Peme (Pidgin English)—to die
Pure Water—a sachet of drinkable water, often sold on the street
Sabi (Pidgin English)—to know or know how
Seke (Ghanaian Pidgin English)—craziness
Sha (Pidgin English)—a terminal intensifier that is similar to the exclamation “man” in American-English slang. It can mean “anyway” or “like that.”
Ting (Pidgin English)—thing
Una (Pidgin English)—you guys
Wahala (believed to be of Hausa origin)—trouble
Wetin (Pidgin English)—what
Winch (Pidgin English)—witch
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you, Lagos, Nigeria, for being Lagos, Nigeria. Two decades ago, I knew I’d write about you someday. And someday, you will be the greatest city in the world.
I’d like to thank Nigerian Pidgin English extraordinaire, Taofik Yusuf, for his help with the grittier Nigerian Pidgin English sections of the novel and insisting that I change the title of this book from Lagos to Lagoon. Thanks to Nollywood director and friend Tchidi Chikere for his meticulous help with the Pidgin English sections, as well. Thanks to my ambitious UK editor, Anne Perry, for convincing me to keep these Pidgin English sections as I originally intended them, as opposed to toning them down. Thanks to Beegeagle for all his firsthand information on the Nigerian military. Thanks to the Ethiopian-American rapper and visionary Gabriel Teodros and New Orleans artist Soraya Jean-Louis McElroy for being Lagoon’s first readers. Both of them loved the opening swordfish chapter, and this fact meant a lot to me.
Thanks to the South African science-fiction film District 9 for both intriguing and pissing me off so much that I started daydreaming about what aliens would do in Nigeria. This novel was birthed from my anger at District 9, but it quickly became something else entirely.
And of course, last but not least, I’d like to thank my daughter, Anyaugo, who was the first person to hear the summary of Lagoon (back when it was still titled Lagos). She loves Nigeria as much as I do, and she thought the story was utterly hilarious (especially the road monster parts).
POSTCHAPTER
MEANWHILE, BACK IN CHICAGO . . .
Douglas Hall’s Room 217 was the warmest classroom on campus. In the dead of Chicago’s winter, one could comfortably wear a T-shirt and jeans here. It was the perfect place to thaw out after trudging through the snow, and there weren’t any classes in it between twelve p.m. and three p.m. Thus, pre-med sophomores Shaquille, Jordan, and Nature made this their study room on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays.
Today was Saturday, and the plan was to study, study, study. They were all taking Chem 101 and the class was no joke; best to get ahead while they were ahead. Nevertheless, their plans had changed in the last day. The whole world’s plans had changed. Quietly so. Nature had been the first to hear about the latest footage on YouTube. Minutes before, her sister had sent the link to her phone. She couldn’t wait to watch and discuss it with Shaquille and Jordan. Every few hours, more weird news came out of Nigeria, and it added a spicy element of excitement to everything—a nice change from the mundane routine of school and work at the Harris Bank.
“We’re Nigerians. Just Nigerians,” the one who the people in the video called Agu said. Agu looked at the guy with supersonic powers and added, “And one Ghanaian.”
“Wow,” Nature whispered as she refreshed the screen so they could watch it yet again. “Apparently, they on some X-Men shit in Africa.” She took off her coat and sweater. “I don’t think any of this is real.” She wore an orange Baby Phat T-shirt underneath with a shiny pink cat design on the front. The many thin gold bangles on her wrists jingled as she sat down in front of her laptop.
“Yeah man, this can’t be real,” Shaquille said, sitting back at his desk as he watched his laptop screen. He waved a hand. “Don’t play it again yet. I need to think.” He picked up his hefty red headphones and then put them down, a perplexed frown on his face. He rarely took off his headphones, not even during class; he liked his world to have a soundtrack. But this warranted taking them off. Anything linked to what was going on in Africa did. He needed to hear the audio as clearly as he could, even if the audio was shit. He was still wearing his heavy leather coat, the chill from outside still in his bones. “Shit’s totally fake,” he muttered.
“‘The President of Nigeria Saved by Witches and Warlocks!’” Jordan read, bending forward and bringing his face close to the screen. He laughed. “All right, the title’s kinda fucked-up but, oh my God, come on, Shaq. What’chu think all this is, then?” Jordan wore a black T-shirt with a drawing of a marijuana leaf in the center. Being skinny and quite tall, he was more comfortable standing than sitting at a cramped, hard-seated desk.
He stood up straight and stamped a Timberland boot on the floor. “The kid dying in the street—dying, man, you see him die—people there tweeting and posting claims about seeing aliens and shit, folks reporting fear and crazy-ass riots, this X-Men in the ocean craziness . . . You think it’s some Orwellian shit?” Jordan asked. “Like that War of the Worlds radio broadcast back in the day that caused all that panic? You think Nigerians are that gullible? In this day and age? And look at the ‘stars’ of the show. They black. Even the heroes are black. You think they gon’ spend they money to put somethin’ together that looks this real and actually allow black folks to star in it? Real Africans? And then set it in Africa?” He guffawed with glee and shook his head. “Nah man, not gonna happen. This shit real. That’s the more likely scenario.”
Nature sucked her teeth and pulled up her low-riding skinny jeans. “Man, I don’t care about no uppity Africans anyway. What’s Africa ever done for me?” She sucked her teeth again. “I think Shaq’s right. Or . . .” She shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Ey, I hear you, Nature,” Jordan said. “Africa ain’t done nothing for us but enslave our ancestors. Won’t disagree with you there.” He grinned. “But look, come on, if anyone gon’ be flying around, shootin’ lasers outta they eyes or jumping in the water and making shock waves because they can, it would be a bunch of Africans.”
The three students had a good laugh at this, and then watched the footage again. No matter how hard they looked, even their Hollywood-level-special-effects-accustomed eyes could not spot a flaw or an anomaly in the footage. Even the great sharklike beast that the guy Agu supposedly punched out of the water looked real. This along with the mainstream news reports of terrorist activity and rioting in Nigeria and the significantly different, more individual reports circulating on various social media outlets of an “alien” invasion had caught the attention of many Americans. These three students were certainly not the only ones bothered and confused by the stories and footage coming out of Africa.
Nature opened and closed a textbook. After a moment, she opened it again and brought out her syllabus from her backpack. She looked up. “I’m just glad it’s all happening over there. It’s freaking me out.”
The two boys nodded.
“You think it’s gon’ stay there, though?” Jordan asked.
Nature shrugged.
“Whatever’s going on, it’ll probably make more sense tomorrow,” Shaquille said, placing his big red headphones back over his ears. He turned on his iPod and clicked on Drake’s “Successful.” He didn’t care for Drake, but he loved this particular song. It was a rare moment of real hip-hop from a shitty whiny rapper. He took his coat off.
They took out their pens and highlighters and opened their textbooks to chapter 1 in Chemistry: The Central Science. Spring semester was going to be tough, and they had to get ahead to get more ahead. In the meantime, the world would take care of itself.
About the Author
NNEDI OKORAFOR is the author of numerous novels and short stories, including Zahrah the Windseeker, which won the Wole Soyinka Prize for Literature, and Who Fears Death, winner of the 2011 World Fantasy
Award for Best Novel. She lives in Buffalo, New York, where she is a professor of creative writing and literature at the University of Buffalo. Find her on Facebook, on Twitter @Nnedi, and at nnedi.com.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2014 by Nnedi Okorafor
Originally published in 2014 by Great Britain by Hodder & Stoughton
Map copyright © 2015 by Lonely Planet
Jacket photograph copyright © 2015 by Franklin Kappa/Getty Images
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First Saga Press hardcover edition July 2015
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Okorafor, Nnedi.
Lagoon / Nnedi Okorafor. — First edition.
pages ; cm
Summary: “A biologist, a famous rapper, and a rogue soldier become the honor guard and interpreter of humanity’s first contact with an alien ambassador in this thriller that combines magicial realism and seemingly end-of-the-world high tension”— Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-1-4814-4087-5 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4814-4089-9 (eBook)
1. Extraterrestrial beings—Fiction. 2. Human-alien encounters—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3615.K67L33 2015
813.6—dc23 2015010814
Nnedi Okorafor, Lagoon
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