Chapter 2: Belonging

Forrest Hill City, Central District 

Kasanje

The late afternoon sunshine hit Kasanje's face as he descended the granite steps into Vincent Square. The unity monument fountain sprayed its towering jets of water skyward, their sequence forming an extremely satisfying sine wave. Kasanje threaded through the bodies as people nudged and pushed past each other, hurrying home before the real rush hour began. The curfews were not in effect in this part of the city yet the nervous tension of the constant MSF Patrols still lingered. Everyone seemed on edge, trying their best to stay out of open spaces. For good reason, Kasanje noted. The MSF had turned the angel of justice monument, known affectionately as the Lady, into a panopticon. A glorious marble sculpture, installed by some art master Kasanje had read about in a brochure once and inspired by both the Western idea of angels in religious art and the Lady Justice. She wore her hair in a bun and was dressed in a flowing chiton. Golden wings extended from her back pointing skyward while with arm outstretched her marble-carved sword pointed to the ground beneath her dais, as if charging all those who stand in front of her with noble purpose and duty. A knight of the corporate rat race. Well-meaning but painfully tragic. Kasanje liked the sound of that. It brought back memories. The MSF had tried their own hand at public art by giving the Lady a totally hideous halo of surveillance gear. The metallic grey of the RFID Camera ring was an eyesore next to the polished white marble of the sculpture's contours, an obscene invasion of rigid iron and cables that no one asked for.

Kasanje passed the statue to the fountain and dropped some change into the guitar case of a busker and mid-croon, the elderly man doffed his hat with a knowing wink. Monty was a regular in Vincent Square. After a conversation during a homeless food and clothing drive, Kasanje learned he was actually an accomplished and semi-retired manager of the sanitation department of 40 years. Music had been a dream of his since he was a teenager yet life had pulled him in another direction to support his family. Now with grandkids out in the world finishing college, the old man had time to bring his blues daydream to a casual reality.

Kasanje made a peace sign saluting the old man as he hurried up the granite steps to the Vincent Square tram stop. A security checkpoint that hadn't been there was now at the entrance. So stupid, Kasanje thought to himself as he moved throught the robotic arch with a few other annoyed people. The light flashed red above his lane, chiming a violently discordant beep as he walked through. As expected he got a few disdainful stares from some, mostly older people who were happy to see their privacy rights erode away to an unfeeling digital machine. They could keep staring for all he cared. His phone also, right on cue, buzzed once as the automatic message reminding him to install the Healthwatch App and avoid the indignity of failing checkpoint screenings. The whole thing was a total scam of course. A supposed outbreak that didn't behave like any known disease or virus, and that most actual health experts agreed was being blown wildly out of proportion for something without much research on. It seemed to somehow only effect people in the poorer parts of the city and people who just happened to work jobs run by the mayor's favouirite supercorporations. The same corporations making the smallest things about living in the city more expensive and inconvenient for regular people.

Word on the street was the whole situation was an elaborate cover-up for a chemical spill or wide reaching contamination event in the factory district, and rather than face up to their role in it, the big players Alyx, NostraChem and Ichor Corp pulled some strings to brand it a dangerous and foreign pathogen. Even now as Kasanje made it to his platform, posters with company logos next to the city's insignia screamed the least comforting demands for public safety and order imaginable. They really had to fire their graphic designers. One would think the point was to help people feel calm, not under occupation. All of it looked majorly depressing. If the goal was to make themselves look like heroes swooping in to save the city from a crisis they couldn't be any less convincing wearing that cape - though Kasanje respected the boldness. Corporation money and good intentions could be seen in the same orchestra sometimes but rarely did they ever play the same symphony.

The northline tram clattered to a stop in front of his bench and Kasanje boarded with the other passengers, a gentle electronic ding announcing the final closure of the sliding doors. People settled into the seats they could find or held tightly to the hanging straps. He held a seat for a woman juggling her three children and their tyrannical demands for icecream. All the dessert shops in this part of town were still open but now ludicrously expensive since the curfew and travel restrictions went into effect. Still, all the people in Chloe's district just across the bay were having a harder time keeping their doors open to sell something as simple as icecream. He was having a hard enough time keeping the lights on in his own electronics store. That place funded his very expensive, physically and emotionally draining, passion of being a full-time musician and amateur composer. Moving from a safe, cushy job in tech to something he was creatively passionate about had been the single biggest gamble he had made in his twenty four years of life. As dramatic as it had sounded in his head planning it out in the apartment he shared in Osaka a few years ago, so far it was pretty mundane. Work turns out, was still just work. He still had bills to pay, a schedule to keep and a career to map out to keep from sleeping out under a bridge somewhere with only the cold bassy tones of the sea wind for company. The machine was the same anywhere in the world.

The tram car gently curved around the city's regular traffic while a holograph dancing red-pixel imp overhead signalled pedestrians to wait for their turn to pass. The crowd waiting to cross would have made for an awesome punk rock album cover- a girl with a blue mohawk and pods in, an absurdly muscular older man in a fedora and Hawaiian shirt combo, and some tall kids that looked like they were on their way back from basketball practice, while in the traffic behind them a hideous blacked out APC pointed its nosy radar dish to the skies above. The city even under occupation was a vibrant melting pot. People came from all over mixing and entwining their stories to make its unique rhythm and harmony. Kasanje, more than anywhere he had ever lived often felt like the city provided all the essentials of a great symphony, all that was missing was him to fill in his own melody. A quiet leitmotif that punctuated his life and defined his relationship to his surroundings.  And so his brain was always working, finding the right melody for the moment, the right emotion for the idea. Music brought people together. Kasanje had noticed that even in her moments of quiet, lonely darkness, his mother had used music to cope and dwell in the thoughts of all that was good and warm in her life. In those moments, he knew he was one of those blessings and they were happy together, just the two of them. Her memory strengthened him. She wouldn't put up with an army of wannabe fascists occupying her city. With politicians so corrupt they barely tried to hide their greed. The same woman who, whenever he'd come home crying from being bullied, would sit him on one knee and read him Malcolm X's story and tell him about her childhood growing up as a black African woman in Russia. She took a photo of him on her polaroid camera and said to keep it and look at how handsome he looked in next time he thought about cutting his off his dreads. Vivian Eto-o was one of a kind and Kasanje hoped as a son he would one day honour all that she meant to him and to their community. Until then, he could hear somewhere looking down chiding him for being late to his appointment at the embassy.

A few people had disembarked at the 3 stops nearing the edge of the city and Kasanje remained with a handful of others travelling the rest of the northline where the diplomatic district spilled into the upper-end residential streets. Cafes, parks and pockets of mini-malls peeked out in the thickening greenery before, gently sloping up over the horizon, the giant cedars took over and their towering presence formed a natural barrier between the forest and the city. As the tram trundled over to its last stop: Haytham Village. If Kasanje had more time in his day he would have made a left out of the tram stop, dashed past the old Dutch chapel and to the steps in front of the community theatre. Their message board always had cool stuff to see around the city and presented a much better way to meet creative weirdos like himself out in the wild than online networking. Creative weirdos, had jobs for creative weirdos like themselves. Some fo them even paid. Alas, he was late enough as it was and if he wanted to see the Ambassador he'd have to hustle. He tapped his e-scooter card and his 2 hour rental started ticking as he kicked off the curb and moved back the way he had come toward the Embassy Rows. He figured he must look ridiculous to most people, a 6 foot 4 grinning dreaded man zipping through a cute suburb like a middle schooler just starting summer break. Most people didn't know how to have fun. 

Rows of uniform houses gave way to bollards and trimmed hedges with automatic sprinklers feeding perfectly manicured consulate lawns. He didn't really understand why they kept those on. It was always raining in this city but appearances needed to be kept up he supposed. He whirred down the boulevard, passing the flags adorning the walls of each compound. China, the Phillipines, Bolivia, Turkiye came into view at the end of the boulevard reminding him he was close to his destination. He rounded the corner into Mandela Crescent and there secluded behind the peri-urban foliage, cars and bicycles parked a few dozen meters down the crescent stood the Agili Consulate. A Georgian revival style mansion sitting on a few acres of land at the edge of the city, the building had been bought from the heirs of some long-dead timber magnate. It now served as Kasanje's "home away from home" and that of a lot of African immigrants to the Pacific Northwest. Kasanje brought his scooter to a whirring stop before parking it in locked position just next to the bike rack in front of the main hedge. A short foot path bisected the lawn leading up to the portico, and halfway along it was a small round rock installation around which the path detoured before finding its straight cut back to the mansion. Three flagpoles rose from the ground out of the rockery. To the left was the green flag of the African Union, gold stars around a dark silhouette of the African continent. To the right was the stars and stripes. Very loud, but dependable and not without its charm. Like the brass section in an orchestra Kasanje thought to himself. Right in the middle gently rippling, was home. A green field with a black band close to the hoist side, and atop the  tricolor band on the fly end sat the secretary bird emblem. Beckoning, inspirational and noble, it reminded Kasanje of the best of himself and the need to show up with that energy every day to every situation.

Kasanje saw some faces peeking and snickering from inside the tall windows. His chosen mode of transport had drawn some attention. Good. He now heard the soft thumps of afrobeats emanating from the walls. The party was well underway. That was less good. It was super bad manners to show up late with such prestigious guests in attendance. Should I knock? No, of course not why knock this is supposed to be home. Kasanje cursed himself for the intrusive thought, regained his confidence and pushed the double oak doors open. A wave of sound and laughter engulfed him as he closed the doors behind him. A few familiar faces greeted him in the foyer. Wongel chatted with fellow mother Edith over teeny tiny glasses of champagne, they gave him warm smiles as he walked past - Wongel subtly nodding towards the back yard to signal he was being waited for. By the east wing windows he saw some people his age, three girls he didn't recognise and two guys - friends of the ambassador's son. He’d met them a handful of times at product launches he had done the music for. Like most everyone else who came to Forest Hill they worked in tech. Been there, done that.Still he was glad that route was working out for somebody. It was hard to dwell on what might have been and doubt about oaths chose once the music, the dance, the games and the debates on philsoophy and tradition began. As he passed the small huddle, he heard a snide huff from Emannuel the taller of the two guys. "Have a nice scoot on the way here?" he said Emannuel to the hushed giggles of the women around him.

"Yeah, your mom had the Benz out for cleaning today." Kasanje sniped back. The whole group erupted into laughter. "Yeah yeah go on get on from here with your big mouth, Kasanje." said Emannuel rolling his eyes. Jed, Emmanuel 's friend and business partner waved a greeting. Kasanje had seen him at the casual soccer tournament near the freeway. A fan of the Super Eagles though his own skills were a far cry from worldclass. Seemed like a good dude regardless.

"Hey Jed. You well?" Kasanje returned the greeting dapping him up. 

"Yeah brother, good to see you. Blessings for the coming celebrations." he replied.

"Same to you both. You’ll have to introduce me to your friends here." Kasanje said calmly as he sauntered out the corridor into one of the adjacent galleries. Agili was a secretive country. Consulates like this served as a bridge between themselves and the wider African continent. They worked with other countries whose own diplomatic infrastructure was under resourced and often inadequate to offer meet the needs of their growing diasporan populations. It was a win-win for both the city and Agili. Agili got to keep her secrets, secrets Kasanje had sworn to keep before he was even old enough to understand the weight of such a promise, establishing strong ties with others and the USA got to flatten the continent’s astounding diversity into one convenient self-contained spot on the map. The room reflected this. A precious few artefacts from Kasanje’s homeland stood demure in the distant corner of the room. A ceremonial mask, a handful of ritual objects, a plaque describing Agili’s ancient kingdoms and its now defunct aristocracy. A modest display next to the vastness Kasanje had seen as a boy. The rest of the gallery was resplendent and alive with the creativity of the modern African youth, chaotically learning to share the space. Modern art and sculptures stood in mobile exhibits in the centre of the room just below the chandelier. Creatives from Kenya, Sudan, Senegal, Chad, Tanzania and beyond had prepared the display in anticipation of the Ambassador’s arrival. Closest to the corridor entrance where Kasanje was a curious display of restored Ethiopian and Aksumite dressing gowns. Specialist tailors had found models and professional photo studios to create an innovative trip through time celebrating the heritage of Africa’s other unconquered empire. Agili’s twin in colonial defiance.

No doubt Wongel’s dedicated and meticulous work. Kasanje figured she worked so hard on the project to cope with the boredom of staying at home while her kids were at school and her husband awaited his visa papers back home. She was cool, the nurturing motherly type, approachable and knowledgeable about a great number of things. Their gap in age and life experiences made true friendship a bit awkward and out of reach but Kasanje found himself looking forward to their chats whenever they were at functions such as these. He resolved to catch up with her later. Leaving the gallery he descended a handful of steps and nimbly crossed another corridor to leave via the terrace door. People online regularly complained about getting lost in the maze-like rooms of the consulate yet Kasanje knew them like the back of his hand. Finally out onto the rear gardens, he immediately caught the Ambassador's gaze. He had been shaking hands and receiving gifts from the consulate's assortment of regulars and next to him hands clasped behind his back was the Agili consular officer for the Pacific Northwest Mr.Elliot Muteya, trying his hardest to look like he was totally vital to the goings on in that moment. Very common for RUPA appointed bureaucrats Kasanje had noticed. Not Ambassador Tsago though. He was the real deal. Noble is as noble does, he loved to say and he was one of the few people who could live up to the grand talk. He was a veteran of Agili's early border wars not long after RUPA solidified itself as the new governing body of Agili. Taking over in a popular uprising from the tired, depleted puppet monarchy and the aristocracy behind it. He was part of the generation that bought order to chaos, not through strength alone but through compassion, restraint and service.He's someone who dedicated his life to peace building and uplifting the rights of those most vulnerable in Africa: women, children, the sick and poor. Kasanje admired him greatly and found it was a pretty significant honor to have him fly in from Washington DC to check in on their community there.

"Kasanje!" the Ambassador's voice bellowed across the lawn. "Kwaziwayi saManyika, mhumhi Eto'o. How are you son?" Ambassador Tsago greeted him with his ancient titles and honorifics. His high family had lost power decades ago, but its indelible mark in their shared culture and history proved hard to erase. The rhythm of the praise poetry were baked into their language, signalling belonging ancestry and pride. Kasanje smiled back, an involuntary, earnest smile that which can only come from being seen. From being acknowledged by someone you look up to.

"Kwaziwayi vaTsago. I am well if you are too." Kasanje responded in his mother tongue. Speaking in it unlocked a confident, certain side of himself. Resounding and true. The two shook hands and pulled Kasanje into an embrace. Muteya was able to take the hint and gently ushered the other guests toward the lawn-side pavillion where more snacks were being served. Kasanje heard someone in Swahili in the crowd as about Kasanje, "Who is that guy, and why is he wearing so much jewelry?" Her friend hurriedly shushed her saying "It's very normal where they're from, come now."

Kasanje chuckled to himself. As a kid people would point fingers and whisper to each other because he was different. It used to bother him a lot but now it filled him with a weird satisfaction. Being someone's idea of normal didn't appeal to him at all now. Having grown up and had the privilege of living in distant places and knowing different cultures made him appreciate the uniqueness within everyone. The ambassador flashed his warm smile again.

"It is good to see you dear boy. I trust you are keeping well despite this ugly occupation your city is under?" 

"Yeah we're doing our best." Kasanje answered. "The city would rather invest in more cops and deadlier weapons than in the people that live in it, same old story I guess."

The Ambassador chuckled, patting the young man on his back. "You always were great at cutting right to the truth of things. Your mother said it would serve you well as a leader one day." The pair strolled further down the lawns to the duck ponds away from the soft din of the crowd and music. 

"She said all that about me?" he replied. "Amai vangu chaivo?"

"Of course. You will see one day when you have children of your own, as parents the things we criticize most are often the things they know best about ourselves. That's terrifying, but it secretly awes us as well. Where she is now among the ancestors, know she is well, as we who knew her know she is very proud of you."

Kasanje's gaze lowered as he accepted the praise a tinge of emotion, bittersweet and real, welling up briefly within him. "Thank you, elder." he said regaining himself. "Forgive my manners, how's home? Is your son coming today, I saw his friend inside?"

"Theo's internship with the city councilor has pulled him across the river to aid in the clinic stocking efforts." Tsago sighed. Kasanje registered his disappointment and adopted a more conciliatory tone.

"I see." he said softly.

"All this technology at our disposal nowadays and yet we still find ways to avoid spending time with one another." the ambassador lamented.

"I'm sure where he is he's thinking of you and drawing strength from what you would do in his shoes." said Kasanje. he noticed the ambassador's expression soften at the thought. He loved his son and had invested so much in seeing him thrive and be happy. Even the smallest bit of appreciation went a long way. That was what their people did. Comfort and reassurance is waht held places like that together, both at home and in their carefully curated pockets around the world.  Even here in front of this quaint pond at the end of this perfectly manicured lawn in the rainiest city on the other side of the world, Kasanje felt his connection to home. The weight of it. His people's history, their languages their culture all thriving unsevered by the time and distance separating it from the Origin. Instead only strengthened by it.

"That is the soul of it, I suppose." the ambassador mused, snapping Kasanje back to the moment."You know young man, with your gifts you could be doing so much more for the city and the world."

Kasanje shifted uncomfortably, gently kicked a pebble into the pond. A feeble plop and some unimpressive ripples. In that moment he would have rather been anywhere else. Finding his happy place working on new music, getting paid for working on new music. Playing five-a-side soccer with his Jamaican usuals after work.That specific subject always made him nervous. Who was he top take charge, organize resources and start telling people what to do? His mom was great at that. Kasanje could never hope to compare to the brilliance she was. In his view, his time was better spent figuring himself out. What he wanted, who he wanted to be. Without that how could he hope to be of service to anyone? 

"Where would I even start?" he asked after a pause. "There's so much and I wouldn't even make a dent."

The Ambassador chuckled softly. "We all think that at first, forgetting that it is not by the works of one bee does the hive prosper. We are a mighty people when we overcome our divisions, our isolation..."

"Our doubts" Kasanje added.

"Precisely. Listen I understand how overwhelming it can be. All of this, a beautiful yet enormous puzzle and not knowing one's place in it." Tsago said reassuringly.

"Maybe, I'm a difficult piece to squeeze in." said Kasanje with the kind of unvarnished honesty only a wise elder could draw out of those in their care. It reminded Kasanje of simpler times. He had moved around a lot as a child and it had never been easy being different from the people there wherever he went but his mother, his uncle and his cousin Danai always reminded him where he belonged. His mom, his uncle were gone now from this world and his little cousin was far away building her own life. They hadn't talked in a handful of years and that made him sad. Like he'd failed their parents in a secret promise he'd made to them to look after her. Logic told him just to reach out, check in. Doubt again whispered where would you even begin?

"Ah but that is for you to work out the logistics of." he said as he laughed heartily. "Come with me to that lovely banquet. There are so many people here I'd like for you to meet."

"Of course."

The ambassador and Kasanje reminisced about home and their journeys in and around it. He had been a small, thin boy of 14 when he'd first met the Ambassador. Three hard months in the rite of passage that was the Umkhonto training camp. With other boys his age, Kasanje lived off the land learning the histories, crafts and the traditions of their ancestors. Three months fighting, hunting, fishing and living in community with others from all corners of the country. At the end a final gauntlet putting all they had learned to the test. All those important people, the King, his family, the trainers of the Umkhonto village and every staunch traditionalist who celebrated boys becoming men, packed into that dusty arena years ago to see him and others like him complete their journey. After winning the final gauntlet, barely edging out his friend Felix at the sand wrestling pit Kasanje and the top finishers shook hands with all the dignitaries in the Harmony Temple. One of them was Tsago. He was less grey in the temples than he was today but Kasanje remembered thinking that when stories mentioned ancient nobles, they were referring to adults like VaTsago. Seemed like forever ago now. The pair made their way back to the pavillion towards the lively thump of the music beckoning them to enjoy the oasis of activity before the city reminded everyone that things would not be alright for a long time to come.