My name is Tamuno-ere, but here in Dev, most people just call me Tammy. Titles don’t mean much in a world without real cultures, lineage, or heritage. Yet, I keep mine as a reminder of my roots—a reminder of what once was important to us all.

Dev, for those who might not know, is a digital universe our human consciousness exists free of aging, pain, and earthly limitations. It was meant to be a utopia. But I’ve learned the hard way that utopias often come at a cost. In this world, where time is irrelevant, much of what once made us human has become a novelty.

I was born into the Ijaw tribe in Nigeria, where the Iria rite marked a girl’s passage into womanhood. For us, the Iria rite isn’t just a ceremony. It’s a passage, a bridge between girlhood and womanhood. It was a sacred event, deeply rooted in community and tradition, celebrated for centuries. It meant that you were no longer a girl, but a woman, ready for marriage.

But here, in Dev, it’s something else entirely. First, there’s no age here, so the core milestone that served as a mark of maturity has been eroded. Even with all the fanfare and excitement, the rite doesn’t mean anything at all.

The “Global Iria Experience” attracts many people on Dev’s culture circuit. People can step into virtual renditions of the ceremony, tailored to their desires. You can be the maiden at the edge of womanhood, the matron bestowing wisdom, or simply an observer, watching the sacred dance through simulated avatars. The System accommodates all.

They say it’s “preservation.” A way to keep Earth’s traditions alive. But what they won’t tell you is how hollow it all feels. If a rite has lost its essence, it’s just a performance. The fact that we’ve romanticized these rites without reverence for what they actually stand for makes me uncomfortable. It’s like art without meaning—just random brushstrokes on a canvas.

On Dev, anyone can partake in Iria—even those who identify as men. Yesterday, a neighbour, Didi, invited me to the newest iteration of the Iria simulation.

Everything was different. Because we don’t have time, they rushed through the fattening room process. On Earth, it lasted about a month, but here, it was over in an instant. The nurturing, the pampering of a girl into a woman, was completely lost. Didi customized his experience—a multi-colored gown that glittered as he moved, a crowd of admirers cheering him on. His sleeve beamed as he completed the rites, but the smile never reached his eyes.

“What do you think?” he asked, twirling. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

I nodded, though my chest tightened. “It’s… something.”

His gaze flickered, and for a moment, I saw it—the ache he tried to bury beneath his perfect sleeve. Didi had never seen the real Iria. He had never felt the cool sting of a turmeric scrub or the liberation of walking bare-breasted with pride. He hadn’t heard the ancient songs or the wisdom shared by the women of the village. For him, Iria was just another experience to unlock. A badge for his collection of cultural achievements in Dev. It was just a cool thing.

In Dev, there’s no aging, no milestones, no sense of “before” or “after.” The passage of time—that carried us through life’s stages—has become a stagnant pool. The rites of Earth, designed to mark these transitions, have become mere entertainment. They’re bragging rights for bored people to use for competition and comparison.

I remember my own Iria on Earth. I had never been so pampered in my life. We would swim early in the morning, then return for body scrubs, massages, and feasts. We didn’t even do our own laundry. Adorned with vibrant attires and ever-changing hairstyles, I felt like royalty. I can still picture my mother’s hands, firm yet tender as she braided my hair. She would drop gems of wisdom from her own experience. “This is your moment, Tamuno-ere,” she’d say. “Hold it close. It will guide you when the waters grow rough.”

It’s funny how everything has lost meaning here. In Dev, there are no rough waters. The System ensures smooth sailing—too smooth, perhaps. Conflict is muted, pain erased, growth unnecessary. What need is there for rites of passage when there is no passage at all?

I’ve tried to speak out against the commodification of Iria, but my words fall on deaf ears. The powers behind Dev argue that they’re making culture accessible to all, bringing traditions to a global audience. “We’re honouring your heritage,” they say. But honour without understanding is hollow. Accessibility without authenticity is a lie.

Sometimes, I visit the simulation alone. I stand in the digital rendering of the village square, scanning through the lifeless crowd. I watch them try to reenact the dances, their movements flawless yet devoid of spirit. Some people even tweak the settings to add neon lights and DJ booths, turning the rite into a party. They call it innovation. I call it desecration.

Last week, I met a young person named Kareem. He’s an older man here, but he left Earth as a young boy. He’d never heard of the Iria rite before coming to Dev. “It’s amazing,” he said, mustering all the wonder he could in his sleeve. “I wish Earth had been like this.”

I wanted to tell him about the real Iria. About its beauty and depth, its pain and joy. But the words caught in my throat. Would he even understand? Could he? Here in Dev, where everything is instant, how do you explain the value of something that must be earned?

As I write this letter, I’m filled with questions. Is it better to let traditions die than to see them twisted into something unrecognizable? Can we find a way to preserve and transfer our heritage without stripping it of its soul? Or are we destined to lose ourselves in the digital mirage of progress?

All I know is this: the Iria rite was once a celebration of becoming a woman. Now, it’s just another product in Dev’s endless marketplace of events. And as I watch users dance in their neon-lit simulations, I wonder… will they ever realize what they’ve lost?

Yours in memory and hope,
Tamuno-ere