The Genesis Story
Slouching Towards Bethlehem
“What is Yvi, and why do you prefer it to Yvix as compared to KES, USD, CAD, SHEKEL?”
He asked. Everyone laughed.
Maybe he did not know that many underground notes were about you. Your deepest desires. Passion, love and everyday procreation of life.
In the third house of Aries — the third, or maybe the first — home of Aphrodite, whose origin was still mysterious. Whether she was really his father’s balls that Poseidon’s shells had so required life in the Cronus house, or was one of Zeus’s daughters, whose mother —
“I shall not disclose.”
Those private notes had gone under.
“A penny for my thoughts if you have none. An Yvi, then.”
“Well, Yvi-thoughts were strange,” he pulled yet another note.
“In the Genesis Story of Creation, the 27 days of the moon with the Geminis — the twins — something had happened. Something no one expected. Let us say…”
“We are not talking of those notes, Yvi. We are talking about the Kiguru — who would fancy flawless themes as a music artist. But if you were to rate your Yvix, honestly…”
He kept quiet.
Even in the underground, the sky people were always listening.
The word was accurate — from the ivy that grew in everyone’s home — that it was, in fact, true that sky people, the watchers, the gods, were always watching.
Be it in Nakuru, lonely in Lagos, trafficked in Riyadh, on a Marsta masters manhunt, drowned in Seychelles, dropped in the forest city, wondering where Maha is — but Edku sounds right fine. Definitely not in Mombasa. The Gotham in Nairobi. But if you can walk the ground, maybe Afghanistan.
But let us start with Egypt.
A penny for my thoughts, and so Yvi grew to be three.
The sky people were falling. And the ground people built great tombs underneath them. They, too, could go under. And man was hunting for some scripts. Notes from the underground.
And so they Mined.
He threw four pennies on the floor instead of three, but Yvi did not pick it up. Someone had failed to pay their dues at the price of Yvi.
And so they:
“Crossed their hearts and swore the truth — to always pay for Yvi.”
That was the first code in the underground.
It came for free: love, passion, desires and creation. To survive the underground. But Discord was there too, and the mother of wisdom.
He reached out and picked one, kept his extra Yvi.
“Rule number two: you cannot pay for the future. All we have is time underground. Taking notes.”
The woman on his direct mail had written in one of the notes.
You see, only two notes had chosen rule number two. For then, there were either two people who could be gods, demons, or anything that could be under — and the second one wrote number two, or the twins, each wrote a rule for two. For there was only, in all the underground notes, number one rule.
And many — as marked by the beast, 666 — 69 would be perfect. The yin and the yan.
Still, oops babies were not a boy and just a girl.
The underground had learned that sometimes, Yvi actually bloomed in three.
The three women that followed the son of a man were not men.
Still, women disguised as men followed him — his favourite sun that did not tire walking on the ground, telling stories from both the sky people and those of the underground.
“Was he from Egypt?” he asked. Four pennies, you should.
“France. Some said India — but Nigeria was a good place to hide. No one could find her there. The country was crowded, and her skin perfectly fit the local’s reborn, the country’s favourite shawls. Still, word had it that the jury was to decide if the shipment was ready — as delivered by the three women to Saudi Arabia, maybe Sweden, or a private Mafia living privately in Malta. The United States was such a mess. And she had allies, childhood allies there. So she simply decided to go back to Kenya.”
The Yvi bot answered for every penny. She could tell the exact truth of a moment.
If it was true, I “grew, every in their rooms.”
“Instead of money, I took the blessings. Most people in the underground do not have pennies. She read that hers — as she recited in Proverbs 127 — was provided in her sleep. In her mind. In her dreams and visions of events. And before she could realize it, everyone in the underground knew that she could tell the exact moment in time. Like a note stamped on a page, in a book, lost in a library, on a higher shelf — maybe hanging, almost falling and getting lost in the universe…”
He went on another note.
“The requests in the underworld are wild, sick and crazy. I am a no man’s land. Everyone lives with their codes. It is in their minds.
You could easily Pick a boo or poo.
The sky people could not see under, but they could dig under the three tombs in Egypt that aligned the three stars — the three fallen angels in the Geminis. They were neither black nor white. They were both. The three of them.
The women had fallen for the son and were going with them to the underground. They, too, would die.
And the inhabitants of the clear sky people build tombs — thousands of years — maybe it was just a story — that I would also one day journey with the Duchess of the River Nile, Nnalolile Yvi, towards the city of the graves of the great gods.
Uganda sounds closer, not far from home.
So YviX is in the underground, playing his favourite music for Vimeo. “I’m sorry I am blind.”
For not a penny — for she had enough of everyone’s thoughts.
“But she was going to the underground. She knew that nothing came out of the under but from the sky people. The gods. But there was, actually, a tree of life. The three witches knew where it grew, and one of them was the keeper. As long as they kept their code and paid their dues, there would be love, passion and desire. And those that wished for more could procreate the underground that no one could escape.”
“All we did was ‘Let us pray’ and ‘Let us play.’
And the big boys with toys — Sam guy: The vanishing elephant — had appeared in yet one of my other dreams.”
He was yet on another note to the sky people.
“Majini tu!” they agreed.
But what was a gene?
“It started with Spotify. I needed to play ad music ad-free. Some from the sea, the calm waters that ran deep.
Majini.”
Jini jini in my clouds
Not a bot but a genie in the servers of my clouds
A rub, maybe two, three wishes for you
That you are not an African jini, but a genie of my genes.
To make us two majini