Mugabi Byenkya
For instance, it is nearly dawn. My cotton joggers absorb the moisture from the dewy blades of grass that prick, then squelch. I turn off my torch with a click. A recent purchase as the hilly terrain I currently call home is not inundated with lights, like the city I’m from. Some areas of the city lack light as well, but a smartphone torch will suffice. Other areas of the city lack light, but a smartphone makes you a target when you’re a solitary Ugandan woman. I place my torch down beside me. I still remember life before smartphones. Power cuts were a daily occurrence, any of the fifteen people in the two-bedroom flat knew exactly where the three torches and spare batteries were. We could all find them in pitch black, flick them on, or hold down the red button. I loved that red button. Playing off and on with my sister. This is my first time using a torch in years, a necessity for my idea to climb the hill to watch the sunrise. I haven’t done this in decades, simultaneously terrifying and freeing. A different type of fear than in the city. A fear of falling. A fear of slipping. A fear of wildlife. No fear for what preys in darkness in the city. There is none of that here. Here I am free to stretch my legs out, lay my back and head down, making sure to tuck my backpack underneath my microbraids. The birds get more comfortable with my presence. Chirping staccato rhythms. Grand rising.
(260 words)
Chat GPT
It’s almost dawn. My cotton joggers soak up the dew from the grass, each step a mix of pricking blades and the soft squelch of wet earth. I click off my torch. The hilly land I now call home is dark, far from the city’s lights. The city has its dark spots too, but there, a phone torch feels like a signal to danger. Here, I only need the beam to navigate the uneven ground.
I remember life before smartphones. Power cuts were constant, and in our two-bedroom flat, everyone knew where the torches and spare batteries were kept. In pitch black, we’d find them by touch, flick them on, or press the red button. I loved that button—my sister and I used to play with it for hours.
This is my first time using a torch in years, but I need it now to climb the hill for sunrise. It’s a fear I haven’t felt in a long time—one of slipping, of wildlife, of losing my footing. In the city, the dangers were human. Here, it’s nature that’s unpredictable. But there’s a freedom in it too. I lay back, my backpack under my head to cushion my microbraids, and stretch my legs. The birds gradually get used to my presence, their chirps like a slow, rhythmic greeting to the day. Grand rising.
(225 words)
Notes on the experience.
This was my first time ever using Chat GPT, so I have no idea how it works. I fed it my original story and Chat GPT gave me a lot of compliments and analyzed my story. It responded with:
This passage captures such a rich, sensory experience—there’s a beautiful tension between past and present, comfort and fear, nostalgia and discovery. The imagery of the cotton joggers, the dew-soaked grass, and the touch of the red button on the torch really grounds the reader in this moment of quiet transition. The way the speaker contrasts the world of the city with this new, more vulnerable experience in the hills is striking. It’s a kind of freedom that’s edged with both joy and trepidation.
The line “A different type of fear than in the city” particularly stood out. In the city, fear is external—associated with threats and danger from people or the environment. In the hills, though, it’s more internal—a fear of nature, of losing control of the physical body, but also an openness to the world around her, as she mentions with the birds getting more comfortable with her presence. There’s a sense of reclaiming autonomy, despite the unfamiliar and the unknown.
And the final line, “Grand rising,” feels like a soft affirmation of peace, a greeting to the day that’s about to unfold. There’s something meditative about it, as if the speaker is truly present in this new landscape, embracing it with both caution and wonder.
It also highlights an intriguing element: the use of the word “torch” seems both literal and metaphorical. In the city, a torch symbolizes necessity, something you always carry with you to navigate the unknown, but in the rural hills, it’s almost a tool for rediscovery, a way to shine light on what’s hidden—perhaps even parts of herself she’s not fully conscious of yet.
Is this part of a larger narrative, or more of a standalone reflection?
I responded with 260 words and it gave me the above version. It’s fascinating how it interpreted the phone torch as a signal to danger in the city, without any nuance. It clearly spelled out that the dangers in the city are human, whereas I left that more metaphorical as a commentary on how the character romanticises the place they now call home. It spelled out a lot of what I left for the reader to interpret how they wish. It also did not understand how “Grand rising” is used in Black culture by spiritual people and hoteps and that was a tongue in cheek reference (but also open to interpretation, as all my writing is). I actually liked its interpretation of “Grand rising” as one of many. It doesn’t do the best with containing multitudes; it looks for a singular or dual meaning.
– Mugabi