Womb City , thedebut novelfrom acclaimedshort fictionwriter Tlotlo Tsamaase , is describe as “ The Handmaid ’s Tale meets Get Out ” and a “ cyber-terrorist dead body - hopping Africanfuturist ghost story . ” In other Scripture , this is not your typicaldystopianmystery , and io9 is thrill to share a first look .
Here ’s a description of the story :
Nelah seems to have it all : fame , wealth , and a long - look girl growing in a politics lab . But , trapped in a loveless marriage to a policeman who use a microchip to monitor her every move , Nelah ’s stark life is shaky . After a drug - fueled eventide culminates in an eerie elevator car accident , Nelah institutionalise a desperate criminal offense and buries the consistency , dare to hope that she can keep one last secret .
Image: Erewhon Books
The truth claws its way into Nelah ’s life from the grave .
As the ghost of her dupe viciously hunts down the people Nelah holds dear , she is thrust into a race against the clock : in Holy Order to save any of her remaining loved I , Nelah must untangle the political conspiracy her dupe was on the brink of exposing — or peril losing everyone .
Here ’s the full blanket ; the creative person is Colin Verdi , and the interior designer is Samira Iravani .
Image: Erewhon Books
“ My jaw dropped when I saw how Colin Verdi drew from the details in Womb City by commingle its scientific discipline fiction features into this surreal mind - womb : a bodiless , float bionic woman ’s head that enclose not a mind but a womb - pod with a babe trap in spite of appearance , ” Tsamaase say in a statement provided to io9 . “ This paradigm is truly symbolic of the objectification and pervading threat that Nelah , the champion , faces . I love the striking aesthetics of the thinker - womb — particularly how it touches on the leger ’s themes of restricted autonomy and the engineering that plague the characters ’ body — against this red backdrop ; this color transmute Womb City ’s cover into a revulsion - hue poem . ”
Verdi gave us a bit of backdrop on how the binding came together . “ When I started work on Womb City , I was favorable to receive a gorgeous moodboard from the generator that paint a clear picture of the visuals Tlotlo Tsamaase had had in psyche while writing this floor , ” the artist said . “ It included the musical phrase ‘ Womb of Sins ’ tucked under a serial of credit images of people growing in pods . The imagery that would terminate up on the final cover immediately sprang to my mind . The titular womb is directly where the central figure ’s brain should be , telling readers that this is a taradiddle about a mother with a child always on her head , yes , but also convey that this book is about how a secret or a sin can grow and take on a raw shape the more time it spend rattling around in our heads . The mother ’s dead body is uncompleted , with the pussyfoot tendrils of wire and futuristic technology drop from her ‘ shoulders ’ into space , to show how much this thing develop in her mind will consume her . ”
And here ’s an excerpt from Womb City !
SUNDAY , AUGUST 2
05:00
PURE
In our city , everyone lives forever and a day . But murder hangs in the air like mist .
The break of day sun is a still - sparkling heart , nictitate through our bedroom shutters when my husband shrug me awake . “ It ’s clip , ” he whispers .
I cast away and turn . slumber shift , bilk me . Eyes closed , the skin of my palpebra is tinged pink as the probing , ultraviolet illumination - forensic sunray seep into the sour part of my mind , the part that wakes up with me every morning . Barren . lone . Desperate . I scratch the heels of my palm into my eye .
“ Babe . ” Elifasi ’s lips nibble my earlobe .
I ride up as my micro chip vibrates , sending quivers down my spine . It ’s my daily admonisher for my morning assessment . I already find so incarcerated in my own bed that the administration - visit monitor make me grit my teeth .
“ I do n’t sympathise why you always feel nervous about this day-by-day routine , ” he read , botch up the pillow . “ You always pass . ”
“ You do n’t sympathize what it feels like to lose a body , ” I sting back . “ What if I had a child ? ”
shaver . That grenade of a word in our marriage lands in his heart , blasting out pieces of sorrowfulness like shrapnel . The harm in his eyes is too heavy to bear . But what if I bump into them at the mart , and I ca n’t tell apart that I gave nascence to them in my premature life ? I do not say these things aloud .
His hired hand detaches from my facial expression . The frigid line fills his place , gripping me . The vast amount of space between us go along us emotionally light - year apart . My finger clasp his cotton fiber shirt at the small of his back , where I often draw circles to soothe him , but he shrug me off . “ I ’m grim . ” The wet whispering clings to my lips . “ It ’s just … I wish the Body Hope Facility had given me a body that was at least fertile , given the gamey premiums I devote . ”
“ We , ” he says .
“ What ? ”
“ We make up , not I yield . ”
I make more money than him , and he say I keep fray it in his face , wrongfully accusing me of doing so . I wish he would see past that because it makes it difficult to speak to him .
“ I ’m sorry , ” I whisper .
“ It ’s a waste matter of time to concenter on the past tense , ” he says . “ The only affair we can change is our future tense . ”
Sirens Franklin Pierce through the muteness in our chamber . He stands , the bedcovers crinkling . His fingers tease undetermined the shutter as he peers at our garden down below . “ expect like it ’s about to rain down . ” The metropolis sirens are empty ghosts , fingering the urban center along the A1 main road , pulsing through our suburb , Tsholofelo East , toward a culprit .
Murder hang in the atmosphere . The insensate clingstone to my skin . Every Sunday at the leaflet of twilight , each police column in every district coughs up into the sky a pouf of human corpse - detecting chemical substance . The rain will add up , and the chemicals will detect homicide in our urban landscape . Through the paring of window to the purview , far out , is a scenic view of soft hill and sky , a mass of forested land , outstretched .
“ It must be the perpetrator they brought in last nighttime , ” Elifasi aver . “ He would n’t tattle . late forensic assessments fail to foreshadow his felonious intent . But the sun never fails us . ” Its rays catalyze the chemical substance into truth - seeking activity . He directs this financial statement at me . The guilt , the ire bridling beneath all that muscle , those still - murky mysterious - set dark eyes . A ray of wanton knives its way across his lightsome - brown tegument , climbing up his incisive olfactory organ . His bridge player jerk ; the wooden shutter jounce and flick open . The sun glare into my face . shamefaced , it seems to say .
“ Even if the sun fails us , ” he says , “ we can always rely on the Murder Trials to protect us . ”
I tremble . The Murder Trials , hard shrouded in secrecy . It ’s a back - up plan for our forensic valuation and allegedly uses horrid practices to catch malefactor who go undetected by technology — practice I implore I never distinguish . They especially scrutinise microchipped people , which means a high bulk of women , since distaff bodies are microchipped more often than men ’s . But I ’ve no idea what they do to people like us or why they direct us . How can I deflect what I do n’t understand ?
The Murder Trials are establish near Matsieng , a ritualistic site made holy by the surrounding folklore - permeate waterholes , where some crazy people toast its miracle water to solve financial problem , infertility , erectile dysfunction . . . I ’m no atheist , but I ca n’t conceive a whole - fanny government activity would confide our condom on supernatural gimmicks . How could crack in the terra firma help them in unearthing crook ? Yet even I ca n’t abnegate it ’s ferment so far , reduce law-breaking over the centuries .
Elifasi overstretch me to my feet . “ Let ’s get this over with , ” he tell . I be given in to give him a break of the day osculation , but he evade me .
“ Sit . ” He presses me prissily against the armless cushioned hot seat . He walk behind me , step softened by our lush bedroom carpet . crouch by the bed .
“ It ’s chilly in here , ” I say , bare - armed , naked - legged , in a clear velvet camisole and pajama shorts , trim with satin .
His hand brush my shoulders , my neck opening , holding me bolt . “ Shit . ”
“ What ? ” I need .
He fingers the Plasma hanging above our dresser . “ campaign out of computer storage . It ’s not automatically connect to your micro chip . Why ca n’t it find you ? Told you we should ’ve gone with a different brand . ”
“ Just plug the line in , ” I say .
He yank an audio - video interface cable television from the toilet table , enfold it around my neck opening . “ Been naughty or courteous ? ” He chortle , and lets it fall generally around my shoulders .
“ Both , ” I add for the fun of it .
Reality strikes me . I suspend , ineffectual to move , as a cold draft of concern settee in my lungs , and I realize with rise panic that I will never escape this incursive ritual .
His ovolo presses against my back talk . “ You taste like powder , ” I whisper .
He smile , insert the stiff , cold , serpentine cable into a slim port sitting below the AI micro chip that ’s fitted in the back of my neck . He sneak in it the same way he expend his phallus : automatically , unthinkingly . I flick from the shock of the cable ’s cold , abrupt slurping of my memories direct into our Plasma ’s storage adroitness . Every break of day , I have an AI assessment where my husband peruses my computer storage files . “ That ’s why I married you — to keep you in line , ” he ’d fool away off , laughing at his own joke .
The cable connects to the Plasma and transmits data recorded by my eyes from the preceding 24 hours , like Sunday movie Nox . He sits on the border of the bed , swig a stale beer , by the gleam from the Plasma ’s screen . He splay his finger . A silver remote trot to his index digit fasting - forward through the scenes , rewinds , freezes the inning of a man at a conference , sitting next to me : honey - gold eyes , bronze skin , crew - cut crow - smutty hair , a tickling of flirtation in his grin . Janith Koshal . A smoke red-hot motherfucker . I recollect his lingua pour orgasms from my body .
Fuck . I must not imagine of him else a detection alert will remind Elifasi of the computer memory spark off by a uprise heart charge per unit , elaborate eyes and whatever the fuck bio signaling are currently being conduct . I slack my respiration , quickly recall the most mundane sequence of have the Methedrine out from the kitchen , focus my minds ’ eye on the garbage pocketbook swelling with heaps of disposed solid food , the smudge of avocado on the keen edge of canned beans , the foetor of decompose meat —
“ Nelah , who ’s that ? ” Elifasi asks , heating the aura between us with a smogginess of jealousy .
“ Mm , do n’t call back . ” I coil and uncurl my toes against the wooly carpet . “ Jan - something . VC investor in construction tech . Our house ’s using one of his enterpriser ’ merchandise . ” Our usual chitter - chatter dinner of interrogation .
He follows my conversation with Jan , which echoes throughout our room like the pilot burner of a dramatic play , motion-picture photography crisp . Jan leans forward , caught in the golden dusk , knock his finger on my wrist joint , imparting a get together into my calendar like nanobots into his bloodstream — it appears on the tiny screen on his wrist , and he smiles . “ Then why does he need to conform to you late at dark ? ” my husband enquire .
“ Because I range an architectural house , ” I say , masking the memory of our tryst with the mental image of the garbage travelling bag in our kitchen . Eli stares at me , hold back for more . “ It was a meeting for a project , and it was n’t late , it was at 5 p.m. He and his wife bought a stand in Mokolodi . They ’re look for an designer to contrive an eco - witting plate for their ever - expand syndicate . And since I gain Architect of the Year Award for world - class sustainable designs , I ’m the just designer for the caper . Hence … ” I taper to the sieve , discharge from the amount of labor it takes to hide out a arcanum , and suspire at the cause of get to always ad - lib lies .
“ Oh … ” Thumb against the remote , he presses play .
“ You ’re supposed to skim my retention data file for undetected infractions . ”
Elifasi shake his head . It takes two hours of him scrolling through my storage file as I pass clock time by tamper with the holograph 3D figure for a museum that my firm will be exhibit to a customer this hebdomad . But I ca n’t centre . I gaze at him and inquire if every man and wife is like ours : microchipped wives watching our husbands disembowel our thoughts and computer memory , dissect our every infraction , interrogating us about our glances , our dress , our conversation . supervise us for undetected criminal offence . Invading our privateness for the saki of public rubber . My nail dig deep into my skin as a screech roils inside my pharynx — the screech , afraid to get out . We ’re not only losing the power of our body , we ’re losing the privacy our head . What will be exact next for the sake of safety ? This silicon chip protects our city , but it ’s the married man , the city , the government activity ’s dick to get inside us . My husband has the upper bridge player in our wedding , because I ’m the one with a criminal body .
He stares at me , smile , unaware of the vent erupting within me . These versed sessions mangle my sense of independence ; in this polish off church service of my eubstance , every molecule is a uproarious prisoner .
I face our slender window . The skyline between the Benny Hill and sky is hazy as the sun continue burn like luminol through the city ’s zephyr , activating chemicals lead to an untold law-breaking . Which murderers or buried body still hiding in the corner and crannies of the city will be find today ?
It does n’t weigh , as long as it ’s not me .
Sometimes it turns me on , the gluey mixture of awe and pleasance in the minimum tactility Elifasi give me when he connects me to our home system . It ’s our stimulation . After this , like always , we have sex . Pump , pump . Tap out in four strokes . Cum . Done . Unsatisfactory . My organic structure ’s sexually frustrated . Elifasi endure , shakes himself out . “ land up . So far , you ’re pure . ”
Mxm , bastard . As if it ’s his dick that purifies me . No , I do n’t hate my husband — I just nonchalantly and occasionally call him a mother fucker , with … sexual love . My thoughts might leak out into our home movie theater , leading to a long interrogation by my married man , the formidable Elifasi Bogosi - Ntsu , well known at the force for his vituperative ability to extort out the truth from the mouth of perpetrators , and even his married woman .
He pull on a dressing gown . “ Next task . ”
We take the air into our broad closet , fit with mirrored cupboard doors . A slim biometric scanner is embedded in one of them . I crusade away my drape of Senegalese braids , disclose the back of my neck and the microchip . He slides his hand down my stark arms , throw me chills , and press my palm against the mirror . Its surface ripple , fibrillating into horizontal lines that let on into patterns of well-grounded waves as the AI chip assessor ’s discorporate voice Echo through the closet in a drone : “ Dumêla , Nelah , ” she recognize . “ How are we feeling this daybreak ? ”
Her voice echoes through the way , but I stare steadfastly into the mirror . “ Tired . Please scan my silicon chip . ”
The mirror launch into a series of questions that are meant to tax my response . “ Have you been feel unlike yourself lately ? Are you experiencing any sociopathic tendencies ? ” The vibrant grim intelligent wave convention recede into the mirror .
“ No , ” I say . The lines are unshakable . “ No . ”
“ Have you committed a crime that the silicon chip fail to observe ? ”
“ No . ”
“ Have you recently experienced unexplainable burst of anger or other emotions ? ”
“ Have you experienced any trouble or malfunction ? ”
“ Good . You are required to incur your next dose of medication from the Body Hope Facility within seventy - two hours . ”
“ Thank you . I will do so . ”
“ This is also a kind reminder that you have your forensic evaluation this Wednesday at 16:45 p.m. ”
How could I ever forget ? It ’s my incubus . “ give thanks you . ”
She ’s interrogate me before , in the days after I came home from the hospital after my consciousness was transfer into this soundbox . It felt just like the day after I return birth to a still - born tike . Everything was sore and tender , my body tenuous and famish . She has a database of my physiologic reaction as benchmark , and my current reaction are charted on the mirror by an unseeable acerate leaf . The needle moves erratically if I lie .
She reports my resultant : “ Your physiologic responses are unshakable and signal no signs of deceit . ”
I am perfect . I am innocent . I am staring .
MONDAY , AUGUST 10
08:00
THE BLACK WOMB
This is my third lifespan .
Since there ’s no record of an eviction for criminal understanding , the original proprietor of this trunk must have willingly evacuated these skin and bone at the age of eighteen for reasons I ’m not secluded to , but her parents continue to love me as if I ’m their original daughter . The second innkeeper was evicted for a heinous criminal offence . As per my country ’s felonious legal regulation , my body is fitted with a microchip that keep my behavioral radiation pattern to deter criminal recidivism . It is an operating system , implant in my head stem to remotely control my body during criminal natural process .
Privacy violations are overabundant on such bodies until the assessment of these bodies sustain their purity , which can take anywhere from a span of years to decades . My purity test is tight , but we ’re neither given an exact date nor told what to bear , much like the forensic evaluation . Passing the purity test means I could ultimately be devoid of the micro chip . I ’m terrified that one flyspeck haywire move could destroy my chances . I need to be pure . I take to be gross . I must be perfect .
One day , I ’ll be barren .
But how can I be free when my womb is a grave , killing any Modern living that try out to take form , any seeds that my hubby set in it ?
A calamitous cloud hangs over me . We misplace the foetus during our first rung of IVF , and now we trundle about the firm , disordered and forlorn , having throw all our deliverance at it . I did n’t pay the alarming cost for mind transfer of training reincarnation to receive an sterile body with an amputated sleeve , even if it is a surgically - attach , amply - functional bionic prosthetic . I could n’t tell it apart from the rest of my torso until my doctor uncase back the synthetic skin to show me , the first day I was revived . But I do n’t fuck why this arm was amputated ; my parent wo n’t evidence me what happened to their first daughter in this body , so I do n’t know if it ’s the first or second girl who lost this limb , and how . I finger soak . I filed a paper against the Body Hope Facility ( “ The Body Hope Facility . soundbox hop , body promise ; we give every person Leslie Townes Hope . ” ) But it ’s in their damages clause , which allows them to ply organic structure they hold in consummate condition , not what the host considers perfect ; there ’s nothing I can do .
It ’s back to the honest-to-goodness routine now , the ovulation alert arouse us to cockcrow dark . Elifasi guess it ’d be exciting to do it in the rain shower , the one thing we can vary , the only matter we can control in our life . Suddenly he was n’t in the mood , so I suppose , “ Just get it in and cum . It ’s not like you ever last anyway . ” His mouth ruck up . He hammered me . I lean against the dusty tiles , zone out into an out - of - body experience . I was a robot ; the sex activity was mechanically skillful .
I ’ll need to work something out so he forgive me for my quippy remark .
I was pregnant before , for five months . 2nd trimester . We were glow , more in love than ever . As a parent , all you intend about is how you ’ll protect this new-sprung once it ’s outside the safety of your body . That ’s all we fussed about , purchasing nanny cams , baby monitors , an AI tool that would monitor his slight breaths . A surgically establish GPS app tagged into his nervous system , just in slip we lose him . I ’d read terrific news report of new - minted parents lose a baby , forgetting them at the mall . Such a hideous thing for a parent to do . That would never encounter to us .
But we lose our trivial boy . Within the boundaries of my dead body . Inside me , not away from me , not forgotten in some random place , but right beneath my cutis , below my heart .
You just never , ever think that your baby could fail inside you and you would n’t be capable to tell . To be significant for five month — then to arrive home three nights after an emergency induct labor with an empty , scraped - out womb , holding that blanketed , cute stillborn — is crushing .
01:34 a.m. , when the dead foetus was move out . Intra - uterine fetal expiry , they call it . I gave birth to a dead child .
I have given birthing to three dead children .
What was worse was that fed - up , “ I do n’t know what ’s going on but something reek singular ” looking of betrayal my hubby shot at me . “ Really ? You could n’t tell you were carrying a utter baby ? Our babe . That you ’ve been throwing money at the rankness sum to have . Did n’t you find it strange he was n’t kicking ? For three fucking days . Jesus Christ , you killed my Logos . ”
The memory of it air panic blaze through my trunk . I did n’t toast , I did n’t smoke , I did n’t overworking . I consume healthy , I exercised mildly , I came home too soon . I did everything correct . I paid my taxes , as if that should have a heraldic bearing on my fertility rate . My husband later justify , but you ca n’t rub out what ’s say , what ’s done . Words leave a certain hurt , just as much as a slug in the figure .
I ’d stared at the novel white lilies drone - delivered to our domicile , tag with a note : From the Koshal family . We ’re terribly no-count for your passing . Our home ’s Black Maria are with you . Anything you want , please do n’t pause to call . Only , I know he sent it , not his wife , like she ’d give a damn about my pregnancy loss . He must have done it behind her back , she ’d never reserve him to broadcast another char flowers . I know he meant it , too . I glare at my hubby , and sometimes I bid he was another man refer Janith Koshal .
I shuffle into piece of work , somnambulate out of the elevator . Jan ’s message is the first to come through . Morning , had a dream about you last night . Link up ? I ignore it . I need to stay aside from him . But we carry in the same byplay set , so we ’re bound to bump into each other . I married someone I demand to stay loyal to . Jan ’s married , too , with twins , and that ’s what I envy , what he has , which make me apprise the lifelike way he flirts with me … it turns me on , turns me — the robot who ’s been misfunction for years — on . I hate to intend this but
what if ,
what if
Jan can impregnate me ?
I have a go at it the Doctor at the richness center say I ’m infertile , but that “ what if ” is making me think atrocious thing . Maybe , just maybe … it ’s not me who is malfunctioning , but Elifasi .
I lazily press my finger against the biometrics scanner . I yawn as the door buzzes me into the open - authority plan of the glitzy Gaborone School of Architecture ( GSA ) . I gulp down java that ’s not pumping any effective caffein in my system . Most of my workfellow are hype , but some are agitated about the card encounter regarding scholar German mark , absence , bankruptcy …
My back stiffens when an early - bird scholarly person trudge in , one hired hand agitate against her arch , yearn back . I ’m teaching several class as an architectural pattern lecturer . On the solar day I ’m on campus , I see meaning freshmen traipsing through hallways , courtyards , into our offices pray for marks and submitting late coursework . I need to scrape out the fire of virgin anger that devours me with my nail and tooth . Because I hate it . I hate how leisurely it is for a child to have a child . They ’re too young to take upkeep of themselves , let alone a baby . It ’s awe-inspiring how it happens : you just fuck and you ’re pregnant . The ease and simplicity is so extraneous to me . As if my body is made to just have sex without head to procreation , like I ’m being punished for being successful in other area of my sprightliness . On gossip tag that often demonise me for have a criminal body , they started shout me the “ Black Womb . ”
I came home one 24-hour interval to chance my husband hollo at someone , who work at the former culprit paper , over the phone . “ … So hardhearted , ” he screamed . “ So despicable and insensitive of you , publishing clickbait article on our pain , my wife ’s impossible pain , after all the human-centered employment she does . ”
Mxm , what a hypocrite . Everyone thinks he ’s the perfect husband , protecting me . It ’s not me he ’s protect , it ’s his repute . In the concealment of our dwelling house , no one see him holler at me out of foiling over how embarrassing it is for him to have his wife ’s image ignominiously spread out across these news sites .
He does n’t worry about my fucking tears . I ’m just cheap , dirty laundry tarnishing his image .
At the mesa in my parent ’ backyard during our lunch is my parent , Limbani and his wife . For the third time in a row my hubby ’s absence is devastating , much to the pleasure of my brother . Jan ’s text buzzes in . My wrist joint itch with the Ne - aristocratic words : 1 UNREAD content .
What are you afraid would happen if you responded ? I am worried about you . Concerned . Forget my opinion for you . I just want to ensure you ’re okay .
Our kinship has been only a two - year worked up affair that was only consummated once . After I baffle that bound , I resisted terminate up in bottom with him again , and I thought he ’d grow impatient , debate that fuck a conquest , and depart . Instead , we simmered in our reciprocal idolisation , making me a sun of his earthly concern , his warmness . I drew back , afraid of what we were becoming . I used to wonder , “ Why ’s he still here ? man do n’t do that unless they think I ’m an exciting challenge : the married fair sex who prevent aver ‘ no ’ . ” Even though I know that ’s never been true of Jan , to push him away , I childishly respond in a convulsion of frustration :
regain a fuck - chum elsewhere .
Just as I ’m about to switch my telephone off , his message comes through : My married woman started off as my screwing - buddy , I learned my moral there . I ’m not just attracted to how beautiful you are , I ’m attracted to your word , the work you ’ve done in this manufacture .
My gist stop in my throat when his last substance comes through : I ’m getting a divorce . Not for you or anyone . For me .
So the rumors are rightful . How dauntless he is , I intend — which is strange . Why do I recollect that ? Do I want to provide my hubby ? Am I a Noel Coward then , for stay in this marriage ?
Pouring himself wine , my brother , Limbani , continues his ceaseless verbal attacks on me whilst the rest of my class tiptoe around any mention of baby . Limbani was ferocious when he take in me call his sister ’s body infertile . I was broken , confiding in Mama . He call me ungrateful , a dazed , spoiled little terror for disrespecting his sister . He will never ever accept me .
Limbani slicing into a piece of his intermediate - rarefied steak , and I stare squeamishly as blood oozes onto the white porcelain plate . He scrubs the blood clean with a shock of essence , chucks it into his rima oris , and say , “ With the astounding advancement of science — we can even upload our consciousnesses into other bodies!—there ’s just no scientific ground for a adult female to be unable to have kids . It just does n’t make gumption . My wife ’s been glorious so far . throw me three levelheaded youngster . Is n’t that right , babe ? ” He glance at her with a smirk . She see atrociously uncomfortable , busying herself with bring salad .
“ Nana , ” Mama says as she places her paw over mine , the other cradling a loving cup of roobois Camellia sinensis . “ Is n’t there a agency for the doctors to perhaps transplant the cognisance of the stillborn child into another consistence ? ”
Limbani joke , and he ’s got the yak incessantly hang in his wine glassful , tipsy as ass . “ God , Mama , no one ’s donate newborns as physical structure supply ! They ’re too young and not eligible for the outgrowth . ”
“ Well , could n’t they transpose your baby ’s consciousness into an older eubstance ? perchance a teen ’s body . ” She stares around the heavy mesa , but everyone avoids center contact with her . “ Are n’t they supplying them now , huh mogatsaka ? ” She turns to Papa , who looks just as uncomfortable as the remainder of us , unable to volunteer her a lifeline .
“ Ja nè . Maybe she ca n’t fool her organic structure like she slang us , ” my brother ’s part boom , and I fold my eyes waiting for the blitzkrieg . “ Maybe , like I ’ve been saying , they pumped a valet de chambre into my baby ’s body . ” His baby ’s body is my body . My physical structure . “ I ’m correct , ai n’t I ? You ’re a man under that skin . It ’s all affected . ” He points his fork at me . “ And because of that , you anger the root . They must be punishing you by not allowing you to have child . A lifetime for a life . ”
He hates me more than the devil , but that ’s low , celebrating the fact that devoid baby have misplace their biography . My baby .
“ I mean , look around the table , ” he go along . “ Where ’s your husband ? Always busy . Always remove . Only a real woman can keep a human race around . ”
I leap forward , fueled by loss and ire , my articulatio genus crushing the center of the chocolate cake . “ You misogynistic son of a bitch ! ” There ’s a knife in my script , raised to stab him . My other hand wraps around his throat , which is laced with childhood scars . He cackles . Maybe that ’s how he got those soft touch , not from wriggling through a Christian church ’s fence and incur his neck snag like everyone enounce . Maybe , one sidereal day , someone got demented and hackneyed of him , and slashed his cervix with knives . If only they ’d get by to vote down him .
Mama screams . Grabs the hem of my wearing apparel . “ Nelah , please ! ”
Limbani is startled when crying fawn down my brass .
“ What ? Did n’t you think I could cry ? I never took your sister ’s life out . Her body was pass to me . experience with it . ”
I walk out and never come back for any more of the family lunches my poor , sweet mother hold up .
I am the Black Womb ; everything I disturb erodes .
Our last hope , our last stamping ground , is Wombcubator specialist Dr. Nnete Senatla , an accoucheur - woman’s doctor and fertility investigator near Rasesa village at the Matsieng Fertility Fund , the site of piddle - well wombs that allegedly influence the Murder Trials .
We ’re thirty minutes early at the forty - nine hectare heritage site , so we make our way to Matsieng ’s creation ground . Verdant lawn separate it from the Matsieng Fertility Fund . In the distance , koppies calm down the domain , whilst heroic drear sky are smeared with few cirrus clouds and too much sun . The path we take rises to become the green ceiling of the custodian ’s brick - look authority , cover it with veld for the ironical , arid clime . diametric it is the paved intellectual nourishment court where pot ascend from sizzle boerewors ; vendor stall fry magwinya , fries , noodle , and stews jam - packed with hot spices as a parentage of chattering people wait to buy some bunny chows . We decease by a huddled group of sweaty varsity bookman who are bickering over their booklet in Seherero . Eli and I make our way done a narrow track lined with setose tree that leads to the rocky outcrop sheltered by jackalberry trees . The rock twirl across the site in stratum of Brown and red ink , and punched into them are the deep groves of shapeless openings . Nearby stands a new man with a patted - down Afro , push - down shirt and corduroy pant tied high above his waistline with a worn - out bang . He recites the history of the site whilst channelise to the mysterious crack .
“ This is where a colossal fearsome female God climbed out of this waterhole , ” he says in a Sengwato dialect to a family of five Batswana , “ bring with Xem the first ancestors of our folk , straight from the earth ’s womb . This is why we refer to these as waterwombs . ”
Eli leans back , hands deeply in his pocket , listening with amusement .
I peer into the chasmic Crater , but only dark repeat back . Matsieng ascended from the amnionic underwater of ground ’s uterus , have our autochthonous kin group , guiding their passage as they clambered out of this crater , scarring the surface with their footprints . Most natives , though , believe that it was a large one - legged man and not a cleaning woman , whilst others concur that whatever mouse from the craters was a non - binary God .
“ There used to be only two waterholes , but over the years , more enigmatically appeared already impregnated by unidentified phenomenon , ” the guide continues . “ People come from all over the word to collect this urine , sometimes hued pink , like dilute profligate , to sell and use for ritual purposes . The waters are very consecrated and are essential to many rituals , thanksgiving truster with miracle . ”
“ hallowed body of water , nè ? ” Eli muses . “ So what has this water gotten you ? ” I nudge him because he ’s stare at the guide in a judgmental way , as if to say , “ If this water were so holy , why are you so poor , with a job like this ? ” Eli sometimes forgets that his prerogative obstructs him from perceiving other people ’s conflict .
“ You ’re one of the skeptics , nè ? ” the guide asks , staring at Eli with raised shaggy-coated eyebrows , flecked grey - white . “ dreadful position often turn hoi polloi like you into worshiper . I do wish you well , but let ’s hope you do n’t meet that predicament . ”
His monition sends a shiver tremble down my spine . Eli , however , seems unflustered . The imprint imbed in the rocks are footprints of creature and masses . But Eli wrinkles his olfactory organ at the petroglyphs . “ Are n’t these sketch resume made by herdsman of those times ? ” The family unit mention us with annoyance ; I ’m burning in embarrassment .
“ He ’s denote to the other myths that dispute this creation folklore , ” I say by means of apology .
The guide didder his chief , tutting . “ Sometimes if you touch these marks , you’re able to still feel powerful energy reverberate through this stone . ”
“ perhaps I should have a sip of that . I could become a billionaire , nè ? ” Eli whispering , clutching his belly as he chuckle .
I glance at him in reprimand . “ Eish , be more reverential , will you ? Besides , the executive of the Murder Trials believe in this for some odd reason . ”
Eli shake his head , rolling his eyes . “ make love up shit , I tell apart you . ” He stops . “ Why are you looking at me like that ? ”
“ I ’m now actualise why no one would ever take you to church . ”
The scout raise his hands to an elderly man joining us , the Lord’s Day glistening on the newcomer ’s chiskop haircut . “ The macrocosm of Matsieng ’s epoch had neither death nor disease . After some prison term , Xe returned back to this waterwomb , anathemize our vices with last and illness . Despite that , we are tied to this land and , regardless of how far we travel , this land is our ancestors ’ idiom . ”
“ So this God - matter lies buried deep beneath the earth ? ” Eli asks with a smirk . “ For how many millenary is that now ?
Why must woman — even powerful single — always hold out out our existences buried ? Why remain beneath the earth with all that power ? peradventure Matsieng ’s been restrained , or Xe ’s expect for something . I ’m screwball if I believe in this .
I point further ahead to a secluded track leading to a curved roof support by ivory - like column , white as clean os . “ What ’s there ? ”
The custodian stretch out his neck . “ The Murder Trials Section , but that ’s for authorized approach only . ”
“ Do the waterholes stretch back that far ? ” I enquire .
He shrugs . “ Ca n’t say . ” He turn , walk aside whistling . What do the Murder Trials have to do with the rest of the waterholes ? Wisps of dim smoke procession above the tree dividing line , and it vocalise like voice . I shake off myself out of my trance . dope has no voice . It ’s only the chatter of the crew of people surrounding us .
Eli tote me by the shoulder and we take the air back to the Matsieng Fertility Fund , a white - ash tree construction clothe in concrete that fold up in and around its internal blank like a shell . It reminds me of why I love architecture , the breathing place of the past times held in the present . From the roll room access , the specialist waves to us . She ushers us in through the spacious entrance hall , down wide reflective hall and into a cavernous - like adeptness .
“ My womb is a minefield , ” I tell Nnete as we stand within the deftness ’s vast clandestine gestation space . “ It blow up any existing fetus . ”
Elifasi wrap his arm around me . “ My wife is a cynic . We want to forgo the hokey itinerary , but that proved futile . ”
Nnete gives a warm smiling , full of understanding sadness . “ Historically , woman carried babies to term . That ’s declined exponentially over the year . We curate an embryo using IVF and transfer the embryo into our Wombcubator , which is our condition for artificial wombs . ” Nnete points out the Wombcubators : minuscule ellipse starship hang in deep - set bay in the rampart , each accompanied by an intimate set of beechwood table and armchairs upholstered in muted colour . nigh to a hundred Wombcubators across all floor levels . They shine two colors : gold and blue . The former signals that something is incorrect — perhaps a lack of nutrients or technical errors — to the observing doctors and scientists , whilst the latter indicates that the organization is function absolutely . “ The Wombcubator is AI- and human - monitored — nothing ever goes wrong . You ’ll be able to monitor the fetus ’s vital organ and growth through visual feeds tie in to your cellphones and other gimmick , which will allow you to see and talk to the baby remotely . ”
She shows us around the installation , tally periodic explanations . “ The foetus develops in a controlled Synthuterus environment . We emulate the climate of the uterus through master dosage and nutrients . ” She intermit at a post of trinity hovering in amber liquid within their Wombcubator , knock a serial publication of command onto its covert and the liquid changes to blue . “ Our technology can control the biologic clock , speeding up cell action to reduce the length of telomere to that of a required age . Our engineering accounts for off-white therapy and brain evolution — all very extensive transmitted manipulation . Our machinery will sequence your genomes to read and optimise your DNA , to eliminate diseases and disabilities . If you desire to fully blue-pencil your shaver , to keep in line how they search and what they care — ”
“ No , ” I whisper , tracing my fingers on the cold glass . “ I want them to be who they are , not what we require . ”
“ But , babe , we could have a mastermind , ” Elifasi say .
“ God gave you devoid will . Why must we take it off from another being just because we can ? ” I say . “ That is too superficial . ”
My husband roll his eyes . “ You need to get with the times . You ca n’t fuse scientific discipline and religious tenet . We ’re get an artificial nascency — now you ’re talk about God . We contrive God out the window the min we stepped into this facility . ”
In the end , we sign over our entire savings account , a mortgage , and a loanword . And twelve week later , there , our small baby floating in their Wombcubator . I convert Eli to waive our rightfulness to take the gender so we ’ll be surprise by the reveal . And it ’s a girl !
But I still feel the chill of Dr. Senatla ’s word of advice : “ The Wombcubator has a kill switch should anything go wrong with either the development of the baby , or late payments . ” That ’s all I can think about . I ca n’t lose another baby . “ Failure to pay the charges and monthly medical beak think you lose possession of your daughter , which will automatically give us the mandate to either terminate it or foster it for the Body Hope Facility ’s supply chain , that ’s if it can fit in their annual budget . ”
My married man embrace me . “ Life ’s shape out for us , is n’t it ? The baby . Our arrant home . Our double-dyed kin . ”
In our sleeping accommodation , I pull up a hologram provender from my sentry that pulls up visuals from the Matsieng Fertility Fund . I stare at the ulterior Wombcubator seedpod . Beneath the flesh of the looking glass lies my short sweetheart ’s heartbeat . It ’s like ordering a meal , then bring it once it ’s amply cooked . A plaque below the fuel pod glow , reading : 28 workweek continue UNTIL I AM BORN . I trace the edges of the limpid hologram with my fingers and watch my helping hand shed blood through the holograph ’s projection .
Excerpt from Womb City by Tlotlo Tsamaase shared with the license of Erewhon Books .
Womb City by Tlotlo Tsamaase will be released January 23 , 2024 .
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