THE BEGINING AND THE END

As Zara sat in her cousin’s derelict, off-grid shack in the village, her thoughts spun like the dusty ceiling fan above. She had no job and was now a fugitive. Even her family kept their distance. The lawsuits against her were stacked like the heap of firewood in the Corner of the shack.

Regret felt like the bitter taste experienced during a bout of severe malaria.

She cursed the day she’d chosen that stupid Cochlear implant upgrade.

“I wish I had never gone for it.” But the deed was already done. She was the architect of her own doom.

The said Cochlear implant was the hottest black-market development. It promised absolute privacy in a country where privacy no longer existed. Especially since the government’s city-net scan rollout that tracked everyone’s thoughts and utterances no matter where you are.

The government had rolled out the “city-wide tracking net” last year in 2047 to track and apprehend criminals and kidnappers. Its main goal was to prevent criminal activity at the planning stage. To intercept discussions and plans of hoodlums even before they implemented their nefarious acts. At first, it was a welcome development, when people thought it was meant for tracking criminals alone. Little did they know that there was a hidden agenda. The “city-wide tracking net” tracked everyone’s thoughts and conversations. People were under surveillance 24/7.

The truth came out when numerous citizens were arrested for conversations they had in private, which the system flagged as criminal. It created fear and wariness in the country. Gone were the days of random conversations; everyone held their lips.

Trust Naija and their survival instinct; a small group of Yaba-based tech guys gathered to counter what they saw as an invasion of privacy. Spotting a market opportunity, they acted quickly as many people sought ways to protect their thoughts from the government, so they developed the "Cochlear Implant." The Cochlear implant was a rebellion disguised as convenience. A tap to the ear cloaked your thoughts and conversations from the city’s surveillance.

“Think it, spill it, stay safe.” was the tagline for the implant, and it became popular among the masses.

Zara dove into the tech, lured by its promises of full privacy. The 2047 “city-wide tracking net” rollout had her tense since day one. It axed her morning “tea”—gossip sessions where no one was safe. She could no longer talk with her connies or be the first to share juicy titbits of information the way she used to do at work and at home.

So she’d got the implant as soon as the manufacturers rolled out the first batch. Zara even pitched its adoption to her company. Due to the sensitive nature of their work, all companies tightened their confidentiality policies since the 2047 city-net rollout.

Zara’s recommendations were aimed at protecting her company’s ZAQ 4trade secret, which was in its developmental stage. A piece of technology that could revolutionize how people harness green energy. But the IT department balked at adopting the implant for employees. The fact that it was developed on the Black Market and unrecognized by the government was a strike against it. They could not trust it completely, and more so, the device was still in its early stages. No one knew its weak points. With IT balking, Zara decided to try it out herself as a lab rat to show it worked well. So she got the new Cochlear implant.

Her reasons weren’t mainly work-related; Zara had a habit, you see. She loved “tea,” as she fondly called it. Not the morning brew type, the gossipy, story-swapping type. All flavours were acceptable by here. Her sister warned her about the consequences, but she always brushed it off.

Every morning at 7 a.m., like clockwork, Zara would start a tea session with whoever she chose. What began as a harmless pastime soon became a fixation. She’d load her Sim and spend hours “teaing” (gossiping). Then she graduated to negative, degrading takedowns of family, coworkers, and even neighbors. Nobody escaped the tea.

Who botched shifts, a family member that didn't like to help. Even strangers who’d brushed her the wrong way. It even escalated to character assassination and the sharing of sensitive personal details of her subject and company secrets.

“Dele’s lazy, don’t bother giving him that job, o.”

Yemi’s shape is not natural, jare; probably BBL funded by her sugar daddy.”

“My company is developing a state-of-the-art ZAQ 4trade software that will surpass Microsoft, launching in six months. Don't say I didn't tell you”

“That Bose that you see pretending to be made...eh, she has mountains of loans!”

“Manny? He is jealous of you o, better keep him far from you.”

“I referred her to an employer, and she messed it up and spoiled my name.”

“ Mchew! That one that behaves like he’s on drugs. Fear these Lagos people.”

Day after day, she kept at it. While she had been careful a year ago, now she threw caution to the wind. The new Cochlear gave her impunity, so she felt safe and went on “teaing”.

Until one fateful day.

One morning, the Cochlear shield collapsed, and she did not know. Whether hacked by the government or an independent ghost hacker, millions of rants and conversations previously hidden by the YABA INC Cochlear implant went public.

Zara’s world imploded.

Her employer fired her and sued her for leaking company trade secrets. The government branded her and a bunch of others as criminals for sabotaging the country’s security initiative by using unapproved tech.

Her “tea” subjects caught wind of her conversations about them; they filed defamation suits against her, one after the other. She lost her friends. Even her family refused to talk to her because of the leak.

The “tea” she poured boiled over and scalded her.

Now, hiding from sky drones sent by the government to catch her, Zara sat on a ratty couch in the confines of a derelict off-grid shack, regretting her actions. She could not help but think of her sister’s warning:

“What you’re doing is not good, Zara. One day you’ll regret it.”

“Today is that day, ahhhh”, she thought. Tears dripped onto her blue jeans, “tam tam tam,” as she sat, holding her head in her hands. In a room that smelled like a dead rat.

THE END

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