The Call from Zion
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The bassline of the universe thrummed through the floorboards of Winston's shack in the hills of Jamaica. Outside, the humidity clung to the banana leaves, but in his heart, a cool breeze was blowing.
The news holo-projector buzzed with the latest reports: "Africa, the resource engine of the world, announces new open borders for the Diaspora."
Winston, a Rastaman with dreadlocks touching his ankles, knew it was time. He had to go back. Back to the source. But how should he begin his pilgrimage?