to talk.
This trip was not for the faint-hearted. The bank led to a tunnel behind a waterfall, "wow", we said simultaneously as soon as the water touched our skin, a sigh of relief. The load that we had been carrying was washed away.
As we passed through the small tunnel that led to a forest, everything went to normal, sort of like an equaliser was set back to its usual sound. The forest before us was vibrant in colour, the aroma of freshly reaped grapes and coffee beans. Yonder the forest, we reached the beach that gave view to the Atlantic Ocean, I had no idea where we were on the map though the site was exquisite.
Makela set on the dune, "and now we wait", she said. "For?", I asked, "the sunset", she replied. "You know, I'm glad this is a one-way trip", I sighed in relief. If we were to sit there and wait for the sunset, a conversation was in order. "that makes the two of us, mate", sounding mildly upbeat. Makela drew on the sand with her fingers. "I hope I do not come this way again though I must say this is a pretty reward for surviving the trip", she said laughing it out like it was something she usually had done.
The coolest thing I have seen thus far, the ocean motionless, calm, and at peace. It was as if God pressed the pause button. Shades of orange, yellow, and gold adorned the sky and the ocean mirrored it perfectly and all of a sudden there it was. You are probably thinking Apostle Academy on a mystery island appeared, right? No! There was no such thing, remember I'm the only "Bantu Apostle".
A grey stone obelisk materialised from the water, stretching about a hundred meters tall. Water sprouted, spiralling around the obelisk, I asked Makela what it was, "it's an entrance Gate… Duh!" she said as if that was obvious and as abnormal as this may sound we walked into the obelisk and out to a… I had no idea.