GUARDIANS OF THE WATER
Chapter 5
The Talokanil were just as curious about the land overhead as the human settlements would be of the cities under the waters, if they knew of their existence. While the Talokanil were forbidden to interact with humans or visit the dry land without express permission of their monarch, they did have a special unit of raiders whose full-time occupation was obtaining provisions from the world of humans. These covert warriors would raid settlements along coasts and attack ships sailing their seas to claim whatever material items they wished for.
This was their primary means of obtaining agricultural produce. While they could farm a certain amount of edible aquatic plants, they could not escape their desire for the foodstuffs obtained from their dry land counterparts. Maize, beans, tomatoes, onions, and squash were a few of the regularly pillaged items gained from the unsuspecting coastal villages and brought back to the underwater marketplaces of the Talokanil.
They were also a fair number of human items that sunk into Talokan from the world above by their own accord. While Shuri was fascinated by the gifts from Talokanil gave her from their own cities, it was the trinkets they acquired from the Land Above the Waters that she enjoyed the most. The ocean floor provided a perennial treasure trove of sunken ships and lost battleplanes. Cargo ships and cruise ships regularly cast their refuse into the waves below and human settlements along the coast provided even more fodder for the ocean. From ancient gin bottles and gold plates to bullets and coffee cups, Shuri developed her own little chest of treasures that she kept in a rocky cleft of her cave. These connected her to the place she once called home and reminded her that she once dwelt in the beautiful dry spaces between the watered ground and evaporated water of the clouds.
She knew Namor sometimes travelled to the human lands above. From time-to-time, he mentioned it and amused himself by telling her stories.
"I drank a Coca-Cola today and then I chased a monkey all the way up a coconut palm. It cursed at me and waved its little fist at me. I was almost tempted to bring it back for you to keep," Namor said, after one such visit. She didn't know if he told her this to inspire her envy or her homesickness or simply to share the news of his day. It didn't matter. It accomplished all three purposes at once.
She thought of the little vervet monkeys that dwelt around the palace in Birnin Zana. She loved the chatter they made in the trees growing in the garden and the expressive, intelligent eyes in their dark faces. She had lost more than one mandazi and screwdriver to their thieving little fingers, but they were so pleased with themselves for their conquests, she could hardly blame them.
She remembered the few times her father had smuggled bottles of Coca-Cola over the border with Uganda. It was too, too sweet and it left a funny taste in her nose. It wasn't like the sodas they made at their bottling plant in Birnin Zana. Still, she would give up a week of fresh coconut milk if she could get her hands on such a bottle now, just to have something from home.
Namor brought her a tamarind soda once. She appreciated the gesture. She did not appreciate the rather obscene stories he told her afterwards about the ways his people used tamarind fruit for medicinal uses. She would rather have remained ignorant about that particular Talokanil custom, but when he caught her discomfort, Namor had only smirked and gone into even greater detail.
Then, there came the days he surprised her with the most precious gift of all: news from the outside world. Three times, she arrived to their usual dinner together and found a plastic bag waiting for her. Neatly rolled within was a printed newspaper, usually from the New York Times or the Washington Post. She wondered if he kept a subscription or obtained these treasures at times he wished for her to admire him. Based on the way he watched for her dawning comprehension and explained in depth what could only be gathered between the lines of news, she had no doubt he wished to impress her.
Each time, she opened a marked page to find a headline about Wakanda. Each time, an attempt to invade or "free" Wakanda was stopped through mysterious interventions. Each time, she knew Talokan had somehow intervened to protect Wakanda and Namor was excessively pleased with himself.
When T'Challa had exposed Wakanda's secrets to the power-hungry, self-righteous gaze of the rest of the world, Wakanda's eventual invasion was inevitable. This is why "secrecy" had been one of the core three Pillars of Wakanda since its very inception as a country. If they were to survive, they needed to remain hidden and inobtrusive. Every time they forgot this; the country suffered for it. Yet, for the good of the many, T'Challa sacrificed the health and longevity of Wakanda. The memories of the rest of the world were short and skewed and they would prefer to erase him from history right along with Great Zimbabwe, the Queen of Sheba, and Ṭāriq ibn Ziyād. How could an African king prove the salvation of the rest of the world? It was unacceptable and contrary to all their long-cherished stereotypes of the "Dark Continent." Thus T'Challa's efforts gained Wakanda dangerous attention rather than international acclaim and it was left to the next generation to sort out the mess.
The Tribal Council of Elders had spent significant time in conversations with the General to prepare for possible incursions into their borders. As a land-locked nation without a publicly accessible international airport or military base, their would-be invaders had limited options.
"Most likely, they will attack us by stirring up discontent in our neighbors, just as they have done in the past," General Okoye remarked. "Russia, France, Belgium, or the U.S.A. will flood Congolese rebels with weapons and promise them mineral rights to whatever they conquer in our territories. Or, some Western power declares we are 'harboring terrorists' and send in Kenya's African Union peacekeeping force to 'preserve our freedom and safety.' I doubt any coalition of nations would risk an open and direct invasion. By the time troops were bussed from the ports in Mombasa or driven from the airport in Entebbe, we would be notified. Air strikes and drone attacks from the Americans or Chinese in Djibouti are a concern for our outlying villages, but they cannot penetrate Birnin Zana's shields. I do not believe they can deploy any weapons against us which our long-range sensors cannot detect and give ample warning for our most remote subjects to seek shelter."
The early attacks against Wakandan outposts in other countries had been symbolic threats and preliminary tests against Wakandan military capacity. Yet, the attacks would continue. It was only a matter of time.
The newspapers Namor brought told Shuri about the passing of time, glimpses of world events, and precious assurances her home still remained. They were small, slight articles. Wakanda rarely made front page news or even "world news". African countries were rarely considered in any newspaper other than their former metripoles and they simply did not exist in the news cycles of other language affiliations or colonial memories. Thus, there was very little to glean from the articles Shuri read (though, she was pleased to see they spelled the name of their capital correct and did not create imaginary cities within their borders this time). In a few paragraphs, Shuri read about the "prevention of a suspected terrorist threat," "the initiation of new treaties and border agreements," and "quelling of conflicts over water rights on the Nile." She wondered which country, or coalition of countries, was stirring up the hornet's nest and just how Namor found out about it in time.
"Those people you wish to protect seek to hurt your country," Namor stated, matter-of-factly, after each newspaper. "Why do you stay here and defend those who would love nothing more than Wakanda's destruction? You could be free and you could protect your country!"
Shuri gleaned enough to know this was another front in Namor's long-suffering war against her refusal to side with him. While he was more than willing to burn Wakanda to the ground for opposing him, woe to any other country foolish enough to try! Talokan and Talokan alone had the right to destroy Wakanda and Namor would use whatever force was at his disposal to ensure Wakanda was protected until he could drown it all himself.
Shuri tried her best to argue her point, but it felt like they were a pair of hyenas fighting over the same bone, again and again and again.
"Eh, Bwana! You do not need to burn the whole world to get your way. Your people live in the ocean. What do you need with the land?" Shuri insisted.
"Don't you see? It is for your good, for Wakanda's good! Only after we conquer all our enemies will we be safe! Only then will we be free! No longer will you be threatened or in danger. The entire world would be ours!"
"We do not need the entire world. We never have. That is the secret of our longevity. Our neighbors grew great through grasping for the entire world. The kingdoms of Buganda, Ankole, Bunyoro - they all grew mighty and strong through expansion and conquest. Wakanda has always been great because we do not challenge our borders nor do we seek to take that which is not ours. We have enough and will not take any more. That is one of our sacred Pillars. We know contentment with our lands and our people will protect us more than any military might."
Thus, they argued in circles and neither gave way to the other. After some few years, Namor tried a new tactic and it was one Shuri did not mind at all.
She was surprised the day Namor asked her to accompany him beyond the borders of the waves. With a joy like she had never known before, Shuri's face broke through the spires of waters and she felt the sun burn into her flesh with its familiar caress. The sky bore down on her with a deep blue gaze, unbroken by ripples or currents or waves of light. She heard the call of unfamiliar sea birds, the soft sound of breakers, and the breeze whistling through her wet ears.
Namor and his guards swam alongside her until they reached a small island. Its edges were so steep and its face so green she thought it resembled a crocodile claw reaching out of the ocean. Her companions easily scaled the cliff and two guards came back to help her follow their path.
She spent hours digging her feet into the red earth, rolling the crinkly leaves in her fingers to feel their waxy surface snap, and watching the insects flutter and hum between flowers. She fell asleep with the sun in her face, dreaming of days of her youth when T'Challa and her would climb the hills around Birnin Zana to watch the herd migrations and tell stories till sunset. She woke to find the sun nearly sinking into the ocean again, painting the water and sky like a canvas.
"You are happy to be on dry ground again," came Namor's voice, from close beside her. He sounded amused by this, as if the thought of preferring her native environment was a foreign concept to him.
"Of course. Aren't you happy to return to the ocean, after you have been away for awhile?"
"I have never stayed away long enough to miss it."
She nodded her head and wondered at the being beside her again. He was an enigma. He could traverse the heavens and yet he dwelt in the ocean. He was part bird, part fish, and part man and yet she didn't think even he knew which part most defined him. He had lived longer than any of his companions, longer than any of the kingdoms he had once known, and yet he still carried himself with the zealous arrogance of youth. He claimed to respect her people and her kingdom and yet he would not hesitate to burn it all to the ground if she refused to adhere to his demands. He was king of one of the strongest nations on the planet and yet he was motivated entirely by fear.
He gave her a sideways glance through his dark eyes. His hair had grown out a little and fell over his pointed ears. He sat easily on the grass and wrapped his arms around his knees while he watched her. She still lay on the ground, her head pillowed on her hands and her focus torn between the graceful sway of palm leaves in the wind and the myriad of colors shifting across the sky.
"You could return home, Princess. Why do you insist on this stubbornness? I know you miss your people and your family," he said, interrupting her musings with a voice so gentle, he might have been discussing a fond relative and not her agreement to planetary genocide. "Why do you not wish to rule? Together, this planet could be ours! Think of what we could accomplish! The oceans could be made clean again. The skies could be washed until the air is sweet instead of laced with poison. What do these human nations do except destroy everything around them? They soak their lands in blood and filth. They pour their waste into their waters until nothing is fit to live in them. They cast bullets and machetes and whips at any around them they consider inferior to themselves until all are scarred and broken. No, this is not a world worth preserving. You and I, we can do better. We can start over. We can make a better world, a more just and honorable world where the weak are protected and evil is not allowed to flourish."
"'The colonists never left, only their color changed,' that is what my father used to tell me. 'Shuri,' he said. 'The colonizer you should most fear is the one which dwells in your own heart. Never forget that the worst atrocities in human history have been committed by people who were convinced they were doing what was good. Until you know that the worst evil in the world exists in your own heart, you cannot hope to understand your enemies.'"
Namor's eyes flashed and for a moment, she thought he was going to strike her with his clenched fist. Shuri raised her own hands placatingly, her voice low and calming.
"Namor, what you wish to do is no different than any who have come before you. What great empire or conquering power did not claim the justice of their cause? What colonizer did not believe they were making the world a better place? You wish to follow their example and so you will become exactly like them."
"We are not like them," he retorted passionately.
"Prove it. Let the rest of the world live in peace. Let us work together as allies, but only within our own current borders."
"Peace! Peace!" he snorted derisively. "Is that what you call it? I call it waiting for destruction to seek us out."
His face was slight with self-righteous anger and every muscle in his body was taught. Not for the first time, he reminded her of her cousin.
Namor's words reminded Shuri of the one called Eric Stevens or N'Jadaka, her father's brother's son. Namor and N'Jadaka were similar in their anger. They both sought out Wakanda – but not because they knew the nation's heart and soul or understood her sacred Pillars. Their hearts did not beat with the rhythm of the drums only known to Wakanda and Wakanda's king. No. They came to Wakanda because Wakanda fulfilled a purpose for their ambitions for establishing their own rules.
Namor came because Wakanda held Vibranium. N'Jadaka came to Wakanda for their vibraium. There was no difference. In this, they were just like the nations who invaded Wakanda's outposts seeking their vibranium. Each came to dictate how Wakanda continued, what alliances they held, who controlled their secrets and who benefited from their assets.
"N'Jadaka claims to be one of us, but he is not," Muthika, the elder for the River Tribe, had shouted. It was in the days when their lost cousin first appeared to destabilize Wakanda and all Wakanda shivered with threats of approaching change. Muthika had paced the entire floor of the Tribal Council Hall, rungu clutched in her weathered hands, her eyes alight with a fiery rage ruled as much by fear as by anger. "He claims to want to help 'his people' but who are his people? Not Wakanda! He wishes to assist 'his people' outside of Wakanda. What have 'his people' ever done for Wakanda? Which of his people would approach Wakanda with honor and respect and not derision and superiority? Tell me if 'his people' do not despise Africans as much as the Wazungu? Maybe even more.
"He claims we share a history because of colonization. Wakanda was never colonized. We share nothing. Let him cry to Haiti and Zimbabwe and Ghana. They can understand his wounds and those of his people. Wakanda cannot. What have we in common with our neighbors? Which of those 'colonized' people would hesitate before draining Wakanda of all we have achieved and claiming our lands as their own.
"No, this N'Jadaka, this outsider, he is no son of Wakanda. He is no any different than the Congau, those Americo-Liberians. They came, escaping slavery, decrying the injustice with which they had been treated, established their own colony. Then they treated the Kpelle and the Bassa and all the other peoples of Liberia with as much prejudice and exploitation as they had ever received from the hands of their slave masters. They may have shared the pigmentation of their melanin and the continent of ancestors, five generations removed, but they were just as fascinated with their own superiority and 'right' to rule as any other colonizers."
All Wakanda breathed a sigh of relief when N'Jadaka's reign was cut short. Shuri felt as unsettled around Namor as she had ever done around N'Jadaka. They spoke the same silvery, spiteful words and the same wounded, festering language. They carried the burdens of multiple generations on their shoulders and wished so much to 'fix' injustices that they would willingly commit any injustice to reach their goal.
Namor carried his shoulders the cries of five hundred years of his people. Perhaps it was a mercy that the days of the kings of Wakanda were numbered and could not span centuries. Shuri could only imagine the burdens of the kings that came before Wakanda and what her brother would have been like if he had lived since the early sixteenth century.
Namor had watched the rise and fall of civilizations and allowed fear to grow in his heart like an ant hill in the mud until it towers over all he was, hardened and thick and nearly impossible to cut through. Like all kings, he was the heart of his people. Their sorrows became his. Their joys, his. Vice versa, he belonged to his people. In this way, Wakanda and Talokan were alike.
In other ways, they were very different.
In Wakanda, there was a special drum set apart only for the king. The deep resonance of that drum could be heard across Birnin Zana. It was the sound that was synonymous for the king himself. When it was pounded, all the people knew the king was summoning his people. Not only did it summon the people to the king, it summoned the spirits of the kingdom to the king. The King's Drum was as interwoven into the fabric of Wakanda as its Pillars and the legend of the sacred herb. It was part of their heartbeat as a people, what made them Wakandan. This is what outsiders could not understand. They did not recognize the sound of the King's Drum.
Namor spoke as if the burdens of the Yucatan were the same as Wakanda and his people were the same as hers. Yet, he did not know her people. No two kingdoms played the same drumbeats or danced with the same steps. She did not know his ocean songs and she could not understand the speech of the marine mammals, but she did know her people and she knew the sound of the King's Drum.
Shuri struggled to understand, at first, why Namor bothered to ally with Wakanda at all. Why did he work so hard to try to curry her favor? Then she realized how much the Talokanil enjoyed the products from the dry land or saw how they were sought after in the market. Then it began to make sense. The Talokanil did not dwell on the land. Gold could only be smelted in a fire and bananas grown in soil. The more she thought about it, the more she did not believe that Namor wished to destroy all the peoples on the land. It wouldn't be in his best interests. No, Namor would destroy some – enough to ensure the subjugation of the rest – and these he would use for labor. The human who remained on land would be forced to grow cash crops and produce goods desired by the Talokanil. In exchange for their continued existence, the Talokanil would gain a workforce capable of withstanding life on dry land.
She could see it all. The Talokanil would follow the waters. They would choose the largest cities along oceans and rivers and take them by surprise, toppling them in a night and dragging all their inhabitants into the waters. Once the city was entirely submerged in the deluge, they would move on to the next. And the peoples of the land? They would flee to higher ground. The deserts and the thirsty lands of the inland centers would become their new refuge -far from the grasping, amphibious fingers of the Talokanil. Yet, like antelope in the savanna, they would be forced to return to the waters to drink and there the crocodile lies in wait.
Perhaps, they would forge treaties and exchange products and labor for water. However, which people can survive without water indefinitely? The rivers always drain into the ocean. How could humanity survive without the rivers and oceans of the world? There were not enough wells and inland lakes to support such a vast population.
She understood. Namor required a land-bound ally to subjugate those he could not reach by sea. Like a herd of orca forcing a school of fish to the surface, only for the sea birds to strike and press them back down, Namor hoped to have Wakandan spears forcing the peoples of the land off the mountain tops and back into the river valleys. With a spear in their back and a harpoon in their front, they would have no choice but to kneel. Then their backs could feel the whips and their labor, and their lives, would be spilled to pay for the wrongs of their ancestors - the nameless, faceless, forgotten horde that now dwelt in the Land of the Dead, spilling their poison into the Land of the Living.
Always, whether below the waters or the skies, Namor and Shuri ended their argument in the same way.
"Will you agree to ally Wakanda with me," Namor said, once their many words and long arguments were spent and the sun had sunk into the waters below.
"I will not," Shuri answered. As she did, her fingers clung to the grass with a desperate intensity, hoping to keep the memory of the feel of earth and the plants a little longer on her fingertips.
"As you wish," Namor said. He rose and the moonlight cast an eerie glow against his bare back. It flickered off the layers of beads he wore. He appeared more serpent now then man. With a rush of wings, he flew off the island and back into the waters again.