I am Neyllo, the last of my kind, transported to earth after my world was destroyed five years ago.
I recall lying in my nest when my planet shook. Another earthquake had swallowed the Zemonians in the western sector. Fifteen dead and forty injured. Split into twelve clans, Zemon was home to a species of clever and reserved herbivores. The abundance of nitrogen allowed our plants to thrive so much that less than one percent did not contain trees. Each day began with the rise of the red sun, a celestial beauty that more than half my people worshiped but millions of years after, our sun started to fail. One of my progenitors believed more in technology than in the red sun, believed more in intergalactic travel than forest hunts.
He foresaw the destruction of my planet and entrusted me with a Tridel – a seed that decoded the genetic makeup of my race.
On the planet’s last day, I was taken to the escape pod. Balls of flame rained down the atmosphere, setting our plants and our people on fire. Our strongest woven thorns served as shields, but they didn’t last. My progenitors bade me an agonizing farewell because they couldn’t come. They had a duty to protect Zemon or rather, to try and protect what was left of it.
On the 18th of March, 2244, my escape pod landed at Wazobia forest in Lagos, Nigeria.
After a few months of battling with illnesses, I found a spot to plant the Tridel, an inconspicuous location where no human would think to look. For many days, I nurtured the plant and envisioned the fierce joy I would feel when the embryos would form. Day and night, I watered it, groomed it, and watched it; sometimes, I simply basked in its sharp musk because it reminded me of home.
Then one day, a helicopter landed in the forest. From it emerged a plumpish human in a voluptuous attire; a man of power, I presumed, because he had a platoon of soldiers escorting him. Pointing around, they explored the forest, their hands widening in a gesture that suggested they were planning or measuring something.
I snuck closer to where they stood, using my chromatophore skin to camouflage myself in the leaves, when I heard: “This is perfect. In five days, we will begin deforestation.”
#
Back on Zemon, my progenitors would have me sit around a white flame and we’d discuss life in other galaxies. I missed them, missed the wild thorns we spun for shelter, the taste of grub and the three moons and red sun that gave light to the cities.
The destruction of my planet ripped me apart but there was hope since I had the Tridel. Now, the tree was blossoming and, in a few weeks, the embryos would emerge. Uprooting it would ensure the eradication of my kind. I trembled at the thought of it.
I needed help to save my Tridel, but there were only two humans that knew I existed and I needed to travel to see them.
I wove thick vines, roped them to solid sticks, and thrust those sticks into the ground to create a fence around the Tridel. At least until I came back, it would be safe.
The night train to Lekki was a smooth transit. Every passenger had their minuscule corner that warranted no outside disturbance and I enjoyed watching Channels TV updates. One of the headlines was “Urbanisation in Wazobia Forest – The future of Opulent housing.”
Hidden behind a cloak, I alighted from the train and sauntered through the streets of Ikoyi, sticking to the shadows like a cockroach. My form was similar to a human’s, modified by an earthling scientist to adapt to Earth’s climate. I had two arms, two legs, a nose and a face and since I was female, I had the semblance of a girl’s curves, and the thinness of a girl’s waist. My skin was green, like the colour of leaves, and I had no hair. A child looked my way, eyes narrowing as he tried to make out what I was, but I hurried away, slipping into an alley before he could draw attention. I wasn’t ready to be seen. Not yet.
The gates of the Ojiofor residence were twice my height, wrought iron strips woven in a criss-crossed Lattice. As I stepped forward, a machine ran a horizontal red beam through me. A voice spoke, ‘Identity unknown’.
“Tell Chinaza that Neyllo is here!”
In three minutes, the gates swung open.
“Follow the cobblestones to the backyard,” the voice said. “There, you will find Chinaza in the rose garden.”
I followed the directions and found Chinaza sniffing some roses. I had met her two years ago, right after my escape pod had landed. She was twenty-six years old, a slim, dark-skinned girl, with thick, curly tresses dangling from her head. Around her neck was a golden chain, attached to a diamond encrusted pendant, a symbol of her family’s wealth.
Chinaza regarded me with a warm smile as we sat under a tree to discuss.
“The future of my people is at risk.” I began. “I have learnt of a pending project, the urbanisation of the forest I reside in, but the Tridel needs more time to develop, Chinaza. They cannot cut down that tree.”
Chinaza nodded and squeezed my shoulder.
“Oh, Neyllo. I understand your plight but there’s nothing I can do. The project was approved by the Minister of Housing. The government has a hand in it. Contractors have been assigned, funds have been disbursed.”
Just then, her phone rang and she pulled it from her pocket. The face of a man appeared on the screen and my eyes widened in shock. She picked the call and her face broke into a wide smile.
“I got you the purse you’ve always wanted,” a muffled voice spoke from the device. Chinaza told the caller she would talk to him later and hung up.
I met her eyes.
“The Minister; the one who assigned the project, is your father, isn’t he?”
Chinaza’s face tightened.
“There’s nothing I can do, Neyllo.”
I shook my head.
“Of course there’s something you can do. You can talk to him, explain what is at risk.”
“This is more important than a tree, Neyllo. Lagos is overpopulated, we need more land to build houses, and more room to expand.”
“But what about my legacy?”
Chinaza shrugged. “I don’t know, Neyllo. You’re going to have to figure that out on your own. Just remember, the lands were never yours to begin with, they belonged to the government. So don’t expect them to prioritise your needs at the detriment of my people”.
At this time, Chinaza stood up.
“I helped you once, Neyllo but I cannot help you this time.”
She left me speechless and made her way into the house.
#
I remembered it like it was yesterday. In the first week of my arrival, I struggled to survive. My skin cracked and my chest tightened with every lungful of air. Despite my planet’s similarities to Earth, I had a hard time adapting. It was then I met Chinaza, camping in the woods. She offered to help, found me a scientist and donated a fortune to get me body modifications. I understood her reasons for refusing to help me. Nothing was more important than family.
I made my way to a smart apartment in Ikoyi which housed one of the most brilliant minds in Lagos.
“Neyllo!” Mayen screamed, taking me into her arms. She was about Chinaza’s age, vibrant, bespectacled and passionate about science. Her room was a clutter of textbooks and gizmos, small, compared to Chinaza’s mansion but it was in a way, cozy.
She poured me a cup of water.
“Do you have any issues with your body?”
I shook my head.
“No, you did a decent job on me.”
Mayen raised the cup, a smile forming on her oblong face.
“Why then did you come?”
I helped myself to a chair and narrated my ordeal.
“Chinaza has disappointed me once too,” Mayen said. “Back when we were students of Unilag, she promised to attend my party but backed out at the last minute. Like my father always says, never put your trust in man.”
“I need a plan, Mayen. Time is not on my side. What if I speak to Chinaza’s father? Maybe I can convince him to spare the forest.
Mayen stroked her chin.
“That could work but I do not think he will buy into your belief of a safe haven for your kind. Telling him that you’re nursing a tree that would produce alien species might come off as a threat. Like you’re trying to take over the country.”
“I couldn’t if I wanted to. Zemonians are mild, introverted people. We couldn’t hurt any creature.”
Mayen laughed.
“I know this, Neyllo, but the minister doesn’t.”
“Let me try to talk to him. You can help me, can you?”
Mayen’s smile disappeared. She settled in her swivel chair and slid towards her computer.
“It will be difficult to bypass the Minister’s security. To get to him, you’d have to be creative.”
I turned to meet her eyes.
“Show me.”
#
Minister Ojiofor rested in his car with his back arched slightly backwards. If a bed could fit in the SUV, he would have gotten one. For most of the day, he was trapped in a leather chair, issuing documents to contractors and reviewing costs for building projects. The SUV glided through the streets of Lagos and Minister Ojiofor’s phone vibrated.
“Your daughter is requesting a video call, sir,” the AI said.
“Put her on the big screen.”
Sound-proof curtains circled him as a monitor emerged from the back of the front seats. Ojiofor straightened himself to see his daughter, only that it wasn’t his daughter he saw.
“Good afternoon, Minister,” the strange creature said with a female voice.
Ojiofor’s face turned white with fear.
“Please, do not panic. I am not here to hurt you,” she continued
“Who are you? What have you done with my daughter?”
“I am Neyllo, of the race of Zemon. Your daughter is safe. Be rest assured I am not a hostile creature; I only need your assistance.”
Neyllo spoke about the Tridel as her legacy, the last chance of survival for her race, and how the urbanisation project would put the lives of the embryos at risk, and he listened in shock.
“Is this some kind of joke, a prank put up by some jobless teenager?”
“No, Minister. This is real. I am real. Do not destroy our Tridel, please!” Her voice quivered as she pleaded.
“My daughter, where is she?”
“Minister, I–”
“I demand to see my daughter, now!”
There was a break in transmission and the video glitched. A tiny screech emitted from the device and soon, Chinaza’s voice surfaced.
“Hello, dad. I lost you for a minute. How was work? Dad….?”
#
Mayen chewed a slice of vanilla cake as she typed on the keyboard.
“Chinaza called me. She said you nearly gave her father a heart attack.”
I sighed. Seconds of watching the digital clock blink resembled hours. Three days felt like three years and the sound of Mayen’s chewing was making my ear twitch.
“Don’t worry,” Mayen continued. “I didn’t tell her you were with me, or that I had a hand in it.”
I jolted from the cushion.
“What if I can speak to the president?”
“Really, Neyllo? Didn’t you learn from the incident with the minister? Do you know how many federal security organizations tried to trace you with that one call?”
“What then can I do?”
“I’ve been thinking. The whole urbanization project was set up to cater for the needs of the masses. Lagos is an overcrowded state, it is only logical they wish to expand. The only way we can stop this, is for Nigerians to support your cause, make them sign a petition against the project.”
My eyes widened.
“That could work?”
“Sure, but we need to get as many people on your side as possible – like hundreds of thousands, or millions of people.”
“How will we do that?”
“The same way you market a product or service. You set up a website and a lead magnet, something free and captivating, to get the attention of people. Then you lure them to the website to read about your plight. There will also be a short video of you, speaking to us, telling your story. Before anyone leaves the site, a pop-up icon would request they sign the petition.”
I had no idea what most of her words meant but I understood the logic behind it. We began immediately and it took a few minutes to turn Mayen’s room into a studio.
“Are you ready?” Mayen asked, her eyes glued to the computer screen.
My core pranced and I nodded. Before now, only three humans knew of my existence. It was scary, showing myself to the world, not knowing what would happen afterwards. Our chromatophore skin allowed us to hide, to blend into the environment and disappear. It was ironic that after so much hiding, we were about to be made public.
“We will record in ten seconds.”
I sat in front of a white background, hands quivering as I waited for the signal. A LED bulb emitted a blinding light that made me squint.
“Focus on the camera, Neyllo. Breathe. It’s going to be fine. We will record in three, two…”
For a minute, I froze, until the teleprompter reminded me what to say.
“Good afternoon, Nigerian citizens, my name is Neyllo …
#
“Tsunami, give me the numbers,” Mayen said to her AI.
Number of views – 700,000.
“Number of clicks to the petition?”
About two thousand.
I sank to my knees, devastated. That was barely enough to get the government’s attention. The project would commence in twenty-four hours and there was still no luck. Mayen tried to comfort me but I waved her off and burst out the door.
On my way to the train station, torrents lashed down the city and the gusty wind carried down the earthy smell of rain. Pedestrians without covering hurried through the city, seeking shelter in shops and restaurants. I allowed the cold to engulf me as the wind tugged at my cloak. A minivan swerved by, splashing filthy water my way but I didn’t mind. I felt crippled by my failures, overwhelmed by my inability to save my legacy. Imagining a life where I was the last Zemonian survivor was excruciating. I wanted to have my people around, to experience the wonders of this planet. My willpower dissolved and all that was left of me, drifted in the boisterous wind. Perhaps, I would take out my core, allow myself to die. Since the humans were not willing to offer us a home, then, we might as well all die, and let them be.
The wind intensified, nearly whisking me away, but I planted my feet on the road. Screams broke from every angle as wigs, fabrics and plastic chairs floated in the air. One of the cries alerted me.
“My son! Where’s my son?”
I caught a glimpse of a boy grasping a tree with his body, hoisted like a flag. The wind wrestled him but he clutched the branches, desperate to survive.
I turned to his direction, battling through the storm, dodging floating umbrellas and spiralling clothing. I extended my arm. The boy took it without hesitation, chest swelling as he wrapped his arms and feet around me. His mother’s gaze trailed me from a spot beside a streetlight, gratitude and astonishment in the glaze of her eyes. She breathed a sigh of relief when she hugged her son.
“I don’t know what you are,” she said, “but thank you.”
I nodded.
Turning to leave, I noticed the glint of smart phones, the clicking sounds of the camera shutters, the collective gasps of bedazzled Nigerians.
Sirens blared and tyres screeched as patrol cars halted at the entrance of the restaurant. But by the time the police burst through the crowd, I had already fled.
#
Channels TV Headlines
A tremendous Hurricane passes through Ikoyi.
Mysterious green alien saves a five-year-old boy.
Urbanisation project will commence in twenty-four hours.
#
Minister Ojiofor called for maximum security, so the forest was edged with barricade tapes and armoured trucks. Reinforced with surveillance drones, the Nigerian army swept through the woods, searching for any form of resistance to the day’s operations. News vans lingered around, pointing their cameras and scuttling to get the best view of the incident.
The automated bulldozers revved their engines loud, I quivered at the ostentatious display of strength. Leaves rustled and the military came close, close to the Tridel, close to me. I was shrouded in the leaves and so one had to be observant to find me. They were a hair’s breadth away when one of them spoke to his watch. “There’s no one here.”
“Wait!”
Another soldier edged towards the fence, regarding it with a persistent gaze. He took out a laser pen and was about to cut it open when I ambushed him. I lunged towards him, like a mother, protecting her brood. He grunted, falling on the ground with a thud
“Get your hands off the Tridel!” I screamed, my veins pumping in an unfamiliar feeling of rage.
They hesitated, alarmed by my appearance in the woods but it was not long before they drew their weapons. I was surrounded by heavily-trained soldiers and menacing drones. I couldn’t win, not like this.
“Begin the project.” One of them said, while I was being handcuffed.
The bulldozer began grating the soil and, in my trepidation, I yelled.
While the deforestation was ongoing, I was in the armoured truck, listening.
“You will pay for attacking a soldier and trying to harm the Minister’s daughter,” the soldier beside me spat. His wrinkles deepened as he stared at me in contempt. At this point, with the forest coming down, I was ready to withstand whatever punishment. It was only a matter of time before they destroyed the Tridel.
There was a television in the truck and in it, a reporter narrated the events of the day.
“The alien has been detained and the bulldozers are in motion. Rumours state that she is charged with identity theft and attempted kidnapping of a five-year-old, and may be in military custody for a long time.”
The reporter pressed a device in her ear and paused.
“Hold on…I’m getting reports from Lagos island where there seems to be a protest…” Her voice took on an animated, surprised tone. “I don’t believe it… Nigerians are protesting against the alien’s imprisonment.”
The scene changed to show a crowd chanting and holding placards. Mayen was beside a male reporter who pushed a microphone to her lips.
“She was just trying to protect her legacy,” Mayen said.
“But she attacked the Minister’s daughter.”
“No, she didn’t and I have footage that proves her innocence. Neyllo would never hurt anyone.”
“It’s true.” I recognized the woman whose son I saved. “She saved my baby. Neyllo and her people should be given a chance at life, just like the rest of us. As of now, we have gotten the attention of the vice president. We just pray it’s not too late.”
Hope surged through my veins. Just then, the soldier beside me listened to his watch.
“Are you sure, sir?”
He looked at me.
“I have orders to release you.”
His countenance softened as he unlocked the door. I stumbled out of the truck and hastened towards the mother tree until suddenly, my legs failed me. I was connected to the Tridel, and if anything went wrong with her, I would feel it. My core thumped, slowly, painfully. Purple fluid seeped through my nose as I struggled to heave myself up. I was too late. My head spun and I felt myself slip to the foliage on the ground. The reporters gathered around me, handing me their microphones. I saw their lips move but I heard no sound. Time seemed to slow down as I closed my eyes.
#
Channels TV updates
Alien collapses.
Protesters gain the attention of the president.
Government approves the rejuvenation of Wazobia Forest for the aliens’ habitation.
Aliens given a second chance, ordered to sign a treaty to endorse their peaceful coexistence, but where is Neyllo?
#
I sat by the forest and watched the Tridel grow again. They had cut off her branches and were about to uproot the stump when the call came in. Thankfully, it could grow again. Two years would pass by quickly and I was optimistic. I inhaled the sweet smell of musk as I watched the embryos form.
