The Diviner – by VH Ncube

My fingers twisted my braids in and out, feeding them into the fishtail braid that was forming as I scrutinised my reflection: the burgundy lipstick I wore accentuated my deep brown skin.  I flashed myself an encouraging smile – The Diviner’s launch will be successful.

“Lonwabile’s here for you.” Lufuno’s reflection appeared behind mine as he wrapped his arms around my waist and nestled his chin in the nook of my neck: his thick facial hair tickled the sensitive part of my skin causing me to giggle.

“I’m almost done.” I smiled as I made eye contact with Lufuno, my husband of three years, through the upright mirror. I stroked the scab that ran along the length of his forearm.

“We need to talk about that incident at some point Andani… please…”

I shook my head, fighting back the images of that night. Two years had passed, but each time I touched his scab, I recalled it like it was yesterday: Lufuno’s arms drenched in blood as he stumbled into our kitchen reeking of whiskey; my hands trembling as I gripped the controls of our home assistant and manoeuvred the robot across our garden guided only by moonlight.

“Today’s an important day for me, I can’t have anything throw me off.”

He sighed. “Well, I wish I could come with you, but I know your launch will be a success.” Lufuno’s breath was hot against my neck, and I inhaled the medley of “minty fresh” and dark cologne until he pulled back and headed out of our bedroom. I twisted the final section before stroking the length of the braid to get the slick look.

iTech Namhlanje had touted The Diviner, with its ability to connect users to their ancestors using a sample of their DNA, as capable of changing the social fabric of the world as much as the advent of hyperconnectivity. There was a lot the public didn’t know… but today was launch day and the future of my company was contingent on a successful launch – or the appearance of success.

I crossed the room and headed down the stairs, my fingers tracing the grooves in the steel handrail. It will all work out. It will all work out. I repeated this mantra in between deep breaths – willing my heart to steady itself. With every step I took, the throbbing pain in my abdomen intensified, as if someone were clawing at my diaphragm in an attempt to shred the muscle. It was a peculiar type of anguish: hoping for a day and then dreading having to live through it.

“Mama!” The squeal from the highchair at the centre of the kitchen pulled me out of my thoughts. Dakalo, my toddler, held her spoon in her fist – and from the brown porridge splattered around her empty bowl – she had used it and her fingers to create art.  

“Hello Nana,” I cooed as I crossed the room towards her. Rays of sunlight flitted from the East-facing window and bathed the room in a nectarine glow.

I planted a kiss on Dakalo’s head between the tufts of soft hair and inhaled her sweet smell of aqueous cream and porridge. Lufuno stood beside the highchair, mumbling as he scrolled through a hologram of the morning news.

“I cannot believe these people,” he said, spitting out the word ‘people’.

“What’s wrong?” I dodged Dakalo’s podgy fingers and slid past Lufuno as I made my way to the opposite end of the kitchen island. A wave of my hand across a sensor released a re-usable microfiber cloth which I yanked from a jagged metallic mouth to wipe Dakalo’s fingers.

“Solomons is up to his antics.” He sighed. “Hopefully President Sheila Mkhize retains power – I really need a different appointment…”

It was an open secret that Deputy President Nervin Solomons represented the populist elements that threatened to control the New Dawn political party. That, and the fact that President Sheila Mkhize had assured Lufuno that she would appoint him as Minister of Trade and Industry should she be re-elected – an upgrade from his current post as Minister of Sports and Recreation – meant we all fully supported her second term.  

“I’m sure everyone can see right through Solomons. Right, Dakalo?” I pulled at her fingers which made her squeal. “I’ll try to get home early but it’ll depend on how long it takes me to get through the press’s questions,” I added over my shoulder.

“Remind me again why you decided to have the launch on a public holiday?”

I rolled my eyes, which caused Dakalo to squeal even louder in delight.

When our marketing team had decided that the launch had to occur on the 24^th of September, Heritage Day, to tie the launch to the country’s national celebrations, despite how tight the deadline would be, I had conceded. The launch date had been pushed back twice before and our investors were getting antsy. Lufuno had questioned the sense of engineers being ruled by marketing considerations, but this was business and innovation in the real world had to deliver or it would result in a catastrophic drop of our start-up’s valuation.   

“Ma’am are you ready to leave?”

My head swivelled up at the direction of the deep voice – it was Lonwabile. His hands were folded behind his back as he stood behind the breakfast countertop. I had never gotten used to how silently he moved despite his big size.

“Yes, I’ll be there in a minute.” I headed over to Lufuno and gave him a hug from behind. “Wish me luck,” I whispered, as I laid my face on his cotton shirt and let the warmth from his back against my cheek soothe me. His chest moved up and down in a steady rhythm, a stark contrast to the double-time of my own heart.

“You don’t need luck. You have multiple years of preparation and countless sleepless nights.”

Odirile and I had always imagined what this day might look like: would we be working on a software update that six months later would warrant another splashy announcement? Or would we be so behind schedule that only a concept model of The Diviner would be unveiled? I let out a deep breath as I walked outside and entered my car. Today would be a success.

Grayston Drive was empty of its usual traffic of self-driving vehicles, the public holiday giving the road and its sensors a welcome reprieve from managing the network of electronic vehicles.

I loved the sight of Sandton like this: the renaissance African architecture of the 22^nd Century characterised by a combination of geometric design and imitation carvings. The car came to a standstill at the traffic light. The whinnies from a flock of African green pigeons filtered through my open window; they were perched on a tree canopy in an urban mini sanctuary that had come to characterise the province’s aesthetic.  

When my car turned the corner, the street was littered with people. Their opposition to The Diviner crystallised the closer I got: a congregation of Christians shouted zealously against the evils of necromancy as their digital placards displayed an endless loop of Isaiah 8:19. Beside them to signify inter-faith allyship, but with enough distance to emphasize religious difference, the ummah of Muslims shouted vehemently as their digital placards played an endless loop of Surah Fatir 35:22 declaring The Diviner haram; On the opposite side stood a coalition of mungome from the different South African tribes, their beads swayed forcefully as their fervent chants and incantations rose to the sky carried by billows of smoke from the burning incense and sage that crept through the crack in my window. I coughed and pushed a button, rolling up my window. The mungome’s digital placards called for the demise of The Diviner because it breached protocol by doing away with the need for blood sacrifices to communicate with the ancestors.

Cynically, I questioned the sincerity of their objections – it was no secret that our invention would cut into a huge share of mungome’s business and maybe that was the real issue. Plus, if an immersive, sensory experience consulting with the ancestors also did away with parishioners or the ummah’s need for prayers and petitions – I would also protest for The Diviner’s abolishment if I were a religious leader.

My car came to a stop at the Convention Centre’s underground elevator, and I slipped out. Lonwabile’s head swivelled left and right periodically as he guided me towards the elevator.

“You’re the Anti-Christ!”

I turned around but Lonwabile’s muscular frame had already shielded me from the incoming screams; in one swift motion, he grabbed the skinny arms of the man and pinned him to the ground, sending the silver device in the man’s hand flying until it hit the concrete with a dull thud.

“Step-in the elevator Ma’am!” Lonwabile barked over his shoulder.

I snapped out of the trance induced by this attempted attack and ran. I inhaled and exhaled in bursts and loud sucking noises as the echo of my heels clacked frantically against the concrete, reverberating through the lot. As I made my way to the elevator, the faulty light flickered on and off, casting me in bouts of darkness and increasing my panic until I reached the safety of the elevator. When I was sure its steel doors were closed, I exhaled. The fortified elevator broke its seal once I was safely at the Convention Centre’s main floor.

“Andani! I was worried when you didn’t answer your comms device! Lufuno said you had left a while back,” Odirile walked briskly towards me, her Peruvian hair flowing behind her. “Have you received the latest launch updates?”

I shook my head and began rubbing my abdomen; the clawing had intensified.

Odirile’s perfectly shaped brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” I felt the gentle pressure of her hands on my shoulder. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost – are you okay to lead the launch?”

“I don’t know – I just have a bad feeling about this.” I licked my lower lip and tasted the oily wax of lipstick.

“Babe, let’s go to the green room – I’ll message Naledi and inform him I’m giving you a quick debrief.” Odirile motioned behind me; I turned on my heel and we walked down the hallway in silence.

The smell of sweat and body odour wafted around me as we walked through the narrow space: interns ran up and down between the rooms – dodging us like obstacles – and a team leader burst his head through the open doorway of his workstation, scanned the hallways and barked out additional instructions before ducking back into the room and shutting the door with a bang. Odirile stopped at an inconspicuous door and slipped in.

I followed behind and was immediately enveloped by cool air as I entered the room; a huge vase of proteas had been placed at the centre of the dresser, concealing half of the mirror. Odirile crossed the room towards a cupboard and popped it open to reveal a fridge lined with bottled water.  

I threw myself onto the plush couch. “Aaaaaggghhhhh,” I groaned loudly, before I threw my face into my hands.

“Take this, it’ll help with the nerves.”

I looked up, thrust in front of my face was a bottle of water and an open palm with two pills. “Thanks.” I grabbed the pills and gulped them down with a mouthful of water. The couch sagged as Odirile sat beside me.

“We received last minute confirmation from the Office of the Presidency that she wouldn’t be available, but Deputy President Solomons will be in attendance.”

Despite my annoyance at this update, I asked, “Has the Minister of Traditional Affairs confirmed his attendance?”

“Yes, him and Deputy President Solomons are seated in the VIP section. The SABC and other broadcasters are also done setting up – Naledi made sure they all found their designated seats.”

“That’s good.” I placed the bottle of water on the ground beside my heel.

“How about you? You good?”

I paused and looked into my friend’s hazel eyes. “Are you sure going ahead with this is the right decision?”

Odirile sighed. “It’s too late to turn back now.”

*

I adjusted my seating. The cylindrical-shaped pod was far from roomy, but it was bigger than our initial coffin-sized prototype. The gnawing at the pit of my stomach had begun the moment I entered the Testing Centre. This was the final test of The Diviner before it would be launched, so it had to work.  

A major malfunction during Odirile’s previous test of The Diviner had confirmed that we were far from ready to launch. We would need our investors to fund more tests and give us more time. Instead, the response we received made it clear that we would not be given additional funding and if we couldn’t get The Diviner to work, we would have to shift our focus to improving a less ambitious form of technology – like VR and AR.

So, week after week, Odirile and I pored over the company’s financials trying to figure out the best way to fund another attempt. After trying everything and failing to find additional funding, we had resigned ourselves to the reality that The Diviner had to work during this test.  

I trained my mind on the steady rhythm of my breathing, the gentle rise and fall of my chest.

Just relax and breathe, relax and breathe; I repeated this mantra, easing myself into that transitional phase between wakefulness and sleep. An image of Odirile wielding a bat, with bloodshot eyes and streaks of black eyeliner marking her cheeks like a warrior, came to mind. The crack of her bat against David’s windshield sounded like lightning as it reverberated throughout the complex.

The memory made me smile. When last did I think of the evening Odirile and I snuck into David’s complex and trashed everything including his beloved vintage Ferrari?   

Relax and breathe, relax and breathe.

The feel of smooth leather against my head turned to rough mud and my palms felt smooth hardened dung. What was once white noise surrounding me, became fainter as the distant “moos” from a herd of cattle and the high-pitched ringing of iron against iron grew loud. I turned my head in the general direction of the ringing bells but the same breeze that carried the sound of the distant herd also carried the stench of excrement from the nearby kraal; I held my breath until the hot breeze passed. When I finally took in a breath of air, my nose crinkled at the faint stench of manure and smoke.

My wrist vibrated. The Diviner’s haptics alerted me to the fact that my simulation had officially begun.  

I squinted as I adjusted to the bright sting of day. Black smoke floated to the sky from an opening in the middle of the cooking hut’s thatched roof, a white hen surrounded by chicks clucked around the cooking hut, stopping when something in the dust was worth pecking at. The humming of a song I didn’t know the lyrics to drew closer and closer to where I sat outside the hut. Why did this song sound familiar?

“Makhulu!” I shouted.

“Hush Nana! I’m here,” my grandmother hissed in an admonishing tone as she appeared from the corner of the hut, limping towards me. “Why all the noise, heh?” She shook her head as she slowly eased herself into sitting.

I threw my arms around her slight frame, inhaling the smoke and snuff that clung to her batik dress.  “I’m happy to see you Makhulu!” I pulled back and stared into her black eyes. “I have so many questions –”  

“Nana, I just put the pap over the fire, it will burn if –”

“I won’t take long…I just want to know…what was my dad – your son – like?”

Makhulu’s lips inched upward in a smile as a wistful look came over her eyes. “He was such a naughty boy.” She chuckled to herself. “And he could never sit still – if you took your eyes off him for a minute he was gone! But I could never stay angry with him, he would always bring me a bouquet of flowers.”

A bouquet of flowers? I bit my tongue, fighting the urge to interrupt her.    

“Such a charmer!” She laughed and clapped her hands once at this thought. She reached for the wall of the mud hut as she brought herself up. “Don’t forget to bring wood with you, I need to keep my fire burning.” Makhulu ambled towards the cooking hut.

I watched on for a moment before I flicked a switch on the band around my wrist; when it vibrated, I closed my eyes slowly – trying to capture this mental image of Makhulu limping away as her batik swayed in the breeze.  

After a few moments with my eyes closed, I opened them. The pod was bathed in the fuchsia glow of the screen in front of me. I selected “exit” and the door popped open, letting in the artificial light of the Testing Centre. I threw one leg over the edge of the pod and ducked out, careful not to bump my head against the low ceiling.

“And?” Odirile’s excited voice sounded through the speakers.

I looked up at the gallery: Odirile stood in a white lab coat surrounded by the rest of the team as they observed from behind the glass pane. Their faces looked drawn and tired but expectant.

“Did the simulation work?” Odirile urged.

Had the simulation worked? It was immersive, so in that sense it had worked but had I really communicated with my grandmother who had passed before I was born?  Odirile’s smile faltered as I met her question with silence.

“It worked!” I exclaimed, casting my doubts aside.  

The gallery erupted in hoots and shouting as the group of engineers fist-pumped and grabbed each other in tight hugs.

Odirile jumped up and down in the middle of this commotion shouting: “We’re gonna make some money! We’re gonna make some money,” in a sing-song voice until the tune caught on and all the engineers joined in the chorus, their voices sounding through Odirile’s microphone and throughout the Testing Centre.

I laughed until I could no longer ignore my gnawing sense of doubt. I crossed the Centre – my smile still frozen in place – and ripped off the wrist band.

“Come up here, we need to celebrate,” Odirile shouted into her mic.

“I’ll be there in a minute.” I slipped out and into the vacant hallway. I dipped my hand into my coat pocket. When I felt the cool object, my hand emerged. I attached the comms device onto my ear lobe, reached under the sleeve of my coat, and tapped the small keypad on my wrist until my earlobe vibrated.

“This is a pleasant surprise! What is the occasion?” The familiar high-pitched voice of my mother filled my inner ear.

I let out an anxious laugh. “Am I not allowed to call you anymore Ma?”

“Mhmmm…” she responded, not sounding convinced.

“Ma, I wanted to know – did Baba always buy Makhulu a bouquet of flowers – to apologise?”

She laughed. “Oh no – never! Your father was always quick to say ‘sorry’. It was always ‘sorry’ with that man – he rarely spent a cent on things he considered frivolous.” She spat out the word ‘frivolous’, as if she were imitating him.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure. I spent ten years with that man before we had you.”

 “But during those years he would always travel around – right?”

“Using whose money?” she scoffed. “Why all these questions about your father? You were never interested before when…”

I laughed away the question. “I just had this memory of a man bringing this bouquet of flowers to apologise and I was trying to figure out where it could’ve come from.”

“Mhmmm.” She paused for a moment. “You know…Aunty Aggie, who took care of you when you were two, had this boyfriend who always brought her flowers…maybe it’s a memory of him, but how? You were only two?”

“Ma, can I call you back later? Something urgent has come up…”

“But we just started speaking –”

“I know, I’m sorry.” I threw the earpiece in my pocket and shot down the vacant corridors of our Headquarters. All the engineers had probably gone to the nearest bar to celebrate. I burst through the doors of Odirile’s office.

“Please tell me you haven’t shared the results of the simulation?” I crossed her office, my index fingers rubbing my temple in concentric circles as I attempted to calm myself.

Odirile’s brows were furrowed in confusion. “I called the Board for an urgent meeting…why…?”

My feet buckled beneath me and I sank to the floor. “What are we going to tell them?”

She went down on her hunches. “What do you mean? You said –”

“I know what I said, but I was wrong – I got it all wrong. No one will be able to connect with an ancestor down their genetic line using this, we can’t tap into the hereditary joy in our genes, we can’t –”

“Listen,” – she grabbed me so our eyes locked – “what happened? What did you see in the simulation?”

“My best guess is that The Diviner tapped into my latent memories and combined them with sensory detail to form…something. It just felt…so real.”

“Then it was real.”

“But Odirile –”  

“You heard our investors, they’re not going to continue funding The Diviner, and it’s been branded as a way to connect with your ancestors – not your latent memories,” she scoffed. “It’s too late to turn back now.”

*

I walked across the dimly lit stage and stood under the single beam of light; I flashed the faceless crowd a smile. “Thank you for such a warm welcome.” I clasped my hands together. I would have to enter the simulation and get through a rehearsed emotional speech about the experience. I could do that.  

“There’s been so much speculation about The Diviner, instead of boring you with a long explanation, I’ll just show you.” I tapped the band around my wrist. “How does that sound?” The crowd erupted as The Diviner rolled towards the centre of the stage where I stood.

From the back of the auditorium a rumbling began, until the entire crowd was chanting: “So-lo-mons! So-lo-mons! So-lo-mons!”

I glanced at the front row of dignitaries cordoned off in the VIP section: Deputy President Solomons stood up, turned around and waved at the crowd who cheered loudly; he shook his head indicating to the crowd he couldn’t oblige, and sat down.

I let out a sigh of relief. “Let’s begin the simulation,” I said sounding chirpier than I felt and trying to regain control of the room.

“Let someone else try!” Someone in the crowd shouted.

“Jah! If it works, it works,” someone else from the crowd added.

This fuelled the chant and the auditorium resounded with calls for the Deputy President to try the simulation: “So-lo-mons! So-lo-mons! So-lo-mons!”

The clawing pain under my rib cage intensified. This wasn’t part of the plan, but what valid explanation could I give to the crowd? If The Diviner truly worked and was ready for the market, then surely it didn’t matter who tried the simulation, they would protest.

I turned to the stage’s partly concealed wing and shot Odirile a silent plea for an intervention while a big smile remained plastered across my face; her hands were clasped over her mouth and her eyes were the size of saucers.

The spike in cheering turned my attention to the crowd. Deputy President Solomons had stood up and was patting down his suit as he headed to the stage. His security detail scrambled around him, they spoke in hushed tones in their earpieces, as their eyes darted around the auditorium and scanned the stage area.

“Great!” I exclaimed – feeling anything but great – as the Deputy President approached the stage. “There’s a screen in the pod which you can use to select which of your ancestor’s you would like to communicate with.” I slipped off the band around my wrist and placed it in his palm. He put it on and shot me a nervous smile.

“You’ll be fine,” I reassured him before turning to the crowd. “The Diviner is completely safe and ready for the market.” I motioned to the pod beside us and the Deputy President ducked inside. The click of the pod’s door as it closed was audible in the hushed auditorium.

“Once Deputy President Solomons’ simulation begins, we’ll be able to see it through this projection – but only he can tell us whether this was a truly immersive experience.”

As darkness fell over the auditorium, I made my way to the opposite wing and folded my arms across my chest, waiting until the Deputy President emerged from the pod and determined our fate.

Why had I done this to myself? I had so many opportunities to come clean, but I had only seen those opportunities as time to get the technology working. I rubbed the space under my rib cage to soothe the throbbing pain. Every Heritage Day, I would have to re-live this debacle and the company’s fall from grace would be re-told as a cautionary tale.

The auditorium gasped pulling me out of my reverie as I turned my attention to the projection: Solomons walked on the cobblestone streets of the Bo-Kaap area, through a pastel-coloured array of houses. A group of playing children shrieked and were dispersed as a ball was flung into the air.

My stomach dropped. The Bo-Kaap area’s tarred streets had been replaced by cobblestones early in Solomons’ lifetime – but had the audience noticed this glitch during their brief glimpse of the street? Did Deputy President Solomons know this obscure architectural fact?

The auditorium’s lights flicked on; I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light. I crossed the stage and headed towards The Diviner as Deputy President Solomons inched out, shaking his head. Was I supposed to smile through this humiliation, or would it be better to deny everything he said? Maybe it would be best if I asked for another volunteer from the crowd – just to counter his experience? The auditorium remained silent as Deputy President Solomons made an elaborate show of reaching into his pocket, dragging out his handkerchief and dabbing the cotton material at the corner of his eyes.

He took hold of my hands. “That was…is…a once in a lifetime opportunity.” My heart quickened at the sound of this as he turned to face the crowd.

“This is why technological advances such as these are critical – they move our nation forward while helping us hold on to our heritage.”

He was none the wiser? We had done it! Relief washed over me as the knot in my stomach dissipated.

An applause erupted throughout the auditorium as the Deputy President drew me closer to him by gently tugging at my hand. He used his one hand to cover his mouth and whispered:

“Help me beat President Mkhize in our party’s upcoming conference or I’ll tell everyone the truth about this high-tech scam: its only good for revealing that you and Minister Lufuno Tshivhase buried a body in your garden.” He shot me a smile as the cameras flashed around us.

His words suffocated me, and my breathing became laboured as the full weight of his threat landed on my chest. How could he possibly know about the incident? Lufuno and I had been extremely careful. Unless…

I glanced over at the cylindrical shaped pod: what if, it was flawed in more ways than I could have imagined? What if it allowed the user to tap into their latent memories and it left some behind, giving the next person a glimpse?

How could I have missed this? If Lufuno and I wanted to stay out of jail – and present in Dakalo’s life – Deputy President Solomons had to keep quiet. I also needed more time to continue testing The Diviner without investors figuring out what we had done. But that would mean supporting Deputy President Solomons and his repressive ideals. His victory would mean frustrating Lufuno’s political career. How was I supposed to make this decision?

 I took in a lungful of air. I returned his smile so as not to raise any suspicions about our brief exchange and angled my body to pose for the media as they clamoured for shots of the successful launch of The Diviner.