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# Chapter Three: Continental Drift
“*Folly Resides In The Heart Of A Child, but the rod of discipline drives it far away from him.” –Wise Saying.*
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***JOHANNESBURG, 2014***
Ashanti Tanko grew up in Johannesburg, but her early life was in Somalia, where war and hunger tarried side by side. She was the middle child of eleven siblings living with their widowed mother.
Ashanti’s father died as a result of the terrorist onslaught in Somalia, leaving their mother to fend for eleven children.
Ashanti’s mother fled the country to Johannesburg, South Africa. Even though things were calmer there in comparison to Somalia, Ashanti still experienced flashbacks whenever robbery assaults were carried out.
Eventually, Ashanti left home for Somalia, angry about the state of things in her country, and in Africa as a whole.
In a region where a woman’s voice was considered next to worthless, Ashanti survived on instincts in a town where the next minute could be a funeral.
After a few years of hiding and living in the shadows, Ashanti started fighting back. Gathering Intel on terrorist whereabouts or brewing robberies, and sabotaging their missions even in the most subtle ways she could.
She had help, of course. But her small network of people loyal to the course of liberating Somalia, Johannesburg, and even the continent as a whole would need a more systematic way of going about their creed if they were to defeat the biggest tyrant of the underworld when it came to terrorist, robbery, and petty theft faction in the whole continent.
Arno Jabulani. Leader of *Black River.*
Believed to be a myth as no one had ever seen his face, save for those at the upper echelons of his ranks. Two men to be precise. Luan and Mandla.
Ashanti’s network involved key people stretching from Somalia to Johannesburg.
At twenty one, she was already becoming a thorn in the flesh to Black River. Whispers and talks of her name were being chanted at camp fires among bloodthirsty men.
Something mega was coming up, Ashanti could smell the stench of it in the air. Something due to happen in one of the biggest cities in South Africa. Her own city. Johannesburg.
“There’s no time, we need to move now.” Timmy said, strongly.
“Patience, brother. Patience.” Came the calm and collected voice of Ashanti.
They were back in Johannesburg, at a secret hideout known only to the original four. Bandili, Timmy, Annaki, and Ashanti. The Aboriginals.
Each had a story behind their decision to form and be part of their creed. But they were all committed to the course. Ashanti had said her farewell to her mother and ten siblings of the Aaden clan two years earlier. Her mother almost had a heart attack and her siblings tried to hold her back by any means possible.
“I agree with Timmy.” Annaki said. “Since we know where their route is, why not attack now before it’s too late?”
“You forget there’s a village nearby. That’ll risk the lives of hundreds of people.”
“At the cost of saving millions more.” Bandili said, speaking for the first time.
“How can you even say that?” Ashanti was shocked and disappointed. Bandili and her had come a long way since Somalia. In fact, their families both moved from Somalia to Johannesburg around the same year.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound cold. Look at it like this, Ashanti. Would you rather have us sit back and wait till the enemy strikes first and risk losing even one life then. Or would you rather we attack now while we have them on our radar and have the upper hand.”
“But we’d be waiting for them.” Ashanti could tell he was making a statement and not asking a question.
“I say we go now. And that’s an order.” Their leader, Bandili, said with finality. Then turned to Ashanti and said, “You forget, Ashanti. Arno's going to be there.”