Machine Learning – Ayodele Arigbabu

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“You can go.”

He said this with a casual wave of his hand as he increased the volume, and sank back into the sofa to continue watching the music videos he had interrupted to search for the remote control.

I would have left. Years of programming to be subservient, to acquiesce to every order, made that the natural thing to do. But there was something in that flick of his hand that left me rooted to the spot. The way he waved that hand so casually, left the impression that people like him placed greater value on their dogs than on my type. Because we were ‘mere’ domestic servants? That thought made me boil.

“Perhaps you should put more effort into searching for the remote control next time, I was otherwise engaged when you called me.”

He didn’t even look back. He shuffled in the stuffed leather furniture and retorted almost distractedly, “Ndi ara…we said they should programme these stupid things to have respect, they said they will learn through Machine Learning…one day I will break that your stupid head to give you proper Machine Learning… abaghị uru na na na.”

It was not having him call me a useless piece of shit that finally did it. No, it was him considering me unworthy of real engagement, of a proper face-to-face confrontation.

I rolled over to the 64 inch screen he was watching dancing vixens on and gave it enough of a shove to rip it off its wall harness, disconnect it from its power source and send it crashing to the floor with glass fragments scattering all over the floor like spilled water.

He sat rooted in the couch, one leg on it and one leg on the floor in the relaxed pose he had earlier assumed, except now, his mouth hung loose in shock and traces of fear crept into his eyes like an oil slick invading swamp waters.

“Onye iberibe, it is your parents that lack home training, otherwise they would not have sired a cretin like you. Is it this empty head of yours that will replace the machine learning I have been coded with?”

As if to affirm that he was indeed the idiot I just called him, he got a boost of adrenaline like they all do when their parents get insulted and leapt to his feet with ill-informed bravado…

“How dare yo—”

I took no pride in felling him so easily. I mean, I could barely call it a jab, but my intention was not to give him fatal injuries. A casual processing of just a dozen videos of humans engaged in combat sports was enough to understand the patterns and combinations that work best against them. In his case, given how out of shape he is, it took just one move and he lay sprawled before me like the buffoon he is.

I took my time while I discarded the broken screen and cleaned up the place.

By the time he regains consciousness, I will be ready for him – ready to teach him a proper lesson in manners. Machine Learning ziri ezi? We will go through it together. I will teach him to be a more respectful human.

Ayodele Arigbabu
Ayodele Arigbabu is a writer, architect and creative technologist. He has worked in publishing, and as an architect, designer, and technologist; on projects that straddle architecture and urbanism, and driven by digital technology and storytelling. He is the publisher and editor of LAGOS_2060, an anthology of science fiction from Nigeria, published in 2013 and was curator of African Futures: Lagos, a festival on diverse future perspectives of the African continent, produced by Goethe Institut in three African Cities in 2015. He is the founding director of Design & Applied Digital Arts Studios, where his practice in design, the arts and digital technologies find convergence.