Don’t Fall Asleep

Don’t Fall Asleep was an experiment with body horror in speculative fiction. It tells the story of a girl in Ghana who slowly transforms into a bird. It was published in the first edition of the Journal of the Writers Project of Ghana.

Monday, September 20th

I dreamt I was flying last night. I looked down at Accra’s lights and let the warm breeze fill my wings as I drifted lazily above the city. I could see people scurrying around like ants and the mice that darted in the shadows just out of their view. I tucked my silent wings in and dived toward the street, snatching up one of the unsuspecting rodents in my talons. I felt like the queen of the skies.

I usually don’t remember my dreams but this one stuck with me. I sat up in bed after I woke up and stared out of the open window at the sparrows that flit between trees. I never noticed how pretty they are. I sat for so long that I forgot to wake Junior and get him ready for school. Mama was very angry and said that I was letting the family down. I felt bad about that so I will fry some plantain for her when she gets back from work tonight. 

Tuesday, September 21st

I had the flying dream again last night, but there was no breeze to carry me and I had to flap really hard to stay in the air. My wings got tired and I searched for somewhere to land but I was over the ocean. I sped toward the city lights and flew past the window of a tall building where I caught sight of my reflection. I was a silver-gray owl with a flat, white face and yellow feet that ended in wickedly curved talons. I was so enamored by my reflection that I flew straight into a billboard and almost broke a wing. I couldn’t hunt after that and limped through the air to a large neem tree. There was a hollow near the top of the trunk that would be a good spot for a nest.

When I woke up this morning, my arm was sore and I had a pounding headache. I must have slept on it wrong; at least that’s what I’m telling myself. The flying dream was just a dream right?

Junior keeps staring at me and didn’t eat his breakfast this morning. I tried to get him to finish his food before taking him to school, but we were running late so we had to go. He didn’t hold my hand on the walk today, he’s becoming a big boy now I suppose. I know boys like to feel grown so early, but I have always been his big sister and I don’t want to stop now. Maybe I’ll get him some ice cream after school? He always liked that.

Wednesday, September 22nd

I have had a fever all day today and I’m exhausted. I can barely remember if I dreamed but I feel like I haven’t slept in days. Mama took time off work to take me to the clinic. She didn’t speak to me on the ride there, and kept on sighing in the way she does when she is frustrated. She gave me a dirty look when she pulled cash out of her purse to pay for my consultation.

The doctor said I have fatigue symptoms but Mama laughed and said I sleep the most in the house. I think she was just joking but it still hurt.  The doctor said I need more rest and fluids, and suggested I take some time off school. Mama wouldn’t hear of it. She knows that if I’m sick, she will have to take Junior to school so she wants to believe I’m fine. She thinks I’m faking it to get out of class, but my fever doesn’t lie.

When we got home, she made light soup full of goat meat but I wasn’t hungry. I asked Junior if he wanted to come and lie down with me like we did when we were younger but he said he had homework. 

Friday, September 24th

I didn’t go to school yesterday or today on the doctor’s orders and lay down in the living room. I’m home alone and I’ve been coughing a lot. I fell asleep on the couch but when I woke up I was outside on the porch. There were gray feathers on the floor around me.  I dragged myself back inside and tried to eat some of the light soup Mama made but it made me feel sick.

My fever isn’t breaking and I’m scared. I remember when Junior got typhoid, he had to stay home for 2 weeks and I don’t want to stay cooped up here. He was vomiting and shaking and couldn’t leave his room. We have a school dance coming up next week and no one will ask me to go with them if I’m not around. Junior has been avoiding me. Mama warned him against getting too close in case I infected him with whatever was going on with me, but he always used to find ways to sneak time with me anyway.  

Monday, September 27th

In my dream last night, I built up the nest in the neem tree. I found little strips of cloth, twigs, and leaves that made the nook comfortable. Then it was time to hunt. I floated high above a group of twittering sparrows and dropped on them like a brick. I took my quarry back to the nest and ate it whole.

When I woke up today, I was on the street outside the house just before sunrise with a stray dog licking my foot. I was covered in dirt and my whole body ached as if I ran a marathon. I snuck inside with a bucket of water before Mama and Junior woke up to wash off. When I looked at my face in the mirror, my eyes were bloodshot, and I had huge bags under my eyes. 

I also coughed up a gray feather. 

I nearly fainted when I saw it. I panicked and flushed it down the toilet, I didn’t want Mama to see it. I’m afraid she will send me to a prayer camp. I heard one of her brothers got sent to a prayer camp because they said he was mad and he lived there for the rest of his short life. That won’t be me. I’m not mad. 

Wednesday, September 29th

I haven’t slept in two days. I don’t want to dream again, but I don’t know how long I can keep this up. Junior went away on a boy scouts trip so it’s just me and Mama here, and she is too wrapped up in her work to realize that I’m losing my mind. I’m having a hard time telling what is real and what isn’t with so little sleep. I’m starting to see feathers everywhere. I scratched my arm until I bled earlier because I thought I saw some poking out. I swear the sparrows outside my window are watching me from the trees. 

The doctor came to the house today to check up on me and gave me some pills to help me sleep. I pretended to take them but I spat them out when he wasn’t looking. I don’t know what’s happening but I’m pretty sure the grownups don’t either, and I’ve seen the way they deal with things they don’t understand. A few weeks ago, one of the older girls got a nose piercing and the grownups kept her in a prayer circle for three days. They didn’t even let her eat. Mama said fasting cleanses the soul. Do I need my soul cleansed? 

Thursday, September 30th

Day three without sleep. I can’t talk to anyone about this except you, journal. What if they think I’m crazy? What if I am crazy? I miss Junior. I feel so alone here. I’ve started going to sit in his room to read his comic books to feel better. He is always working on little contraptions that he learns about online. He has an old slingshot that he made out of some branches and a piece of rubber. I remember he chased me everywhere with it for weeks until Mama made him stop. 

I was digging through his closet to find the next X-men issue when I found a little package wrapped in cloth, tucked underneath a stack of comics. I unwrapped it to find a bird’s talon with strange symbols carved into it. He’s coming back tomorrow; I have to talk to him about this. 

 Friday, October 1st

I confronted Junior today before Mama came back from work. I asked him why he has been avoiding me and where he got the talon in his room. His eyes went wide when I mentioned the talon and he got very angry. He started yelling at me about privacy and then broke down in tears, saying he was sorry.

I couldn’t get him to tell me what he was sorry for but he kept saying it over and over. He covered his face with his little hands and wouldn’t stop crying. I slapped him. I’d never hit him before, but it was the only way I could think to get him to calm down. 

He said some of the older boys gave it to him at school and told him it would give him powers, like the X-men. He gave them his lunch money for it. They told him if he hid it in his room, he would be able to fly. 

I felt sick when he told me, and had a coughing fit. I threw up more feathers right there on his bedroom floor. We cleaned them up and I threw the talon away in the trash outside. I’m exhausted, and still terrified to sleep. 

Saturday, October 2nd

There are feathers growing out of my arms and legs. I have hidden them as best I can by wearing long sleeves despite the Accra heat, but I don’t know how long I can keep this secret. My fingernails are darkening and have grown a lot. It’s a bit more difficult to write. I find myself staring hungrily at the sparrows outside and losing track of time. Mama is at one of her jobs, and I’ve shut myself in my room, under the blankets to block out the sunlight which has started to hurt my eyes. 

Junior can’t stop crying. I can hear him now in the room next door. I am starving but I can’t get myself to eat anything at home. The sun will set soon so I’ll go outside to get some air. I can’t stay in my room forever. 

Friday October 8th

My sister has been missing for a week. I found her journal in her room the day after she left. When I read about how much she suffered, I felt horrible because I know it was my fault. I should never have bought the talon. This journal and I are the only ones who know the truth, and I think she was right; I can’t tell Mama.  Her prayer circle is outside, speaking their funny language to bring her back. I don’t think that will work, but a part of me hopes it does. 

I made a mousetrap with a bottle and a coathanger and have been leaving mice on her window sill every night. I usually fall asleep long before morning, but last night I managed to stay awake and saw a huge gray owl swoop down and snatch it. I like to believe that Afia is coming to visit, but I don’t think I will ever know. 

This short story was published in the June 2022 edition of the Journal of The Writers Project of Ghana. Please click here to view.

Dust

Dust is a speculative fiction short story that imagines Ghana in 2050 during a Harmattan season that never ended. The story received 3rd prize in the University of Ghana Africa@2050 Climate Fiction Competition. It was published in Omenana, an African speculative fiction magazine.

Alpha Smart Assistant online. The date is July 15, 2049. The location is Badu, Brong Ahafo Region, Ghana. Interview with Paa Kwesi Owusu, 80, is about to start. Please get ready to begin. Start recording in 3, 2, 1…

Good morning Mr. Owusu, thanks for having me in your home.

You are welcome. I don’t get many visitors.

Your place was a bit hard to find, it’s pretty far off the main road.

I value my privacy.

Right…well I appreciate you agreeing to talk to me. As I mentioned on the phone, I just want to ask you a few questions about your life growing up.

Alright. Go ahead.

Okay. Yes. Let’s start with your childhood. What was that like?

I grew up here in Badu in the 1970’s just a few minutes that way. It was an even smaller town than it is now. My parents were farmers just like all our neighbours and we mostly grew yam. As children, my brother and I spent most of our time either doing chores or playing outside. We weren’t that different from the other kids in the area.

And the weather? Seasons came and went?

They did, yes. We were used to Harmattan winds covering everything in dust from about late November to early March. There were only a few small houses in this area at the time so we knew all the other neighbourhood children. We all dreaded Harmattan because there were always so many chores. Once, my mother made us clean all the leaves in the garden because she didn’t like seeing them brown. Of course, by the time we got to the end of the bushes, the beginning was dirty again. It was exhausting, but I suppose I don’t need to tell you that.

That’s okay, please keep going.

Right. Rains would come in April and be pretty predictable until November. Then it would all begin again. We always looked forward to those months because we could play a whole new set of games. Avoiding puddles and things like that.

A lot has changed in 80 years.

And a lot has stayed the same.

[loud beeping noise]

Excuse me, I need to change the filters on my recycle tank.

Let me help you with that. You keep sitting, I can change it while we talk.

Fine.Thank you.

So… When did you start working as a community organizer?

[chuckles] In some ways I was one my whole life. My parents didn’t have much, but our farm was fruitful so we had more than some others. They always taught me to share as much as I could with those around me. I remember asking my mother if we could start packaging meals for some of my friends as a child, and I kept doing that into adulthood for other members of the community. There were already farmer collectives around and they sometimes organized community feeding programs. They also provided food for festivals and events. When there came a time for new leadership they reached out to me. This was around the early 2020’s.

When the Dust began.

Yes.

What was it like in the beginning?

Anyone you ask will give you a different date for when it truly started. For me, there was a Monday in May ‘24, when my brother was sitting where you are now, in tears. The Harmattan still hadn’t ended, and the crops he planted were all dying in the ground. The rains were so late. I assured him that they would be back, as I had done for months. After he left, I remember looking around this room and feeling the weight of the dust. I noticed how dry my throat was and the itch in my eye became oppressive all of a sudden. That was the first time I wasn’t sure that the Harmattan would end. For me it started that day.

That must have been scary. How did the people in your community react?

It was a difficult time. Everyone was confused. You have to understand that our town is in the Brong Ahafo region, which at the time was the nation’s breadbasket. Cultivating the land was a way of life that supported so many Ghanaians. People were desperate. At first the government stepped in with subsidies to support us but their money soon dried up. Then the international organizations came for a while and they forgot about us as well. We had to fend for ourselves. Many people did things that they were not proud of, but we survived.

What did people have to do to survive?

[silence]

Let’s take a break, young man. I’m tired.

Sure, no problem. Can I get you a hydropack?

No, they’re disgusting. Just go and open the window.

[Grunting noises]

You have to unlock the dust seal on the side there. The lever is under the orange flap on the left. The left. Yes there.

Oh yes, I see it, thank you. I haven’t seen one of these kinds of seals since I was a kid.  Airlock tech is really taking over in Accra.

The seal works well enough for me. It’s simple.

Same for this recycle tank. How old is it?

I’ve had it for many years. The water tastes a bit metallic but it’s better than that gel. At least it’s water.

Right. You don’t mind the dust blowing in through the open window?

There’s air blowing in as well isn’t there? It’s too stuffy in here.

[laughs] I guess I’ve gotten used to breathing through filters.

Hmm.

[silence]

Young man, let me ask you a question. Why are you here? I have been here my whole life, even after many others left, and no one has ever taken an interest. I didn’t believe you would actually come after we spoke on the phone, honestly. Why come all this way?

[clears throat] I guess I’m interested in what life was like before The Dust. There aren’t that many people around today who went through that transition as leaders in their communities, and who are still around to talk about it. The Dust is all I’ve ever known but I watch movies and read books about life before it started. Your world was full of rolling green hills and dense forests; you could pick fresh fruits off trees and water fell straight from the sky. It seems like such a magical time.

[scoffs] A magical time?

Yes. I have lived in Accra my whole life and have only seen rain twice. I can’t even imagine having it fall as much as it did back then.

You think because we had rain, our lives were good?

I… I don’t know. I suppose.

[silence]

What did you mean when you said a lot has stayed the same?

What?

Earlier I said that a lot has changed, and you said a lot has stayed the same. What did you mean?

Oh. People are still suffering. It looks different now, but let me not pretend that life was easy.  It was hard work, staying alive and taking care of the people around us. In the cities, you had more comfort, but here we have been exposed to the elements for a long time. There was panic for a while when the Dust began, but people got used to it eventually and are now surviving the best way they know how to. They wear masks and drink hydro packs and keep on living. It all looks the same to me.

[silence]

I’m sorry. I know that growing up in these times must be hard too.

It is.

At least you don’t have to deal with mosquitoes. Have you ever had malaria?

No, I haven’t.

Oh, it was horrible. You would feel too cold and too hot at the same time. Shaking and barely able to move. A pounding headache. Nausea.

That does sound horrible.

I once sat in front of a delicious bowl of light soup and cried for hours because I didn’t have any appetite. My body wanted it but my mouth was refusing.

[both laugh]

My whole family teased me about that for years. It was hard but we learned to live with it, as people do. The problems are different today but we keep trying to figure them out. We have learned how to conserve our water and plant crops differently. What else can we do? Of course, my heart breaks when I look around Badu today and see dry brown where there was once lush green. I dream about swimming in the river that used to flow just outside town. Now it’s just a ditch full of sand.

Not everyone decided to stay though, many people travelled as far as they could to search for new opportunities. Why did you stay?

Badu is my home. I worked my whole life to make it better and I did not want to leave it. It’s nowhere near what I remember growing up, but it’s here. We are back to fending for ourselves, but we are used to that. We aren’t going anywhere.

[Mr. Owusu coughs]

May I close that window?

Alright. Thank you.

Are you feeling okay, Mr. Owusu?

You can call me Papa K.

Papa K. How are you feeling, can we keep going?

I think I need to lie down. One day you will be an old man, and understand the meaning of that phrase.

Okay, I should start heading back then. Thank you…

I have some newspapers from the ‘20’s that you can look through while I rest. If you want.

Really? Oh, that would be incredible!

Just do it quietly.

Of course, Papa K. You won’t even know I’m here.

Alpha Smart Assistant has now ended the recording. If you wish for the recording to be stored to the public cloud as well as your private profile, please indicate by saying “store all”. If you are happy with the default settings, goodbye for now.

This short story was published in the December 2021 edition of Omenana. Please click here to view.

Daydreamer

Daydreamer follows a young Talibé boy in Dakar, as he chases a dream of turning into a hawk. If was published in Writer Space Africa.

Halim’s knees were bleeding again. He touched a finger to the scratches as an angry voice filled the air. A scrap metal merchant was picking up rusted aluminium rods off the ground and cursing at the top of his lungs.

“The stupid child wasn’t watching where he was going!”

Halim glared up at him but held his tongue. He hadn’t been looking where he was going. Even now as he glanced up at the merchant’s angry face, he could see the silhouettes of tens of hawks turning slow arcs in the Dakar sky behind him. Halim’s eyes followed one bird that had broken off from the group and was locked in an aerial dance with a crow.

“Are you listening to me? Talibés are ruining this city.”

The merchant had picked up one of his rods and was shaking it in the boy’s direction. Halim shot up and gave the merchant a wide grin before turning and sprinting down an alley. He was used to adults being angry at him. Sometimes it was because of his dirty clothes. Most of the time, it was because he was bumping into them while he craned his neck, looking up.

He didn’t want to go back to the Daara tonight to give his coins to Serigne Moussa. He didn’t want to sleep in the stuffy room with all the other boys, but what choice did he have? He had slept on the street enough to know all the dangers of being outside. Thieves and stray dogs were worse than the small room where twenty boys lay head to foot. Then again, Serigne Moussa wasn’t on the street. Halim hadn’t been pulled out in the middle of the night yet by the old man, but it was only a matter of time. Every night he went back could be the night he was chosen.

He would give anything to fly with the hawks and look down at Dakar from above for once. Every day at sunset, they filled the sky like silent sentinels of the city. The only thing they cared about was catching a mouse before they vanished to their nests on the roofs of the tallest buildings. Tonight would be different. He wouldn’t go back to the Daara, or find a street corner to sleep on. Tonight, he promised himself he would be a hawk.

Halim wandered the streets downtown, searching for a tower to climb, but any building that was tall enough had security guards who hurled abuse at him whenever he got too close. He almost snuck past one guard before he was caught and knocked on the head for his trouble. As the day wore on, Halim became resigned to the fact that he would have to take a chance on the Daara and hope that he would make it through the night without Serigne’s hungry eyes following him. He had reached the oldest section of the downtown area, with decrepit half-completed buildings scattered around like hollow stalagmites. He was about to give up his search when he saw it, the perfect building. It was a burned-out concrete slab that rose twelve stories, with the doors and windows boarded up. There were no guards in sight because there was nothing to guard. It would have to do. The Imam’s voice was floating through the city as people paused for Maghrib prayer.

Halim shot a furtive glance around to make sure no one was watching him, then darted to the side of the building to find a way in. He circled slowly and found a wall that had uneven cement blocks jutting out that could make a ladder up to a hole that never became a window.  He scrambled up, putting a few more scrapes on his legs. The sky had an orange tint as the sun began to set, and Halim peered in by the glow. Empty paint cans and water sachets were strewn around. From the smell, someone had used this place as a toilet at some point; or something had died inside.

Halim tumbled in and checked his pockets to make sure he still had his things. One matchbox with three matches inside and the last few bites of a lamb sandwich he had been nibbling on since morning. His stomach rumbled as he looked at the sandwich but he stuffed it back into his pockets and looked for a way up. He stepped through the room into the hallway and could see an elevator shaft, with thick cables that snaked up into darkness. He inspected it with apprehension and looked around for another way up. Further down the hall, a jagged cement staircase curved up out of sight.

The windowless stairwell had been built in the very centre of the building and was so dark that he climbed as much by feeling as by sight. Loose rubble and trash nipped at his feet, trying to trip him up. He stumbled a few times on his climb but went up the first five floors without issue. On the sixth, a feral cat hissed and darted into a room. It startled him and he almost fell back down, just catching himself. By the eighth floor, the rubble was grabbing at his ankles and cackling every time he tripped. He stopped to strike a match and get a better look at the path. His heart sank. The staircase ended there. Whoever owned the building must have run out of money before they could finish the stairs, and now they stood like a haunted cliff in the centre of this giant shell.

As he stood thinking about what to do next, the match burned down to his fingertips. He yelped and dropped it, watching it fall for a few floors before it vanished. He lit his second match and looked around the space. There was the elevator shaft, grinning at him. He sighed and stepped toward it for another look. If the hanging cables were strong enough to hold him, he could probably shuffle up with his feet on the walls. The thought of entering the elevator shaft sent shivers down his spine and he turned around, dejected. At the thought of heading back down, Serigne Moussa’s face filled his mind and he stepped up to the hanging cables. He cursed and reached in to grab a cable. A shower of dust rained down and he stepped back coughing, but it held. He mumbled a Fatiha and began to climb. After one floor, he felt confident.

Only three more to go.

By the tenth, his arms were starting to burn.

Two more.

At the eleventh, his whole body trembled from the effort and his foot slipped on the wall. He caught himself, chafing his hands on the wire, and made a final push up and out of the shaft before collapsing on the floor. He looked up at the rusty blue door that led to the roof and dragged himself up, hoping it wasn’t locked. It creaked open at his touch. The sky was filled with hawks. He had never been this close to them before, and at this height, he could see each one clearly in the last of the day’s light. A pair of them spun together in play, while another dove out of sight to catch something on the ground. They all floated on the wind, heads snapping back and forth in search of prey.

He heard the chirping of chicks nearby and crept slowly toward a dried-out water tank that was lying on its side. He saw a nest inside with three chicks, still blind. He took the sandwich from his pocket and crept toward them. He got as close as he dared and tossed the meat into the nest while he ate the last of the bread. The chirps grew louder as the chicks began pecking furiously at the gift. Your mother will help you with that when she comes back, he thought.

He walked over to the edge of the roof and looked down at the city for the first time. Taxis fought their way between cars and groups of men sat by the roadside, sipping on café touba. A sea of rooftops spread out before him, dotted with sheep that were being prepared for Eid. Everything seemed so distant.

He didn’t want to go back down. This rooftop would not solve his problems but he felt safer here than anywhere else he had been in a while. He stepped back from the edge as hawks began to land on the roof around him. He walked as quietly as he could back to the blue door and sat just inside it, watching them return home. He felt a pang in his chest as he watched the older hawks feed their young. They looked like real families. Halim leaned against the wall and watched the raptors until he drifted to sleep with a smile on his face and a tear in his eye.

This short story was published in the December 2021 edition of the WSA magazine. Please click here to download.