Dear Reader,

If you’re reading this, I am dead.

It has been a decade since I arrived in Dev. I was twenty and desperate. Even now, I remain an outsider in this digital world. On Earth, every day reminded me of my failures. I nearly failed high school and was rejected by every college I applied to. The ones that accepted me were far beyond what I could afford.

The dream of becoming an engineer—my only passion—slipped through my fingers like a mirage. It was what my late dad always wanted “my engineer daughter”. So yeah, I failed at being a daughter too, but my mother clung to her faith. She believed God had a purpose for us on Earth, and that there was no need for me to consider leaving for Dev: “the Negasi bubble” she called it. Yet every time, I would ask her “isn’t God also a God of technology ?” She cried one day, till her eyes couldn’t cry anymore, watching me sink into anxiety and despair. I became convinced that Dev was my only chance.

I had had enough, and when I felt brave, or reckless, I stole money from my brother, Kunle, just enough to pay MaDe to bring me into this digital existence. Drifting through streams of code, I wonder: was the sacrifice worth it?

My late father’s income was the only lifeline for my mother and brother. Dev promised to save me, giving me access to every skill and certification I had ever dreamed of. Humanity had migrated to the digital world, where the limits of flesh and society no longer mattered. It was supposed to be paradise.

Here, communication flows through neural links in a symphony of thoughts and shared fantasies. Love is intangible but powerful. Eating is simulated, sleep optional. Money? Unnecessary. On Earth, we worked our asses off, just because our bodies enslaved us. In Dev, there are no such needs. Instead, life revolves around endless cycles of maintenance: software repairs, simulation direction, interface production—a monotonous loop. What once seemed like freedom now feels like an elaborate prison, in outerspace. Every day, for the past ten years, I drift among streams of data and
disembodied voices, and I can’t help but imagine what life might have been if I had stayed. Fewer people on Earth might have meant fewer restrictions on who could study engineering. Even if not, what is knowledge without the chance to build something real, to inspire others? Here, it’s meaningless.

Fragments of Earth sneak into my thoughts: the light of sunset on the open field, the taste of bole, my mother’s ewedu simmering on the stove, the sharp scent of potash in the air. These little things—once so ordinary—now feel like home. I would have been thirty-two by now. Maybe married. Maybe with a child. A lot of rumors had spread through Dev, whispers of escape, of secret codes that can bridge the chasm back to Earth. But the path to freedom comes at a price. The thought of stealing again to go home terrifies me. Instead, I wander the corridors of ones and zeros, a silent observer in a world that feels more foreign every day. Was coming to Dev an act of liberation or just the mistake of a confused young girl ?

The promise of peace has been replaced by a hunger for something real. The messy, unpredictable beauty of life on Earth, that’s what I want more than anything. Those uncertainties made it worth living and I hate to admit but perhaps my mom was right. My mother’s faith, her steadfast belief that our destiny was tied to a divine purpose on earth, makes more sense to me now.
In this digital mirage, I search for fragments of home, echoes of who I once was. When the data streams slow and the world pauses, I close my eyes and let the memories wash over me, wondering if I’ll ever truly be free.

Till we see again,

Kemi Johnson.

Written By Maadie Anie